The day passed among branches, stones, and mud. The path followed the river's course, winding between old roots and damp shrubs. Despite their exhaustion, no one stopped without good reason.
Before the sun disappeared, Halven called for another halt. The march had been steady, but bodies were beginning to succumb to fatigue. Some of the children's feet were bleeding, makeshift backpacks hung crookedly, and the elderly now walked with the help of sticks.
They chose a clearing large enough to keep a line of sight in all directions. Small fires were lit, spread apart so as not to draw unwanted eyes.
Lavitz sat alone a few meters from the nearest flame, inspecting his sword with a pensive expression. Then a voice called out:
"Hey, kid! Come over, we've got some soup," shouted one of the men cooking nearby.
Lavitz looked up. He hesitated for a moment but stood. His stomach had been protesting for hours.
He approached and sat on a rock. The steam from the soup smelled of salted meat, boiled roots, and something else he couldn't identify. A wooden bowl was handed to him. It wasn't much, but it was warm.
"Thanks," he murmured.
One of the men, with a messy beard and calloused hands, watched him curiously.
"I heard you're from Emerald City?"
Lavitz glanced at him as he blew on the steaming liquid.
"Relax. Halven told us. If it weren't for what happened last night, maybe the old man would've kept it to himself. But whatever killed Mersik might be related, so he had to tell us."
"What happened there? I heard the city was destroyed," interrupted another man.
Lavitz stayed silent for a few seconds. Then he spoke, his voice grave.
"It was a siege. An army of dead rose from the cursed lands. No one saw them coming. By the time we realized, they were already inside."
"And how did you escape?"
"By a miracle," he answered honestly. "During the chaos, parts of the walls collapsed. I managed to slip out through a breach."
The group fell silent. One of them made a protective gesture with his fingers. Another cursed under his breath.
Lavitz finished his soup quietly, thanked them again, and withdrew to the edge of the camp. Before long, he settled beside a dry log, wrapped in his blanket.
Night fell again, bringing with it the whispers of the forest.
Something cracked.
Lavitz's eyes flew open.
It wasn't a dream.
He sat up quickly but silently. His hand sought the hilt of his sword. The camp was calm, with some embers still glowing and several figures wrapped in blankets. A few people kept drowsy watch.
And then he saw it.
In a tree, barely ten meters from the camp's edge, a figure clung to the branches.
Tall, thin, with grayish skin. Eyes gleaming, bloodshot, fixed on the sleeping group. Its claws gripped the bark; its movements were almost imperceptible, like an insect observing its prey.
A shiver ran down Lavitz's spine.
"ALERT!!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "IN THE TREE!!"
The camp erupted into chaos.
Voices. Screams. Footsteps.
Torches flared to life within seconds. Men rushed for their improvised weapons. Some children began to cry. Halven struggled to his feet, squinting toward where Lavitz pointed.
But it was already too late.
The creature, startled by the commotion, leapt from the tree in a beastly bound and vanished into the undergrowth. Only a faint hiss lingered in the air and a broken branch dangling from where it had clung.
"What was that?!" shouted one.
"Where is it?! Did anyone else see it?!"
Lavitz was breathing hard, his eyes locked in the direction it had disappeared.
"It wasn't human," he said. "That thing was watching us… like it was waiting for a chance."
Halven approached, tense.
"Did you see it clearly?"
Lavitz nodded.
"It had gray skin. Its head was like a bat's… it moved like a shadow."
The old man fell silent for a moment, then spoke in a low but clear voice:
"A ghoul."
Several faces paled at the name.
"What's that?" asked one of the younger men.
"A creature of darkness," Halven explained. "Something between a corpse and a vampire. It doesn't yet have full consciousness—it's like a larva, a pre-stage. It feeds on flesh, organs, blood. Once it consumes enough, it mutates… and then becomes something far worse."
The group was hushed.
"Why is it following us?" asked Lavitz.
"It's marked us. It knows we're easy prey. It's likely been trailing us all along," Halven said, his brow furrowed.
"Can we kill it?"
"Not without endangering everyone."
The camp stayed on edge for the rest of the night. Guards were doubled. No one slept again.
At first light, Halven gave the order:
"We move. Now."
Lavitz glanced one last time at the forest before marching on.
No one spoke much. The image of the ghoul lurking among the branches still weighed heavily, its presence clinging like a rancid smell among the damp leaves.
Children were carried in arms or walked hand in hand. Adults kept their gazes alert, even the most skeptical gripping the handles of knives or makeshift spears.
Lavitz now walked near the front, alongside Halven. He had earned a new level of respect among the villagers, but also a burden. Everyone knew he had been the first to spot the creature.
"How far to Merholt?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.
Halven, walking with the steady pace of a man used to hardship, shook his head.
"If we're lucky, we'll arrive by late the day after tomorrow. Assuming no setbacks."
Lavitz frowned.
"And if the ghoul shows up again?"
"It will," Halven answered without hesitation. "It won't let us go so easily. But if we reach Merholt, we'll be safe. The city has walls. Mages. Royal guards."
"Are you sure they'll let us in?"
The old man was silent for a moment.
"I don't know. But there's no other path."
As the hours passed, the forest began to change.
The trees grew taller, their bark thicker. The ground became wetter, covered in roots that jutted out like veins beneath a vegetal skin. Birds sang less. The wind barely stirred. Everything was still.
Lavitz walked with his senses sharp, eyes scanning every branch, every shadow among the ferns. His body, though tired, was beginning to respond better.
At a small stream, they all stopped to drink. The men took turns keeping watch while the others filled improvised canteens or washed their faces. Lavitz crouched by a flat rock, letting the water run through his fingers.
Then he cupped his hands and drank.
When he looked up, his gaze swept to the dense line of vegetation blocking their path in the distance.
By evening, Halven ordered another camp to be made. Though many wanted to keep moving, afraid to stop, human bodies have limits—and this group was nearing theirs.
"We'll rest a few hours. Light fires around the camp," Halven ordered. "We'll all sleep together. Double the guards. Rotate the watch hourly. And no one strays from camp if they value their life."
Lavitz sat on a stone. The book was still tucked into his clothes, but he didn't open it. It didn't feel like the right moment to read.
The girl from the previous day approached quietly, wrapped in a blanket. She sat beside him without asking.
"Do you think that thing will come back?" she asked without looking at him.
Lavitz hesitated.
"Yes."
She nodded, then looked at him.
"But you'll be here too, right?"
"Yes," he repeated, this time more firmly.
The girl smiled inexplicably and leaned against him, quickly falling asleep from exhaustion.
Lavitz watched her for a few seconds. The girl had taken a certain trust in him, perhaps seeing him as someone safe to lean on.
"It's rare for Besit to approach a stranger," said a woman sitting a few meters away. "She doesn't usually trust people, especially outsiders."
Lavitz turned to her.
"My name's Thalia," she said. "I've been looking after her as best I can. My husband died in the epidemic two years ago, along with her parents."
"I'm sorry," Lavitz replied, lowering his gaze to Besit, curled up beside him.
"No child should go through what this one has," Thalia said with pity. "She's a strong girl. Most children wouldn't have survived losing their parents."
Night fell.
Lavitz had eventually drifted off, Besit sleeping soundly beside him.
A voice woke him.
"Time for the watch," said one of the men as he sat and wrapped himself in a blanket.
Lavitz rose carefully so as not to wake the girl, covering her with his own blanket. Besit murmured something in her sleep, frowning slightly, but didn't wake. Lavitz adjusted his sword at his belt and walked to the camp's edge where his shift began.
Fires illuminated the surroundings. Eight men kept watch in total, including Lavitz.
The chirping of crickets and other insects filled the air.
The night was dark, but the nearly full moon cast a pale light over the forest, projecting long shadows like fingers across the damp ground. The cold had intensified, accompanied by gusts of wind rustling the dry leaves. Each breath Lavitz exhaled turned to mist that vanished instantly.
He settled near one of the peripheral fires, seeking warmth while his eyes swept the camp's perimeter. His hand rested on the sword's hilt, ready to draw at any moment.
Soft footsteps drew his attention. A broad-shouldered man with graying hair and an unkempt beard approached, carrying a makeshift spear. His boots were caked with mud, and a worn blanket hung over his shoulders.
"Lavitz, right?" the man said in a deep voice, sitting on a log near the fire. "Name's Huldren."
Lavitz nodded, keeping his gaze on the treeline.
"A pleasure."
"You keep a good watch for someone with no experience," Huldren commented, rubbing his hands before the flames. "I heard the story, though it's still hard to believe."
"About Emerald City?"
Huldren let out a bitter snort.
"Is it true there were no survivors?"
Lavitz drew a deep breath, remembering the screams, the blood, the Devourer…
"I don't know if anyone else escaped before the siege. I woke up when the city had already fallen. I don't remember who I was. While fleeing, I met five people, one of them being the young lord of the city, Victor, with four of his personal guards."
Huldren lowered his gaze. The crackling fire filled the silence for a moment.
"Damn…" he muttered. "This kingdom is rotting, and we're just worms trying to find a corner where we won't be crushed."
Lavitz frowned.
"Was it always this dangerous? Wasn't there anyone to protect the villages?"
Huldren let out a dry laugh.
"Protection?" he repeated, letting the word dissolve in the cold air. "The king's old, too busy guarding his throne while the borders burn. The nobles only care about their lands, hoarding crops and gold as if they can take it to the afterlife. And the Knight Orders… bah, vipers' nests. More concerned with polishing their armor and boasting of lineage than dirtying their hands for common folk."
He adjusted the blanket on his shoulders and spat on the ground.
"And the mages… they lock themselves in their crystal towers, studying runes, circles, and spells while outside the villages rot. To them, the death of a peasant is no different than a dead rat in a corner. They don't care. We're trash in their eyes."
Lavitz listened silently, eyes fixed on the flames. The warmth touched his face, but the forest's chill still seeped through his clothes. He tightened his grip on the sword's hilt—the only "certainty" he had in this unknown world.
Huldren glanced sideways at him. The orange light illuminated the young man's profile, standing silently, hand on his sword's crossguard. But there was something in his posture… in the way his fingers rested on the hilt, in how his shoulders tensed without true intent to wield the weapon.
It was obvious.
"Maybe you don't remember who you were, but one thing's certain—you're not a soldier or someone trained in swordsmanship," Huldren said suddenly, his voice coarse.
Lavitz looked at him calmly but said nothing.
"The way you hold that sword says it all. Those of us born and raised with a weapon in hand carry it differently—more naturally, more confidently. You look ready to drop it and run at any moment."
Lavitz lowered his gaze briefly to the hilt, as if weighing the truth in his words.
"You're right," he admitted sincerely. "I only picked it up because it's all that's keeping me alive. Better than having nothing to defend myself with."
Huldren nodded—not mockery, not criticism, just a gesture of quiet understanding.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. Most here can't fight either. And yet… they keep going."
He sat closer, letting out a sigh that fogged in the cold air. The fire crackled, and for a moment, the only sounds were insects and the whisper of cold wind through the branches.
"I was a soldier once," he finally said. "I served in Dalverin's guard, a city to the south. I swore to protect it with my life. I believed in the cause… in the crown… in the idea that my sword served a purpose greater than clearing a path for the rich."
A pause, his voice heavy with restrained bitterness.
"Until the day I discovered my captain was taking bribes from smugglers to let them move goods unnoticed. Poison. Weapons. Spoiled food for the poor quarters. Even human trafficking. I confronted him… and paid the price."
Lavitz's frown deepened slightly.
"What did he do?"
Huldren let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Called me 'insubordinate.' Said my words were an attack on his honor. With one report, I was branded a traitor to discipline and discharged. Overnight, I went from crown soldier to unwanted trash."
He traced a finger over the scar running down his chin.
"Couldn't even stay in Dalverin. They exiled me north. Here, I found this village… and decided if I couldn't protect an entire city, I'd at least look after these few."
Huldren spat and stared into the flames.
"Since then, I stopped believing in flags. In kings. In knight orders. All I have left are these hands and the spear I still know how to use."
Lavitz stayed quiet. Inside, he felt the mix of anger and resignation vibrating in Huldren's voice. He couldn't blame him; in his own world, he'd read stories of soldiers betrayed by corrupt systems. But seeing it up close… was different. Harsher.
"I'm sorry that happened," he said at last in a neutral tone. Not out of indifference, but because he couldn't find words that felt real in that moment.
Huldren gave him a bitter smile.
"Don't be. In the end, you learn to live without the chains of a vow. There's no justice here, kid. Only strength… and those willing to use it to protect the little they love."
Lavitz nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the sword's steel. He wasn't a soldier. Wasn't a hero. Just a man trying to survive… in a world that demanded kill or be devoured.
Then a cold gust of wind stirred the branches above them. The insect song ceased instantly, and an unnatural silence settled over the forest.
Huldren turned his head, eyes hard, gripping his spear with both hands.
"Stay close to the fire," he warned in a low voice. "The night's too quiet."
Lavitz didn't need to be told twice. His fingers tightened on the hilt, though he knew it didn't make him a better swordsman. His heart pounded faster. Something was coming.