The road didn't just cut through the land—it tore into it like an angry scar, raw and crooked. It clawed across fields left to rot, patches of earth fat with decay, and slipped down into dips where the fog hung heavy, thick as spoiled milk left out too long. The mist clung to their boots and slithered up their legs, wrapping tight around their ankles like cold fingers that refused to let go. The dirt beneath their feet felt loose, wet in a way that unsettled Verek—like it still remembered the weight of graves buried beneath.
Ezreal didn't glance back. He couldn't. Whatever had started tracking them as dusk settled was still back there, lurking. Verek caught the way his companion's shoulders stayed tight, how the muscles along his spine coiled like a wire about to snap. That tension flickered just behind his ribs—the hot-wire feeling where instincts lived and burned. Verek knew that look. He understood the fear of giving something permission to close the gap. So Ezreal kept moving—steady, sharp-eyed, not letting his gaze wander. Verek followed, not quite breathing easy.
Above them, the branches scraped one another with dry, brittle whispers. They sounded like old bones grinding in some ancient graveyard. The wind was weak but carried a stink that settled deep in Verek's nose—salt, sure, but layered beneath that was something richer, riper, like earth left sour and souring still. Magic in the air felt wrong. It drifted slow and heavy, buzzing low like a cracked lamp left burning in the dark. Verek felt it deep in the soles of his boots, a dull hum crawling up through his feet and settling cold behind his ribs.
"Too much magic," Dax muttered, chewing the words like a bad taste. His gaze flicked toward the trees, jaw tight and eyes narrowing. "Bloated. Like the forest swallowed something foul and hasn't figured out how to digest it yet."
Ezreal's voice cut through the thick air, cold and clipped, sharp as a blade slicing through silk. "We keep moving. Don't give it a reason to notice us."
Caylen's voice was low, quiet enough that it might've been swallowed by the wind, but it carried no charm or ease. "There are eyes on us. Not wild beasts. Something with a plan."
Verek felt the itch in his bones grow clearer. He nodded once, slow and sure. "Feels like it's steering us. Subtle. Intentional."
The wind seemed to lean in, like it wanted to catch every word.
"Then we don't stop," Dax muttered, fingers brushing the worn leather of his axe handle. "Not here. Not now."
A howl cut through the fog like a knife. Not quite animal. Too sharp, too certain, like it knew something they didn't.
Dax didn't flinch. "That was the wind," he said flatly, voice rough. "Because if it wasn't, I'm no kind of ready for whatever's next."
Nobody said a word. They didn't need to.
The path ahead narrowed, the fog growing thicker and sticky as old honey. Trees pressed close, their limbs leaning in like sentinels. Moss hung heavy from branches and dripped like wet rags across their ribs when they brushed past. The fog buzzed faintly, like it was trying to form words but kept getting tangled in its own throat. It pressed in on their ears, eyes, and teeth, damp and suffocating.
From that point on, they only traveled by night. Daylight was no friend to them here. Verek remembered the marks he'd seen earlier—glyphs carved into bark, spirals drawn in dried blood that hadn't faded despite the passing seasons. The sun peeled open the world, revealing things meant to stay hidden. But night had rules, old and cruel, and for all its dangers, those rules kept the worst at bay.
Sleep came in broken scraps. They curled beneath roots, beneath stones, beneath whatever shelter silence could provide. The dreams were wrong—twisted echoes from stolen voices. Names they hadn't spoken in years slipped through the dark, whispered back to them like questions they never wanted to answer.
By the second night, the forest had changed. It shed its dead skin and put on something new, unsettling.
The withered vines and choking hollows disappeared. In their place, the woods looked too neat, too cultivated, like a garden forced to grow in a place that should never have had one. Mushrooms blinked faint blue, clustering in wet, soft clumps that gleamed like slick organs. Flowers unfurled under moonlight, their petals oily and rainbow-slick, shifting colors if you dared to stare too long. Tiny motes floated through the air like fish swimming in a current.
Dax grunted, kicking a toadstool that squished under his boot. "This wasn't on any map," he said. "Looks like it spits venom and poetry."
Caylen let out a tired chuckle, voice ragged but amused. "Probably a floral tantrum. Fey lord with too much time and not enough discipline."
Ezreal's brow furrowed. His eyes were sharp, hard. "Or something older cracked through. Something that doesn't belong."
Verek stepped forward, running a hand along the silver bark of a tree. The surface was cool and smooth, but when he touched it, runes sparked and blinked to life, twitching like nervous creatures. They weren't from this place.
"These aren't from the material realm," he said quietly.
Caylen stiffened, the smile slipping away. "Then where?"
Ezreal didn't look away. "Somewhere deeper. Beneath names."
By the third night, the stars vanished behind a thick canopy. Branches locked together overhead like prison bars. The wind stopped altogether. No insects. No birdsong. Just silence and something else—something that watched without blinking.
Dax slowed his step, voice low. "No frogs. No crickets. The forest's holding its breath."
"Wait," Verek murmured. "Listen."
They froze.
A rhythm rose from the fog. Slow and wet, like dragging feet through mud. Not wind. Not rain. Something heavier, unnatural.
Then eyes.
Two points of violet-blue light blinked from the mist, unmoving.
Ezreal's hand slid to his pactblade, his expression not fear, but cold and sharp. Ready.
Dax cracked his neck, one hand tightening on a flask, the other loose but ready.
Verek's fingers twitched, weaving a spell in the air. Soft violet glyphs flared, casting an eerie glow on his pale skin. He didn't blink.
Caylen drew his blades. The smile was gone.
The thing stepped forward.
Too tall. Limbs bent wrong, like driftwood broken and stitched back together. Its skin flickered, shadows tangled with bone, shifting like smoke rising underwater.
Its head was all wrong—too many eyes, mouths layered like broken pottery glued back with cracks running wild.
The presence wasn't just a look. It pressed down on them, a weight in their lungs and teeth. Like drowning—thick, bitter, and impossible to shake.
Verek flinched. "It's real. It—"
"Run!" Ezreal shouted.
They moved.
The forest fought them. Bark split open, beetles pouring out like spilled ink. Roots twisted and reached up, clawing at boots and legs.
The thing didn't chase with noise or fury. It stayed close, sliding like the woods itself wanted it to catch them.
Dax spun mid-run, throwing a vial over his shoulder. Green fire burst to life behind them, catching the creature's legs and stalling it for a breath.
"Keep moving!" he barked. "No sightseeing!"
Ezreal's lungs burned with each ragged breath.
Caylen darted beside him, cloak snapping through the air. "Tell me that thing isn't gaining!"
Verek's voice rose, chanting another incantation. Symbols blazed in the air behind them. The fog screamed in protest.
The forest felt like a throat closing in on them, slick with roots and wet earth.
"Curtain's up!" Caylen hissed. "We need an exit. Now."
"Ward up!" Verek snapped. His hands scattered burning sigils behind them. Fire curled from his fingertips, cutting through the dark.
The creature halted, barely. But it had seen them now.
Ezreal growled, "It remembers us. We're marked."
The air shifted again. Cold and biting. It smelled of wet stone and copper—raw, sharp, and unforgiving.
They reached a fork in the road. Left was a tangle of brambles, like thorns waiting to bleed anyone foolish enough to try. Right was a steep drop into thick, black mist that swallowed light whole.
Neither felt safe.
Verek stepped forward, eyes narrowed on the dark fog. "The mist's lifting. Not by chance."
Caylen muttered, blades still raised. "Another trap, then."
Dax popped a cork from a flask, sighing. "At this point, I'd be grateful for one."
Ezreal glanced at each of them. "Whatever's waiting... we face it together."