The forest no longer looked like a forest.
After days of trudging through twisted roots and broken earth, it felt more like a graveyard of trees — half-rotten trunks, endless mist, and the stench of blood that refused to fade.
The group was in shambles.
Armor cracked, weapons chipped, clothes torn. Even the proud knights of Hestia limped more than they marched now. The polished discipline they'd displayed on the first day was gone — replaced by the hollow-eyed endurance of men who had seen too much death in too little time.
Their carriages were long abandoned; the horses had been killed during the second ambush — devoured before anyone could react. From then on, they had been traveling on foot, dragging what supplies they could salvage. The constant monster attacks had grown worse the deeper they went — wolves with bone armor, serpents that moved through the mist, insect swarms that shredded through steel.
And yet… they pressed on.
