The forest's edge thinned into a twilight haze, the air thick with the scent of smoldering pine and damp earth. The embers from the skirmish with the Outer Vultures still flickered faintly in Mo's mind, casting long shadows beneath his eyelids.
He moved deliberately, each step measured against the silence pressing down around them. Aylen rode beside him, her eyes scanning the treeline with a predatory calm, fingers never far from the hilts of her daggers. The tension in the air wasn't just from the chase—they were entering a place whispered about in half-forgotten stories: the Ashwhisper Marshes.
The marshes were a liminal land, where earth and water wove together like smoke, and ancient ruins hid beneath murky depths. Few dared to tread here without purpose, fewer still at dusk.
Mo's grip tightened on the reins. The Shamshir, sheathed across his back, felt heavier, its blue glow pulsing faintly with the rhythm of his heartbeat. He could sense the blade's awakening, its hunger growing with every step closer to the Cavern of Rains.
"We're close," he murmured, mostly to himself.
Aylen nodded. "Too close for comfort. The Vultures won't give up, and whatever watches us from the shadows will strike soon."
Mo scanned the dense fog curling around twisted roots and fallen trunks. In the distance, a faint glow shimmered — not from fire, but from something older, something alive.
"Stay sharp," he said, voice low.
They dismounted near the edge of a shallow pond, the water eerily still, reflecting the fiery hues of the dying light. Mo knelt, dipping a hand into the cold surface. The reflection that stared back wasn't his own — something flickered behind the ripples: a face, ancient and weathered, eyes like burning coals.
Aylen's breath caught beside him. "The Ashwhisper… it's not just the marsh, it's a warning."
Suddenly, a whisper rose from the reeds — not words, but a voice that clawed at the edges of sanity, echoing like a long-lost prayer twisted by time.
Mo's hand shot out, gripping the Shamshir's hilt. The blade thrummed, a living thing eager for battle.
"We press on," he said, eyes burning brighter than the fading sun.
Together, they stepped into the marsh's embrace — into the heart of the Ashwhisper Descent.