Dragomir - The Swamp of Maledictus | Wattys2024

Prologue

Every dweller of the forest was dozing off, hiding in their caves, whether on the floor or in the trees. Silence began to return, where some minutes ago the loud echoes of whistling rockets had rung through the woods, transforming the very dark sky into a shower of colors. But even though it had appeared to last forever, not a sound or a hint of color remained on the now glittering starry night sky with its waning moon.

All that remained was the never-ending wind of winter, howling silently through the pines while the birds were puffing their feathers and moving together to warm each other.

An owl, sitting on the branch right before her cave, suddenly moved her head. Her glowing eyes searched for what had come to her ears-something that was an echo in the night. It was the crunching of snow.

Steadily, the movements grew louder. Until at last, under the owl's tree, appeared a shadow of a figure, halting at it, leaning against the very pine, his breathing transforming the air in front of him as dense as fog.

It was a man whose jacket was black, yet with silver buttons and glimmering florals across it, it was undoubtedly a uniform. Atop his hat sat a red beret with some black hair strands peeking out of it. From his wide shoulder hung an object, long and seemingly heavy, dangling freely, whereas every time it caught the moon's white light, it gave a small flash from it. A weapon.

He brushed the snow off his face, cheeks red from the biting cold wind, and lips apart to catch his breath. Young he was, and his blue eyes shimmered as his gaze fell to the moon above. Sighing, he set off yet again. He stomped on through the snow, where the powdery white kept dancing through the skies, falling in between his neck and shirt.

A small tremble went through his body as he put his hands into the pockets. The high dunes grew in number with every meter he walked toward the west. His boots grew full of snow, yet he didn't stop; he didn't falter. The soldier's blue eyes always fell back to the forest before him, as if he saw what he desired. Silently, his lips began to move, and only sometimes could one hear a silent word leave them.

At last, with trembling hands, he pulled out a small picture from his chest pocket. A smile formed on his thin lips as a flicker of warmth shone in his eyes, gazing at the image of his family's faces-his everything.

Putting the photo back into safety, he walked with much more elan, fighting his way through a tall dune. With a smile as bright as a child's, he hurried on, whispering, »I shall come home very soon. «. Fighting his way through branches of dense pines, he talked to himself, »I couldn't be there to celebrate the New Year, but I shall be home to welcome it when my dears awake. «

An owl's hooting echoed through the forest, where not a faint whisper of a civilization's light was to be seen. Yet the scent of smoke was undoubtedly dancing in the wind.

Without notice, and where no one can say for sure how it has come, that the soldier had heard it in his haste, a sound came dancing towards his ears. A silent and faint whisper of something. At first, the young soldier didn't quite realize he had heard anything and only slowed down, yet after a while, another noise found its way through the trees. The soldier came to a stop.

He stared into the distance of the dark woods, watching the branches of the trees flutter in the breeze. Snowflakes were flying through the sky before his very eyes, seemingly trying to lead him into the very direction the strange whisper had come from. Without waiting any longer and without determining what it was, the soldier sat his foot on the darker parts of the woods, following the odd, indistinct sound.

Brushing the branches aside, the needles scratched his cold cheeks, but he kept on walking. The breeze came howling past his ears, the whisper of an unknown sound atop its wave. He was coming closer.