Blood of the Forgotten Gods

Whispers in the Woods

The forest outside Westwatch was unlike anything Dan had ever seen. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their thick trunks gnarled and twisted, reaching up to a sky that seemed unnaturally overcast, even though the sun was rising. A soft, eerie fog clung to the ground, swirling lazily around their boots as they moved, making it difficult to see more than a few paces ahead. The deeper they ventured into Zone Six, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as though the very air was holding its breath, waiting.

Dan's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his senses sharp and alert, but his thoughts were buzzing with a low hum of anxiety. Something felt off. The forest was too quiet. No birdsong, no rustling leaves, no signs of life. Just the soft crunch of the squad's boots against the forest floor, and the faint whisper of the wind through the trees.

He glanced over at Gareth and Tomas, who walked beside him in silence. Gareth's usual easygoing nature was gone, his face tight with concentration. Tomas, too, seemed on edge, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as if expecting something to leap out at them. Even the veterans, the ones who had been on these patrols before, looked unnerved, their faces set in hard lines as they scanned the surroundings.

Dan's heartbeat quickened. Was it just nerves? Or was there something more?

In front of them, Sergeant Vale signaled for the squad to halt. They stopped in a small clearing, the fog swirling around their feet, and gathered in a loose circle. Vale knelt down, tracing lines in the dirt with the tip of his dagger—a rough sketch of their current position and the path ahead.

"We'll split into two groups again," Vale said, his voice low but clear. "One group will circle around to the north, the other will take the southern route through the bracken." He paused, glancing up at the surrounding trees. "This area is known for its ambushes, so stay sharp. Bandits like to strike from the hills, using the high ground. They'll hit fast and disappear into the forest before we can regroup."

He pointed to the north. "We'll take that ridge first and scout it out. Once we've cleared the area, we'll move further into Zone Six."

Dan watched as Vale's finger traced the path along the map. The Bracken Hills were notorious for ambushes. The narrow trails, combined with the dense forest, made it nearly impossible to see an attack coming until it was too late. The terrain was rugged, full of steep inclines and blind corners—perfect for raiders to hide and wait.

"The strategy is the same as Corvin mentioned before," Vale continued, looking over the squad. "We signal with two horn blasts if we run into trouble. Three if we need to regroup immediately. Stick together, and don't stray off the path. We move as one."

There was a murmur of agreement, but the tension was unmistakable. Everyone felt it—the unease, the sense that something was lurking just beyond the edge of sight.

Vale stood, sheathing his dagger. "We'll head out in ten. Check your gear, stay close, and remember—this forest swallows those who get careless."

Dan nodded along with the others, but his mind was already racing. Stay close. Don't stray. Trust your squad. He repeated the sergeant's words in his head like a prayer. He glanced again at the forest around them, the thick fog twisting between the trees like ghostly tendrils. It wasn't just the fear of bandits that gnawed at him—it was the unknown, the unsettling feeling that there was more to this place than they could see.

As they began to move again, Dan found himself walking next to a grizzled veteran named Lyle, the same one who had warned them about the "shades" back in the barracks. The man had been silent for most of the journey, his eyes constantly scanning the trees, but now he spoke in a low voice, just loud enough for Dan to hear.