Blood of the Forgotten Gods

Echoes of the Fog

The air in Zone Six was thick with fog, rolling in and out like the slow exhale of a slumbering beast. The forest, twisted and overgrown, was shrouded in a quiet so absolute that it felt unnatural. Each step Dan took seemed muffled, as if the very ground beneath their feet was swallowing the sound. It was the kind of silence that pressed in on you, making every rustle of cloth or click of a sword hilt feel too loud.

Dan, walking near the middle of the patrol, kept his gaze fixed ahead. His eyes scanned the dark shapes of trees, their gnarled trunks contorted into shapes that seemed almost deliberate, like frozen sentinels watching their progress. The weight of the silence sat heavy in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm, to focus. This was just another patrol. Nothing had happened yet.

Beside him, Gareth and Tomas moved with the same wariness. Gareth, usually full of quips, had been unusually quiet, his jaw set tight as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. Tomas' hand never left the hilt of his sword, his movements slow and deliberate. The tension was palpable among the entire squad, but no one said anything. There was nothing to say.

Ahead, Sergeant Vale led them with steady purpose, his body language giving nothing away. Dan admired that about him. Vale never seemed shaken, no matter how eerie the surroundings, no matter how thick the fog. His sharp eyes remained fixed forward, cutting through the haze like a predator stalking unseen prey.

They had been walking for what felt like hours, navigating the uneven terrain of the Bracken Hills, a notorious part of Zone Six known for its ambush points. The patrol followed the winding paths that wove between dense undergrowth and rocky outcrops. The trees seemed to huddle closer together here, their branches hanging low as if trying to hide something deeper within the fog.

Dan couldn't shake the sensation that something was just beyond the reach of his senses. Not a sound, not a shadow, but an instinct—an awareness of being observed, though by what, he couldn't say. He kept his breathing steady, but his mind kept drifting back to the stories the veterans whispered around the fires at night—about shades and things older than bandits.

"Cursed woods," Tomas had muttered earlier. "You feel it, don't you?"

Dan hadn't responded. It wasn't the time for ghost stories.

A sharp gesture from Vale brought the patrol to a halt. The squad froze, instinctively lowering themselves, weapons at the ready. Dan crouched beside Gareth, his eyes scanning the thick fog that swirled around them. Vale knelt near a cluster of rocks, motioning for silence. He was listening—everyone was.

Silence.

It wasn't the absence of noise that made Dan uneasy—it was how complete the silence was. Even the wind seemed to have died, leaving the world unnaturally still.

After a few moments, Vale signaled for them to continue. Dan stood, his legs aching from the tension, and they moved forward again, deeper into the woods.

They reached a small clearing, barely wide enough for all of them to stand without brushing against the low branches of the surrounding trees. Vale stopped again, his face still unreadable, but there was something in his posture—something even Dan, standing a few paces behind, could sense. A kind of cautious stillness, as if the sergeant was waiting for something that hadn't yet revealed itself.

The squad dispersed slightly, taking positions around the edges of the clearing, each soldier maintaining a clear line of sight. Dan leaned against a moss-covered boulder, his muscles finally relaxing, if only for a moment. Gareth, beside him, let out a slow breath.