In a hunt for the enthusiast

The battlefield lay quiet now, except for the groans of the wounded and the muffled cries of the dying. Smoke curled in lazy tendrils from the remains of the shattered camp of the Blackwood Legion. Victory should have tasted sweet, but all I could taste was ash.

Lira approached, her steps unsteady but determined. The dirt and blood caked on her face made her look as much a ghost as a warrior. She surveyed the scene, her sharp eyes lingering on the dead commander at my feet.

"Is that it?" she asked, her voice rough with exhaustion.

"For now," I replied. "But she said something. about the Wraithwood."

Lira stiffened. "What did she say?"

I hesitated, as the woman's words had me still. You'll be consumed by it. Like all who dare trespass.

"

"She said it would consume us," I said, admitting. "Like it did to others. Whatever that means."

Lira's jaw snapped tight. "It means we must move faster. The longer we take, the worse it becomes."

I nodded, but a creeping unease seemed to spread inside my gut. Wraithwood was not a place-it was a presence. I felt it even before we crossed near its borders, that weight that pushed down the soul, the unnatural silence swallowing all sounds. Now, after all that we saw and did, we marched right into the heart of Wraithwood.

We regrouped as night fell, setting up camp at the edge of the field. The survivors of our force were few, and the cost of victory hung heavy over the air. Still, the fires burned bright, and Lira made sure the sentries were posted in disciplined ranks.

I sat by one of the smaller fires, staring into the flames. Across from me, Rykard, our scout, sharpened his dagger with methodical precision. He broke the silence first.

"You've been quiet," he said without looking up. "Something on your mind?"

"The Wraithwood," I replied. "It's more than just a forest, isn't it?"

Rykard's hand stilled. He looked up, his face grim. "More than you know. The locals talk about it like it's alive. Hungry. They say the trees whisper and that shadows move where they shouldn't. If you listen too closely, you'll hear things you shouldn't hear. See things you shouldn't see."

I scowled. "And you? What do you believe?"

Rykard shrugged, then hesitated. "I believe in what I can see with my own eyes. But even I know better than to dismiss the stories outright-especially not after what we've seen."

The fire crackled between us, the sound so oddly sharp in the silence of night. I thought back at the commander's final words, venomous with which she had spoken of Wraithwood. Was it mere desperation; a last-ditch effort to unshackle us? Or was there really truth to her words?

Dawn was coming too fast, the light too pale for comfort. We trudged along ahead of the rising sun, our tired group moving forward into the dark shape of the forest that loomed ahead on the horizon.

The Wraithwood.

It seemed to grow larger as we approached, the trees like skeletal sentinels guarding its borders. The air grew colder, and the vibrant colors of the world seemed to drain away the closer we got. So that by the time we stood at its edge, the forest felt like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow us whole.

Lira stopped the column, her voice sharp as she barked orders. "Rykard, you're point. Keep in line of sight of the others. No one strays off. I don't care what you hear or think you see."

The men grumbled, but they did what she said. Lira turned to me, and I couldn't read anything in her face.

"Do you feel ready for this?" she asked.

"No," I said. "But we don't have an option."

She nodded, as if that was the answer she'd expected, then stepped forward, leading the way into the forest.

The Wraithwood swallowed us whole.

The light dimmed the moment we passed beneath the trees, whose canopy was so thick it blotted out the sun. The air was heavy, damp, and filled with a strange, cloying scent that reminded me of decay. Shadows danced at the edges of my vision, and the silence was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of our movements.

"Stay close," Lira whispered, her voice hardly above a whisper. "And keep your wits about you."

The path was narrow and winding, overgrown with roots and vines that seemed to shift when you weren't looking. Every step felt like an intrusion, as if the forest itself resented our presence.

And then the whispers began.

I thought at first it was my imagination: a faint murmur, too low to make out the words. But the whispers grew louder, weaving through the trees, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Do you hear that?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice trembling.

" Ignore it," Lira snapped. "It's just the forest playing tricks."

But it was more than that. The whispers weren't random. They were calling to us, pulling us deeper into the heart of the Wraithwood.

What lies ahead? The question gnawed at me as we pressed on, the trees closing in around us like the bars of a cage. And for the first time, I wondered if the commander's final words had been a warning—or a curse.