Rui and Ran descended the creaking steps of Granny Gloam's hut, the swamp's miasma enveloping them once more.
The phosphorescent fungi cast eerie shadows across their path as they ventured deeper into the murky wilderness.
"Three twisted cypresses," Ran murmured, scanning the horizon.
His jade aura provided a gentle glow, illuminating their way through the thick fog.
Rui's fingers brushed against the pouch of crushed bog-fireflies at her waist. "I wonder if we should trust her."
"We have little choice," Ran replied, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. "Besides, her concern for the villagers seemed genuine."
They trudged through ankle-deep water, each step producing a wet, sludging sound.
Strange calls echoed through the trees—some like laughter, others like weeping.
After nearly an hour, they spotted them—three massive cypress trees twisted together in an unnatural embrace, their trunks forming what looked disturbingly like faces frozen in silent screams.
