The days after their fireside confessions passed in quiet rhythm. The huts stood strong, the smokehouse carried the smell of preserved meat, and Sylvara's garden sprouted green shoots that curled hopefully toward the sun. Life, for a time, felt stable.
But stability has a way of revealing its cracks.
Kael noticed it first, as he always did. He stood before their storage hut one morning, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the bundles stacked neatly inside. "We're running thin."
Borgu squatted beside him, gnawing on a strip of dried boar. "Thin? No, meat thick!" He patted his own belly, which was, indeed, thickening from their recent feasts.
"Not you," Kael muttered, "the supplies. If we keep eating like this, we'll have a problem in two weeks' time."
Sylvara stepped out from her garden, brushing dirt from her hands. "I told you," she said, her tone matter-of-fact, "the land cannot feed us on stew and fire alone. Crops take time, herbs even longer. If you want to survive, you must hunt wisely and forage further afield."
Lorian, perched on a log sharpening a spear, grimaced. "Further afield… meaning deeper into the forest?"
Kael nodded. "The game near the river's already thinned out. We've been too visible. We'll need to push farther, maybe even beyond the foothills."
Borgu perked up. "Adventure, eh? Good! My axe is bored."
Sylvara sighed. "Of course it is."
They set out at dawn, the four of them armed and prepared. Kael led, steady and cautious, scanning for tracks. Borgu trudged beside him, carrying both his axe and a massive sack that he claimed was for "all the meat we bring home." Sylvara trailed just behind, bow slung across her shoulder, muttering about "reckless orcs and their appetites." Lorian kept the rear, eyes darting nervously to the treeline.
The forest grew wilder as they pressed on. Trees thickened, branches twisting like grasping hands. The air grew damp and heavy, carrying the musk of moss and the faint tang of something less pleasant.
"Smells wrong," Borgu muttered, sniffing the air. "Forest should smell like dirt and tree. This smell… blood."
Kael crouched, fingers brushing fresh tracks in the mud—hoofprints, but not like the deer they had seen before. Larger. Heavier.
"Boar?" Lorian asked.
Kael shook his head. "Too wide. Whatever it is, it's no ordinary prey."
Sylvara's ears twitched as she scanned the woods. "The animals here are different. Old. Twisted by something. We should be cautious."
Borgu grinned. "Good. Twisted beasts make tastier meat."
They moved deeper, silence settling in around them save for the crunch of boots and the occasional birdcall. Kael felt it first—the stillness. Too still. Forests had rhythm: rustling leaves, chittering squirrels, distant cries. Here, there was only silence, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Then came the sound.
A low rumble, like earth shifting beneath them. The underbrush trembled, and before Kael could raise his hand in warning, something burst from the thicket.
It was a beast unlike any Kael had seen—a stag, but corrupted. Its antlers jutted like jagged spears, blackened as if charred. Its eyes glowed faintly red, froth dripping from its maw. The thing pawed the earth, muscles twitching, then charged.
"Move!" Kael barked, shoving Lorian aside as the beast thundered past, splintering a tree trunk with its antlers.
Borgu roared in delight. "Ha! Finally, something worth swinging at!" He hefted his axe, meeting the creature head-on. Steel met horn with a ringing clash, sparks flying as the stag shoved him back a full step.
Sylvara loosed an arrow that sank into its flank, but the beast barely faltered. "It's corrupted," she shouted. "The forest's touch is on it—don't expect it to fall easily!"
Kael circled wide, spear in hand. "Lorian—hold your ground. Wait for an opening."
Lorian swallowed hard, his knuckles white around his spear, but he nodded.
The stag lunged again, antlers sweeping. Borgu ducked low, swinging his axe up in a brutal arc. The blade carved across its shoulder, blood spraying—but the wound smoked unnaturally, flesh knitting even as it staggered.
Sylvara cursed under her breath, drawing another arrow. "Its blood resists healing… and wounding."
"Then we keep hitting until it stops moving," Borgu growled, charging again.
Kael darted in from the side, spear thrusting into its ribs. This time the creature bellowed, thrashing wildly. One antler caught Kael's arm, ripping through leather and drawing blood. He grit his teeth, wrenching the spear free.
Lorian saw the opening. Heart hammering, he lunged, driving his spear toward the beast's exposed neck. The point pierced deep, and for a moment the creature froze—then bucked violently, snapping the shaft in two.
Lorian was thrown to the ground, breath knocked from his lungs.
The stag reared, hooves slamming dangerously close to his head.
Kael didn't think. He hurled himself forward, shield raised, catching the blow. The impact rattled his bones, but it bought Borgu the moment he needed.
With a roar that shook the clearing, the orc swung his axe in a two-handed strike that cleaved across the stag's throat. Flesh tore, bone cracked, and this time the wound did not close.
The beast gave a final, gurgling bellow before collapsing in a heap, the earth trembling beneath its weight.
For a long moment, none of them moved. Only their ragged breaths filled the silence.
Then Borgu planted his axe in the dirt, grinning ear to ear. "Now that's dinner!"
Sylvara shot him a look, though her bow trembled slightly in her hands. "Idiot. That thing was tainted. Its meat may poison us."
Borgu's grin faltered. "…Not dinner?"
Kael sank to a knee, clutching his bleeding arm. "Not dinner," he muttered. His gaze drifted over the beast's twisted form, and unease settled in his gut. "But a warning."
Sylvara knelt beside the carcass, her fingers brushing its blackened blood. "The corruption runs deep. This forest isn't ordinary. Something stirs here—something that warps even nature itself."
Lorian, still catching his breath, pushed himself upright. "Then… we shouldn't be here?"
Kael shook his head slowly. "No. We need to be here. If this corruption spreads, it won't stop at the forest's edge. Better we learn what we can now, before it reaches us unprepared."
Sylvara's eyes narrowed, but she didn't argue.
They set about their grim work. Borgu hacked away the antlers, declaring them trophies. Sylvara gathered what herbs she could find nearby, muttering about protective charms. Kael wrapped his arm, silent but watchful.
Lorian lingered by the beast, staring at the broken shaft of his spear still lodged in its throat. His hands trembled, not entirely from fear.
He had struck true. He had helped.
And yet, he couldn't shake the memory of those glowing red eyes.
The journey back was quieter. No one joked, not even Borgu. The forest seemed heavier now, shadows pressing closer, as though the trees whispered secrets they weren't meant to hear.
When they finally broke into the clearing of their camp, Kael exhaled slowly, as if shedding a weight. He turned to the others, his expression firm.
"We'll need more than huts and gardens to survive here," he said. "This land isn't tame. And it won't let us forget it."
Borgu grunted, tossing the antlers down beside the fire. "Good. I like land that fights back."
Sylvara gave him a sharp look, but her eyes betrayed unease. "Enjoy your battles, orc. But remember—some wars cannot be won with axes alone."
Lorian remained silent, but his gaze lingered on the treeline, where the shadows seemed deeper than before.
That night, as they sat around the fire, the antlers loomed beside them—black, jagged, a reminder of what they had faced.
Kael stared into the flames, his mind turning not to war banners or kings, but to something far more unsettling.
If even the beasts of the forest were twisted… what else waited in the dark?