Liora woke before dawn, though she hadn't truly slept. Shadows still clung to the corners of her small room, and the embers in the hearth had long since gone cold. She lay on her back, eyes open, watching the ceiling beams disappear into darkness, listening for sounds outside her window. Every creak of the wooden walls, every sigh of the wind, set her heart on edge.
The howl she'd heard last night hadn't been a dream.
She sat up slowly, pulling the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her boots were still damp from the marsh crossing, sitting by the hearth in a sorry heap. Mud streaked the floorboards where she'd stumbled in half-frozen. Her father hadn't woken; the pain in his leg kept him deep in his draught-induced sleep. She was glad for that. If he'd known she'd been in the marsh after dark, he would have chained the door shut himself.
The memory of the Beast—the shifting outline, the woman's eyes within it—lingered like smoke in her lungs. She couldn't shake it. The creature hadn't just been watching her; it had recognized her. Somehow, in that instant, something had passed between them.
She rose, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and lit a single candle. Its weak flame pushed back the shadows just enough to make the room feel less like a trap.
At the wooden table near the window, her grandmother's journal lay open. She had found it years ago, tucked beneath the loose floorboard, its leather cracked and pages yellowed with time. She'd read it in secret—nights when storms rattled the shutters and she felt the weight of old stories pressing on her chest.
She turned to a page she had read many times, now with new urgency. The entry was written in faded ink, but the words were still clear:
"…the Shape-Walkers return with the turning fog. It is said they are not born of beast nor woman, but of a binding between the two—a curse placed by betrayed hands. The Marsh Beast was once human, a woman whose sorrow was greater than any blade. They say she lingers still, trapped in the shifting form, waiting for one who can see her through the fog…"
Liora traced the lines with her fingertip. She had thought it a tale meant to frighten children. But she had seen that face last night. Pale. Eyes burning with something that wasn't animal rage but human desperation.
And the stranger—who were they? How had they appeared with such power, driving the Beast back like an unruly hound?
Her candle flickered as a soft knock sounded at the door.
She froze. Who would come this early?
The knock came again—three slow taps.
She slipped her knife from beneath the pillow and padded to the door. "Who is it?"
A low voice answered, muffled but firm. "The marsh sends its greetings."
Liora frowned. It wasn't a phrase she recognized. She cracked the door open slightly.
The stranger from the marsh stood outside, hood thrown back now to reveal sharp features—a face carved with quiet severity, and eyes that glimmered faintly even in the half-light of dawn. Their cloak was damp with mist, boots stained with mud.
"You," she whispered.
"Let me in," the stranger said. "Before someone sees."
She hesitated for only a heartbeat, then opened the door wider. The stranger entered without ceremony, shutting it behind them.
"Do you make a habit of knocking on strangers' doors before sunrise?" she asked.
"Do you make a habit of walking through cursed marshes at midnight?" they countered.
Liora folded her arms. "I didn't have a choice."
"Few who meet the Beast do."
The stranger crossed to the hearth, knelt, and coaxed the embers back to life with practiced ease. The fire flared, casting their features in sharp relief: dark hair streaked with silver at the temples, a faint scar down the right cheek, eyes the color of storm clouds.
"Who are you?" she asked finally.
They didn't look at her. "Call me Corren. I'm a Warden."
"A what?"
Corren straightened. "A keeper of old bindings. A hunter of what slips between shapes. The Beast you saw is not just a creature. It is a curse that walks. And it has been waking for weeks."
Liora's heart thudded. "You mean it's been here before?"
Corren nodded. "Long ago. And each time it wakes, it grows hungrier. Stronger. It takes something from this place."
She thought of the stories—the missing shepherds, the livestock found torn but not eaten. "Why me? It followed me."
Corren fixed her with a look that made her skin prickle. "Because you saw it clearly. Few can. Most see only shadow, a blur in the fog. But you saw the woman beneath. That means you're tied to this."
Liora took a step back. "Tied? No. I just walked home late."
"You were chosen the moment you saw its shape," Corren said, voice soft but firm. "The curse recognizes those who can unbind it. Or those it wants to claim."
A chill slid through her veins. "Claim?"
They didn't answer immediately. Instead, Corren reached into their cloak and drew out a small, circular charm etched with runes that pulsed faintly blue—the same glow she'd seen in the marsh. "Keep this with you. It will keep the Beast from crossing your threshold. For a while."
She hesitated, then took it. The metal was cool against her palm. "Why help me?"
"Because if it chooses you as its next host," Corren said quietly, "it won't just haunt the marsh. It will walk into your village wearing your skin."
By the time the sun rose over the hills, golden light spilling across the thatched rooftops, Liora's world had changed. Corren stayed only long enough to outline the danger. The Beast's curse, they explained, was bound to the land—tied to a betrayal that had taken place centuries ago. Every few generations, when the marsh fog thickened and certain signs appeared, the Beast's shape returned.
"This time, something's different," Corren said before leaving. "It's moving closer to the village faster than before. If you value your people, stay watchful. And don't stray near the marsh again."
Liora watched them disappear down the road toward the old boundary stones. She had a feeling she'd see them again soon.
The village buzzed with morning chatter as she made her way to Mira's hut to deliver the herbs. Children ran past with baskets; fishermen prepared their nets by the river; the baker's chimney puffed warm smoke into the crisp air. But beneath the ordinary rhythms, whispers rippled like an undercurrent.
"Another sheep found this morning," a man muttered to his companion.
"Ripped open clean down the middle," the other replied, crossing himself. "Fog's bad luck this time of year."
Liora kept walking, but her stomach tightened. The Beast wasn't waiting in the marsh anymore. It was circling.
Mira, the village herbalist, greeted her with her usual sharp eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost, girl," she said.
"Something like that," Liora muttered, handing over the pouch of herbs.
Mira leaned closer. "You were out late last night. The marsh sings differently on fog nights. You'd best keep inside."
Liora met her gaze. "Mira… the stories. About the Beast. Are they true?"
The older woman went still. For a moment, the usual wryness in her eyes disappeared. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I saw it."
Mira's grip on the herb pouch tightened. "Then the old curse has woken." She crossed herself again. "The last time, a girl was taken. They never found her body—only her shadow in the fog."
Liora shivered.
"Stay close to home," Mira said, her voice low. "And if the marsh calls your name, don't answer."
That night, the fog returned. Thicker. Heavier. It pressed against windows like a living thing.
Liora sat by the fire, clutching the rune charm Corren had given her. She tried to focus on mending clothes, but her needle slipped again and again. The sounds outside were different tonight—not the usual creak of trees or distant owls. There was a rhythm to them. A slow, deliberate pacing.
Then—softly, like a sigh through the door—came a voice.
"Liora…"
Her blood froze.
The voice was female. Gentle. Almost pleading.
"Liora… help me…"
She rose slowly, knife in one hand, charm in the other. She knew that voice. She had heard it in the Beast's eyes.
"Open the door, Liora…"
The candlelight dimmed as the fog thickened against the door. The rune charm grew warm in her palm, its glow faint but steady.
She stepped closer. "Who are you?" she whispered.
A pause. Then, through the wood: "I am what you saw."
Her heart pounded. She wanted to fling the door open, to see the woman's face fully—not blurred, not caught in the Beast's form. But something deep in her bones warned her: the fog lies.
The voice grew softer. "Please. I'm trapped. You can set me free."
Liora's hand hovered over the latch.
Then, from somewhere in the distance, a sharp sound split the night—a horn. Corren's horn.
The fog hissed like water on hot iron. The voice changed, slipping into a low growl. Claws scraped across the door. The rune flared bright blue, and the Beast roared in fury.
Liora staggered back as the door shuddered under the impact. Once. Twice. Then silence.
When she dared to peek out the window, she saw nothing but fog.
But she knew one thing for certain now: the Beast wanted her. And the woman inside it was reaching out.