The forest changed as night deepened.
It did not happen all at once. There was no single moment where the men could point and say, this is where it went wrong. Instead, the shift crept in slowly, like cold seeping through leather boots, unnoticed until it reached bone.
The trees grew denser, their trunks crowding closer together, their branches weaving overhead until the moonlight fractured into thin, broken lines. Snow clung to every surface, yet it shimmered strangely now, reflecting light too sharply, as if each crystal were watching them in return.
Chris moved at the front, his steps measured, controlled. His axe rested low in his hand, blade angled just enough to catch the moon's glow. His breath steamed steadily, though his chest felt tight, as if the air itself resisted being drawn in.
Behind him, the others followed in silence.
No laughter remained. No idle remarks. Even the soft clink of armor had faded, each man now careful with every step. Cloaks brushed against tree bark, leaving faint trails in the frost. Fingers numbed around spear shafts and axe handles, grip tightening again and again to remind themselves they were still there.
The forest listened.
Chris felt it with every step.
He slowed, then lifted a clenched fist.
The men stopped instantly.
Snow settled around them, whisper-soft. Somewhere far above, a branch shifted under its own weight, shedding powder that drifted down like pale ash.
Chris tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded.
He listened.
Not just with his ears.
There was a sound beneath the silence, subtle and wrong. Not a voice, not truly. More like pressure. Like breath drawn through bark and root. The trees leaned inward, their trunks groaning faintly as if stretching toward the intruders.
One of the men swallowed hard. "Do you hear that?" he asked quietly, his voice strained, as though forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Chris did not answer.
He crouched and pressed his gloved palm against the snow-covered ground. The cold bit instantly, sharp enough to sting through leather. Beneath it, he felt vibration. Not movement, exactly. More like anticipation.
Something was waiting.
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, catching moonlight as they fell. They sparkled unnaturally now, each flake gleaming too bright, too sharp, as if the night itself had polished them for display. The men noticed it too. Their eyes followed the falling crystals, unease crawling across their faces.
"This place…" another murmured, his voice barely louder than breath. "It doesn't feel right."
Chris rose slowly.
His gaze swept the trees, the shadows pooled between roots, the darkness layered so thick it felt solid. Shapes shifted at the edges of his vision. When he focused on them, they vanished. When he looked away, they returned.
The forest was playing with them.
He gestured forward with two fingers.
They moved again, slower now, spacing out just enough to see one another through the trees. Snow crunched softly beneath boots, each step sounding too loud in Chris's ears. His senses stretched thin, sharpened to a painful edge.
The whispers grew clearer.
Not words. Never words. A susurration that crawled along his spine, slid beneath his skin. The sound of countless things brushing past one another. Leaves that were not there. Roots shifting in frozen soil. A thousand unseen mouths breathing in unison.
Chris clenched his jaw.
He had felt this before.
On battlefields just before the charge. In burning villages moments before screams erupted. In the split second before steel met flesh.
The world was holding its breath.
A shadow moved to their left.
One of the men spun, spear snapping up, breath hitching. "There," he said sharply, eyes wide.
Chris followed his gaze.
Nothing.
Just trees. Snow. Darkness.
"Easy," Chris said quietly, his voice steady but low. "Don't let it pull you apart."
The man nodded, though fear still glimmered in his eyes. Sweat beaded along his brow despite the cold, already freezing into tiny crystals.
They pressed on.
The ground sloped downward, roots twisting beneath the snow like buried serpents. Chris adjusted his footing instinctively, muscles responding without thought. He could feel the terrain through his boots, every rise and dip, every hidden hazard.
The others struggled more. One stumbled, catching himself on a tree trunk with a sharp intake of breath. The sound echoed longer than it should have, rippling outward through the forest.
The whispers surged.
Chris turned sharply, axe lifting as his eyes snapped toward the sound's origin. Shadows recoiled, then flowed back into place, thicker than before.
"Stay close," he said firmly, scanning the dark. "This forest feeds on fear."
Another man leaned closer to him, voice trembling despite his effort to keep it steady. "Do you feel it, Chris?" he asked. "Something's wrong."
Chris met his gaze.
For a moment, he considered lying.
Then he shook his head once. "Yes," he said simply. "I feel it."
The honesty seemed to steady them more than false comfort would have.
They reached a narrow ravine where the trees thinned slightly, revealing a ribbon of moonlight cutting across the snow. The air here was colder, sharper, biting through layers of fur and wool. Frost coated the rocks, turning them into jagged teeth.
Chris stepped down first, boots sliding slightly before finding purchase. He moved with care, testing each step. The others followed, one by one, eyes never leaving the shadows above.
Halfway across, Chris froze.
The whispers stopped.
Not faded.
Stopped.
The sudden silence was deafening.
His heart hammered once, heavy and slow.
He raised his hand again.
The men halted mid-step, breaths held, eyes darting wildly.
Then the shadows moved.
Not like before. Not slipping or flickering.
They leaned.
Trees bent inward, branches creaking softly as snow slid from them in slow cascades. The moonlight dimmed, swallowed by darkness that thickened until the ravine felt like a closed throat.
Yellow eyes opened in the gloom.
Not dozens this time.
Hundreds.
They glimmered at every level, low among the roots, high between branches, watching from angles that made no sense. Some blinked. Some did not. All of them focused on the men.
One of the hunters whimpered, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. His breath came fast and shallow, fogging the air.
Chris felt the fire beneath his skin stir violently, answering the threat. His vision sharpened, colors intensifying, edges burning bright. The snow was no longer white. It was a spectrum of shadows and light, every disturbance screaming for attention.
He took a step forward.
The eyes shifted, tracking him.
"Hold," Chris said, voice low but iron-hard. "Whatever you see, do not break formation."
A shape detached itself from the darkness.
Then another.
Then several more.
They did not rush. They stalked forward slowly, deliberately, massive forms emerging into moonlight. Wolves, but again, wrong. Their bodies were too large, too thick with muscle. Fur hung in matted clumps, streaked with old blood. Their breaths steamed heavily, each exhale carrying the stench of rot and hunger.
Snow crunched beneath their paws, the sound measured, confident.
One wolf stepped fully into the light.
It was enormous. Its shoulders reached nearly to a man's chest. Scars crisscrossed its hide, some old, some still raw. Its eyes burned with a sickly intelligence that set Chris's teeth on edge.
It lowered its head slightly, lips peeling back to reveal yellowed fangs.
The men tightened their grips on weapons. One whispered a prayer under his breath. Another swallowed hard, sweat freezing along his temples.
Chris did not move.
He stared back at the beast, unblinking.
The whispers returned, rushing through the trees, louder now, urgent. They pressed against his skull, slid through his veins. His heart beat slower, heavier, each thud echoing through his body like a drum.
The wolf tilted its head.
For a heartbeat, the world hung suspended between motion and violence.
Then the snow behind them exploded.
A massive shape burst from the shadows, slamming into the last man in the line. He screamed as he was knocked off his feet, dragged backward into darkness, claws tearing into flesh.
Chaos erupted.
Steel flashed. Shouts rang out. Snow sprayed into the air, stained red almost instantly.
Chris roared and charged.
He met the first wolf head-on, axe swinging in a brutal arc. The blade bit deep into bone and sinew, splitting the creature's skull with a wet crack. It collapsed at his feet, blood steaming against the snow.
Another lunged.
Chris pivoted, muscles screaming as he brought the axe up just in time. Teeth scraped against steel, sparks flying. The force of the impact sent a jolt through his arms, rattling his bones.
Around him, the men fought desperately. Spears thrust. Axes rose and fell. Cries of pain cut through the night as wolves closed in from every direction.
The forest howled.
Not the wolves.
The forest itself.
Branches creaked and snapped as if straining to join the slaughter. Shadows writhed along the ground, tangling around legs, pulling at cloaks. Snow seemed to rise in swirling curtains, blinding, disorienting.
Chris felt something inside him tear loose.
The fire surged.
His senses exploded outward, every sound, every movement burning bright. He moved faster now, stronger. His axe became an extension of his will, carving through flesh and bone with terrifying precision.
A wolf leapt for his throat.
He caught it mid-air, fingers sinking into its fur, and slammed it into a tree with a force that cracked bark. The beast shrieked as ribs shattered. Chris buried his blade in its chest and ripped it free in a spray of blood.
But they kept coming.
Too many.
Always too many.
A spear snapped. A scream cut off abruptly. Another man fell, dragged beneath a tangle of fur and fangs. The snow churned beneath them, blackened and slick.
Chris fought his way toward the sounds of his companions, rage driving him forward. He hacked through a wolf's leg, sending it crashing down, then split another's spine as it turned.
Pain flared suddenly across his back.
Claws raked deep, tearing through leather and flesh. Chris snarled, spinning as white-hot agony tore through him. He drove his axe backward blindly, feeling resistance, then a sickening crunch.
The wolf collapsed behind him.
Chris staggered, breath coming hard now, blood soaking into his cloak, freezing almost instantly. His vision wavered, the edges darkening.
He dropped to one knee, axe planted in the snow to steady himself.
Around him, the battle faltered.
Bodies lay scattered, torn and broken. Wolves lay dead as well, their massive forms littering the clearing. But movement still flickered in the shadows. Eyes still watched.
The whispers rose to a deafening roar.
Chris forced himself to stand.
He lifted his head, blood dripping from his beard onto the snow.
The forest leaned in closer.
And somewhere deep within him, something ancient and patient stirred, listening to the call of the trees, answering the whisper that promised blood, power, and something far worse than death.