As soon as the sun rose, the squad began to stir.

  I’d spent the entire night on my feet, circling the perimeter and trying to sort through the chaos in my own head.

  Madeline had barely slept either. By morning, she’d managed to stitch everyone’s gear back together as much as possible.

  The medicine we’d brought had worked wonders overnight. Minor cuts and bruises had all but disappeared, and the more serious wounds had closed up enough for us to move again.

  We packed quickly, dragged the corpses out of the river, stacked them away from the water, and continued toward the swamp.

  Back at the spot where we’d fled to the bridge, we began sweeping the area. We checked beneath every stone, inspected every patch of dirt, but after more than an hour of searching—nothing. Not a trace.

  “Kris, you sure there’s anything here?” Marcus muttered, kicking mud off his boot.

  Kristin narrowed her eyes.

  “Keep searching.”

  She wasn’t the type to give up easily.

  “Do another sweep along the outer edge—further from the swamp!”

  Without a word, the group split up again.

  Madeline kept pressing her ear to the ground, then straightened to listen for any shifts in sound. I could hear her steady breathing, filtering out the noise.

  We moved farther south, toward the direction the scholars and the temple wardens were supposed to have come from.

  “Over here!” Heles’s voice sliced through the silence. “Kristin! I found something!”

  We rushed over.

  Heles was holding what was left of a torn journal — bloated with water, edges ripped, stained with dried blood.

  Its owner had likely tried to use it to shield themselves.

  “Search the area!” Kristin barked as she flipped through the muddied pages, trying to make sense of the washed-out ink.

  “There might be another piece… even a scrap. Anything could help.”

  ***

  We scoured the area, but there wasn’t a single additional scrap of parchment. The only small relief — no damned flesh-eaters in sight. But that didn’t make the situation any less unsettling.

  “There’s a note… Damn it! All the dates are smeared!” Kristin leaned in closer to the fire, trying to decipher the words on the filthy paper.

  “Flesh-eaters aren’t just corpses raised from graves.”

  Her voice was tense.

  We all held our breath at that.

  “The scholars think they’re entirely made from magic. And controlled by it.”

  A chill crawled down my spine.

  “There’s also a mention of… some kind of gateway to the beyond.”

  Kristin turned the notebook toward us, revealing a hastily drawn sketch — a strangely shaped rock covered in runes. At its center — a hole, blackened with ink.

  “And there’s mention of a letter…” Kristin narrowed her eyes.

  “The owner got it from some Professor Heinemann. The same stone is described in it.”

  Would’ve been easier to write this off as nonsense. But deep down, something said otherwise.

  Just as we all looked up from the journal, Madeline’s voice came from behind:

  “I hear a vibration.”

  She was kneeling, her head tilted, listening.

  “Like two stone slabs grinding together.” Her fingers curled into fists. “The hum’s coming from the center of the swamp.”

  The group stirred.

  “You sure?” Kristin asked, skeptical.

  Madeline raised an eyebrow slowly.

  “Captain, maybe spend more time thinking how to get us there than doubting my ears.”

  We started throwing out ideas.

  Garrel, of course, offered his usual brilliance:

  “What if we just swim across?”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He got a string of curses and a solid punch to the shoulder from Kristin in return.

  “Perfect. That’s just what I needed for my morning soak — poisoned muck and meat-hungry corpses.” She rolled her eyes.

  Elos scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “We did cross those thickets earlier by dropping a tree…”

  “But there are no tall trees here,” Marcus reminded him.

  “And dragging one all the way here wouldn’t be ideal,” I added.

  Heles raised a hand.

  “What if we loop around?”

  Everyone turned to her.

  “We take a couple throwing knives — untempered ones — bend the blades. Bind them tight. Feed a rope through the holes in the handles.”

  She held up two fingers to emphasize.

  “If we aim carefully, we could hook them to the branches and use them to cross.”

  The wardens exchanged glances.

  Kristin’s eyes gleamed with dangerous excitement.

  “You’re suggesting we crawl over the swamp on ropes?” Garrel clarified.

  “That’s exactly what she’s suggesting,” Elos said with a grin, eyeing Garrel’s bulk.

  “But you, big guy, might snap that rope with your pinky toe.”

  Garrel puffed up, not insulted — more like trying to prove him wrong.

  Madeline snorted quietly.

  Kristin tossed the notebook into her belt pouch and stood abruptly.

  “Well then. Let’s try it.”

  She clamped both hands over Garrel and Elos’s mouths mid-argument and grinned like a lunatic.

  “Hel, get Gar some blades — let him start bending. Hop to it!”

  Her eyes were lit with wild determination.

  “Time to test your theory, dear friend.”

  Then her gaze locked on me.

  “If the air path holds, then Elos, Marcus, and your bony ass are taking the first swing.”

  A ripple of chuckles passed through the group.

  I opened my mouth to shoot back something clever, but Kristin beat me to it — brow furrowed, a pointed “shut up and get to work” gesture, and a wicked grin that shut me up instantly.

  ***

  In just a few minutes, the makeshift hook with rope was ready.

  Garrel, wearing the expression of a hero who had singlehandedly defeated two armies, solemnly handed it to Kristin.

  Kris took one end of the rope and tossed it to Elos, who was already perched in a nearby tree. He caught it midair and tied it securely around the thick trunk.

  The captain loosened her wrists, rolled her shoulders, then hurled the hook with full force toward a twisted tree about fifty paces away.

  The hook spun a few times around a crooked branch and held.

  A moment of tense silence.

  Kris bounced on the spot, grinned like a little devil, and burst out:

  “HELL YES!”

  We all cracked up, barely staying on our feet.

  “Captain, my congratulations!” Marcus bowed, like a knight before his queen.

  Kris gave a theatrical bow in return. “Thank you, thank you. Alright, knock it off with the jokes!”

  She clapped her hands. “Well? Who wants to be the first to try getting to the other side?”

  “I’ll go. Pretty sure I’m the heaviest of the three of us,” Marcus volunteered. “If it holds me, it’ll definitely hold those two skeletons.”

  Kris gave him an approving nod.

  Marcus climbed up the tree, grabbed the rope, and pushed off. He dangled midair, swaying about half his height above the ground.

  Elos, still perched on the branch, squinted mischievously and gave the rope a little shake.

  I hadn’t heard swearing that colorful since the darkest dive bars in Hideout, where every night meant booze, dancing, and broken noses.

  Elos nearly fell out of the tree laughing as he climbed down.

  “It’s holding fine! You’re good!” he cackled.

  Marcus waved a fist in the air. “I’ll show you ‘fine,’ you godsdamn idiot!”

  “Go together,” Elos said, wiping away a tear of laughter. “The stench is really getting to me.”

  “And it’ll be quicker this way. Don’t forget you’ll be breathing in all that poison the whole time. Who knows what it does to you?”

  Heles nodded. “Sure, one at a time is faster, but two gives you a fighting chance if something nasty pops out.”

  We decided I’d go with Marcus. The captain wished us luck.

  At that moment, Madeline, standing nearby, lightly touched my shoulder. Her voice was quiet but firm:

  “Be careful.”

  I was surprised. And even more — strangely glad.

  I gently took her by the elbow and leaned in a little.

  “I’ll try.”

  Kris noticed and gave me a sly wink. I responded with a mock scowl. But deep down, I felt a bit steadier. That brief moment of closeness gave me the spark I needed.

  We tied cloth over our noses and mouths to filter the toxic air and carefully climbed to the tree with the hook.

  After crossing the rope, the wardens on the far side untied it, preparing the next segment.

  We hadn’t thought through all the details — the rope slapped into the swamp below with a heavy splash.

  From there, we had to crawl across a wet, slippery line.

  ***

  Breathing became ragged.

  The fumes burned our lungs, pulses throbbed in our temples, and our vision began to blur.

  “Gods, this stinks…” Marcus muttered, pressing his sleeve over his mouth.

  And then—up ahead—a patch of solid ground appeared.

  “No way…” Marcus shook his head, glancing around again. “We’re not imagining this, right?”

  Within minutes, we were standing on firm soil. The air here was clearer, and strangely enough—no fog.

  Ruins lay before us.

  Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “A crypt.”

  He said it like he’d just seen his own grave.

  I slowly ran my hand across the weathered symbols carved into the stone.

  “Definitely a crypt. But what the hell is it doing out here?”

  Marcus touched the wall; his fingers left tracks in the moss.

  “And why is there no fog here?”

  The tension between us thickened, like the very air was growing heavier.

  “Not that I’m complaining about being able to breathe,” Marcus muttered, rubbing his nose like he was trying to gather his thoughts. “But this is... wrong.”

  I nodded slowly. “Agreed, friend. Let’s look around.”

  Before us stood the ruins of a dark elven crypt. I immediately noticed remnants of carvings on the arch—ancient elvish symbols I’d seen before in letters.

  The stone walls were nearly collapsed, wrapped in a thick layer of moss. Broken columns lay scattered across the ground, once towering and proud. The entrance was blocked by rubble and earth, but with some effort, we could squeeze through.

  A bone-chilling cold drifted out from inside. The darkness within stirred—like it was breathing.

  I flinched.

  “You do realize we have to go in there, right?” I asked Marcus.

  He grimaced but nodded. We approached the entrance and were about to start clearing the debris...

  A scream!

  Sharp.

  And terrifyingly familiar.

  In that same instant, something burst from the darkness. A flesh-eater lunged from the crypt like an arrow loosed from a bow. Its bony claws sliced past my face, missing by inches.

  Marcus reacted instantly—took its head off with a single clean strike.

  I barely managed to catch its twitching body by the forearm.

  Rotting flesh squished under my fingers with a sickening, wet crunch. My stomach twisted. I jumped back, wiping my hands on my trousers.

  “So... what other horrors are waiting for us here?” I muttered.

  Marcus hurled the creature’s head into the muck and just swore.

  “Don’t even wanna think about it.”

  definitely off.

  What do you think they’ll find inside?

  Drop your guesses in the comments — I’m reading every single one.