The Division’s briefing hall was bustling, with slayers milling about in groups or solitary focus as quest slips were snatched from the board. Metal clinks of armor and murmured strategy talks echoed in the familiar space. Velos stood near the edge of the room, his fingers gripping the quest slip as he watched Sterling weave through the crowd to meet him.

  Sterling arrived with his usual casual air, though his eyes scanned the slip in Velos’s hand before saying a word. “Alright,” he drawled, “what’s our next scheme?”

  Velos handed him the paper. “Misthollow Swamps,” he began. “Big wetlands territory near the Eastern Bharu border. Dangerous terrain, low visibility thanks to constant fog, and who knows what else lurking in there. But it’s important—damaged caravans, missing people, and disrupted trade routes don’t just get ignored.”

  Sterling skimmed the slip. “That’s a lot of ground to cover for an investigation. Sounds more like something for a team of four, not two rookies barely hanging onto their one-mark status.”

  Velos nodded. “True. But this isn’t about covering every inch. Our job’s to confirm the source of the disturbances, not deal with the monster directly—at least not unless we have to.”

  Sterling glanced up. “We don’t even know what the monster is. Might be something miles above our pay.”

  Velos stood firm. “The Division didn’t prioritize this quest. If they thought it was deadly, they would’ve assigned it to someone higher-ranked. Besides, we have another edge now—gear. One-marks like us should have access to better equipment. Healing elixirs, tougher armor… it could make all the difference.”

  Sterling tilted his head, considering. “Alright. We can check out the armory and see what they’ve got. What about you?”

  “I’ll hit the archives,” Velos replied. “The swamps aren’t exactly famous for hospitality. If we’re walking in blind, I want at least some idea of what’s out there. Dangerous flora, fauna, anything that could be causing this damage.”

  Sterling’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, then he handed back the slip. “You sound like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Not quite,” Velos admitted. “There’s one more thing. The money.”

  Sterling raised an eyebrow. “We’re splitting it?”

  Velos hesitated, biting his tongue, then plunged ahead. “If things get dicey, we might need someone who knows the area better. I heard of a fresh one-mark—Pyakar Angbawa. Heard of her?”

  Sterling shrugged. “Vaguely. What about her?”

  “She’s got a good reputation,” Velos said. “Solid instincts, good track record so far. If we can find her, she might be worth bringing in.”

  Sterling leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “And splitting the money three ways? You’ve got debt to clear, that’s not exactly ideal for you.”

  Velos exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know. But rushing into unknown territory underprepared is worse. If I have to stay in the half-offs longer, so be it. High-risk quests like this are my best shot at catching the higher-ups’ attention. I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

  Sterling scowled. “Optimistic. You really think the Division notices anything indebted slayers even do?”

  Velos’s jaw tightened. He knew for a fact that if he wanted to ascend through the ranks, his position isn't ideal. But he didn't want to resign himself to being forgotten. He glanced back to a piece of parchment that detailed the money he owes. Indebted or not, he'll make them notice.

  Across from him, Sterling leaned back on a creaking bench, arms crossed over his broad chest, an idea slipped into his mind and he turned to speak.

  "Hey, Velos," Sterling said.

  Velos blinked, glancing up from the parchment. "What?"

  Sterling tilted his head. "Entertain me for a bit. You know what people are saying about you?"

  Velos already knew. He pressed his lips and said nothing.

  Sterling continued. "Word is, your father’s some big-shot doctor. That true?"

  Velos exhaled through his nose. "So what if it is?"

  Sterling shrugged. "Means you’re sitting on a pile of coin somewhere. And yet here you are, racking up debt like the rest of those half-offs. So, tell me—why?"

  "Because I can’t."

  Sterling narrowed his eyes. "Can’t or won’t?"

  Velos clenched his jaw. "We’re not exactly on speaking terms."

  Sterling let out a low whistle. "Ah. So what, you piss him off? He tell you not to come home ‘til you bring back a wyvern’s head?"

  Velos’ grip tightened. It was almost laughable—if only it weren’t so painfully off the mark.

  He could’ve said something. Set the record straight. But that would mean explaining. That would mean trusting Sterling.

  He met Sterling’s gaze and leveled his voice. "Look. We all have our own skeletons. You take care of yours, I take care of mine. I don’t ask questions, and neither should you.”

  “Besides,” Velos let out a sigh before continuing. “We have a job to do."

  Sterling held his stare for a beat, then huffed and stood, his armor clanking with the movement. "Fine. I’ll find the girl. I think we should check out the armory together, anyway.”

  He chuckled, and spoke in a mocking tone. “You might have more to say on account of your medical expertise.” Sterling muttered under his breath as he went, "Damn nobles."

  —

  Velos stepped into the familiar dim of the archives, the scent of old parchment and ink clinging to the air as wooden shelves loomed high.

  A familiar figure stood behind the counter, rifling through a stack of reports. Derek, his former colleague, looked up from his work, adjusting his glasses. His usual stern, orderly appearance was slightly off—several strands of blonde hair stuck out awkwardly, and his sleeves were rolled up in a way that suggested more exasperation than comfort.

  "Velos Rendhal," Derek said, clearing his throat. "I thought you were too busy swinging swords at monsters to be caught dead near a book again."

  Velos smirked. "Derek. How’ve you been?"

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Derek exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Busy. You left, and suddenly no one wants to do the grunt work of an assistant archivist. Imagine that." He gestured vaguely at the scattered reports on his desk. "I swear, half the people in this Division don’t even know how to alphabetize."

  Velos noted the dark circles under Derek’s eyes. The man always kept himself tidy—seeing him even slightly disheveled was unusual. "You holding up alright?"

  Derek adjusted his glasses, scoffing. "I’m surviving. But let’s not waste time on my suffering. What brings the newly-minted one-mark slayer back to his old haunt?"

  "I got a quest near the Eastern Bharu Border, Misthollow wetlands. Figured I’d read up on the place before heading out."

  Derek frowned. "Wetlands? In Bharu? That doesn’t sound right. The region’s mostly dryland."

  "That’s what I thought," Velos said. "But it’s in the report."

  Derek tapped his fingers against the counter before realization dawned. "Ah. Must be the Widari connection. Widari’s tropical—dense forests, rivers, wetlands. If the Eastern Bharu Border touches Widari, that might explain it." He nodded to himself before motioning for Velos to follow. "Come on. You’ll want local reports from Widari as well. Might give you a better idea of what you’re dealing with."

  Velos followed him through the narrow aisles, past shelves stacked high with records bound in leather and twine. Derek stopped at a section marked South Antea - Widari & Bharu and ran a practiced hand across the spines before pulling out a few reports.

  "Start with these." He handed them over. "Recent monster sightings, environmental shifts, and anything that might hint at why there’s a wetland in what’s supposed to be arid land."

  Velos took the records, nodding. "Thanks, Derek."

  Derek waved a dismissive hand. "Just don’t die out there. I’d hate to be the one filing your obituary."

  Velos chuckled. "I’ll do my best."

  With an armful of reports, he made his way to a nearby reading desk, settling into the quiet hum of reading.

  As he flipped through the reports, he first found a summary of Widari’s local flora and fauna. Misthollow, as it turned out, was a thick swampland lush with vegetation and exotic herbs. The reports noted that few outposts had been established due to the lack of stable footing, and while large creatures weren’t common, the true dangers of the region came from its toxic environment. Many plants secreted aromas to attract insects for pollination—some of which were poisonous, with effects ranging from mild irritation to full paralysis. Knowing which plants were safe and which weren’t was crucial for survival. Velos frowned and took mental notes.

  As he continued reading, he found details on the local wildlife. A species called the Lakwasa—or "flatbed jumper"—was particularly notable. These large, flat-bodied aquatic fish buried themselves in the swamp sediment and detected vibrations in the water above them. When large birds perched nearby to feed, the Lakwasa would ambush them in a sudden leap. While not predatory towards humans, they had powerful jaws capable of tearing a man apart. More than one explorer had died after accidentally stepping on one.

  Velos cross-checked this information with his quest briefing. The report mentioned "unusual damage found on trees and other foliage—distinct wide gashes across the ground and collapsed tree trunks, but with no consistent pattern." The Lakwasa didn’t seem to be responsible for that. He continued looking for more terrestrial threats.

  One of the most common wyvern species, the Aevior, was also present in Misthollow. These green wyverns had serpent-like heads, split jaws connected by a thin membrane, and highly adaptive saliva with preservative properties. They could breathe fire, making them formidable predators. However, as Velos analyzed the damage described in his report, he realized that Aevior weren’t likely culprits either—their claws, jaws, and fire wouldn’t leave behind the wide gashes that had been reported.

  That meant the source of the damage was still unknown. If no records pointed to an existing threat, he’d have to figure it out himself on-site. Velos leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. It would be useful to recruit a specialist into his team, but for now, the mystery was his to solve.

  He clicked his tongue in frustration. He’d have to inspect the damage himself when he arrived.

  Gathering his notes, he stood and made his way back toward the entrance. As he passed the front desk, Derek barely glanced up from his work.

  "Find what you needed?" Derek asked.

  "Not really," Velos admitted, keeping the details to himself. Derek seemed preoccupied, his fingers flying across a fresh stack of reports. Velos noticed a subtle slump in his shoulders, a weariness he hadn't seen before. The kind that comes from too much work, too little recognition.

  Velos hesitated, then spoke. "Derek, just wanted to say... thanks."

  Derek blinked, his focus momentarily broken. He adjusted his glasses, then let out a short, dry laugh. "Thanks? For what?"

  "For showing me the ropes with the archives, back when I was here," Velos said. "You did a lot. I never really said anything."

  Derek blinked, momentarily thrown off. He pushed up his glasses, then scoffed, shaking his head. "If you were really grateful, you’d have found a replacement by now."

  Velos gave a small, wry smile. "Guess I'm in your debt, then."

  "Damn straight," Derek muttered, but the usual edge was gone, replaced by the attempt at a smile. "Now get out."

  —

  The sun hung low on the horizon, bleeding streaks of orange and purple across the sky as Velos made his way toward their meeting point. The air had cooled, and the streets were quieter now, save for the occasional merchant packing up for the night or the distant sound of a smith hammering out the last of the day’s orders. He spotted Sterling leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, gaze distant.

  "Shit outta luck," Sterling said as soon as Velos approached. "Pyakar Angbawa’s already gone. Picked up another quest and left hours ago. She moves fast, doesn’t stick around."

  Velos exhaled sharply through his nose. Not surprising. A slayer worth recruiting was often a slayer in high demand.

  Sterling pushed off the post. "So, are we still looking for a third, or is it just us two?"

  Velos shook his head. "We’ll have to make do. Splitting the reward three ways wasn’t ideal anyway. I’ve read up on swamps enough to be prepared, but Misthollow's a fickle one. Mostly."

  Sterling frowned slightly. "Mostly?"

  "We should be cautious," Velos clarified. "A big part of the danger ahead is poison, and we’re not walking in blind."

  Sterling’s expression hardened. "New. Most of what we’ve dealt with just tries to rip your limbs off."

  "Different terrain, different threats," Velos said. "Misthollow’s wetlands are teeming with venomous wildlife, not to mention the kind of toxins a monster might use. Elixirs are part of the standard slayer’s arsenal, but I don’t know if the Division will give us anything else. Let’s check in with the armory."

  Sterling clicked his tongue. "We’ll need more than just elixirs if things go bad."

  Velos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he flipped open his notebook, skimming through the information he had gathered. Fungal spores, venomous insects, waterborne parasites, and a handful of recorded deaths from explorers who underestimated them. He felt cold imagining himself in the position of those became bad examples due to lack of preparation.

  "Nothing in the reports will tell me what’s waiting for us," he muttered.

  Sterling raised an eyebrow. "That scare you?"

  Velos’ gaze lingered at Sterling, and remembered how the last time they were in great peril, all Sterling prepared was an axe.

  He shut the book and pocketed it. "I suppose for you it’s just reality."

  Slayer's Notes

  Property of Velos Rendhal

  Miscellaneous Swamp Fauna

  Couldn’t find much that was specific to Misthollow—no maps, no bestiaries, not even a proper list of sightings. But I did come across some readings on general swamp-dwelling creatures. A few are probably native to the Hollow, or at least something like them is. Swamps breed strange biology, and danger clings to every branch.

  One of the more curious birds I read about is the Nebeni—a wiry, heron-like creature built for swift escapes and cruel precision. Unlike typical herons that rely on patience and long beaks to spear fish, the Nebeni has a shorter, needle-like bill. It's specialized not for depth or reach, but for injection. The real trick, though, is its tongue. The Nebeni can drain moisture from toxic plants and extract poisons, storing it in a gland somewhere in its throat. When it lands a strike on a fish, it doesn't have to kill outright—the toxin does the work. A quick jab, and it’s airborne again, letting the poison bleed out its target before circling back to claim the corpse.

  Apparently, this adaptation evolved because swamps are crawling with things that eat birds just as much as birds eat fish. Staying too long in the water is a death sentence. The Lakwasa is mentioned more than once—a patient, lurking predator that waits beneath the surface. They’re not strong enough to be major threats to humans, but they make short work of anything smaller and slower.