"Not all that lingers in the forest seeks flesh. Some hunger only for memory." , fragment of a traveling monk's journal.
The climb back through the hollow was agony.
Leo's palms slipped against the damp roots, the bark rough yet slick with condensation. Each pull sent a fresh jolt of pain through his torn shoulder, as though the revenant's claw had left its mark not only on his flesh but deeper, in his bones. His breath rasped loud in his ears, echoing oddly within the twisting tunnel of roots. Behind him, the cavern's faint green glow dwindled until it was nothing but a memory, yet the weight of what it had shown him clung as heavily as the earth itself.
The battlefield. The colossal figure. The fragments scattering like sparks from a dying fire.
Not treasures. Not blessings. Remnants of an oath broken and buried.
When at last he dragged himself into the light, the air hit him like a wave.
