"A forest that whispers is not silent, it waits, and when it moves, it consumes." , Fragmentary text from the Ranger's Codex
The mist thickened until it was no longer air but a substance, clinging to skin and armor, crawling into throats with the taste of damp iron and old roots. Every step forward was tentative, each boot sinking silently into moss and mulch. The clearing behind them had already vanished, swallowed whole by shadow and fog, leaving only the acrid scent of charred wolf fur, damp wood, and lingering smoke in memory.
Leo walked near the center of the formation, one hand pressed against his shoulder where the Alpha's fangs had torn through. The wound burned with every heartbeat. Beneath it, the fragment pulsed like a second heart, faint green veins threading beneath his skin. Its whispers had grown constant, no longer fading in and out, but humming like a low chant: The forest waits. Strike. Protect. Take what is yours.
