I didn't sleep that night.
Not really.
The inn's bed was warm enough, the blanket rough but serviceable, yet I couldn't get the sound out of my ears. The swamp was alive with things that didn't sound like frogs or crickets. Every so often, I swore I heard a voice—soft, distant—like someone calling my name from out in the fog.
And every time, I told myself it was just the wind. Just the swamp. Just my brain messing with me.
But deep down, I knew better.
Meridia didn't sleep either. She sat by the window, motionless, staring out at the swamp like some kind of statue. Only the occasional flicker of her eyes told me she wasn't just frozen in place. I'd gotten used to her presence by now—her aura filling every space like she owned it—but tonight, even she seemed unsettled.
At some point near dawn, I gave up pretending. I got out of bed, strapped my gear back on, and muttered, "I'm going out."
Her eyes flicked toward me, then back to the mist. "Finally."
"Finally?" I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've been tossing and turning for hours. You reek of restlessness. If you're going to pace like a trapped animal, you might as well hunt instead."
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. "You really don't know how to ease people into things, do you?"
"I do not ease," she said flatly. "I cut. I burn. That is my nature."
"Yeah, I'm starting to notice."
Still, she rose from her chair, her movements smooth, regal. Even here, in this damp little inn room, she carried herself like a queen. Sometimes I wondered if she even remembered what it was like to be human—or if this form was just another mask she wore.
We stepped outside into the fog. The town was quiet, too quiet. Smoke drifted from a few chimneys, faint orange light seeping out through shutters, but no one moved about. No merchants setting up stalls, no fishermen hauling their nets. Just silence, like the whole town was holding its breath.
The swamp smelled stronger here, heavy and wet, like the ground itself was rotting. Every plank creaked under our boots. Every ripple in the black water made me reach for my sword.
Meridia walked ahead, her posture stiff, her eyes scanning the mist. "This place is wrong. The land festers. Something has rooted itself here."
"Yeah," I muttered. "I got that impression."
We followed the boardwalk toward the edge of town, where the swamp stretched out in every direction. Houses on stilts leaned over the water, their wood dark with rot. Beyond them, the fog swallowed everything.
And then, I saw it again.
A shape. Standing still at the edge of the mist.
I froze. Meridia didn't.
Her voice was sharp. "Show yourself."
The figure didn't move.
I blinked—and it was gone.
"Great," I muttered. "Love that. Really love that."
Meridia's hand twitched, just barely. "It watches."
"No kidding."
We didn't have to wait long before the first villager spoke to us.
A woman appeared from one of the houses, wrapped in a shawl. Her face was pale, eyes sunken, like she hadn't slept in weeks. She eyed me first, then shifted quickly to Meridia.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, voice trembling. "Outsiders bring it closer. It feeds on strangers."
"Feeds?" I asked. "Feeds how?"
She shook her head violently, glancing back toward her house. "Don't ask. Don't speak of it. If it hears you, it comes."
Meridia stepped forward, her presence pressing down on the poor woman like a weight. "What is it?"
The woman flinched, her knees buckling slightly. She didn't answer—just scurried back inside, slamming the door shut behind her.
I exhaled slowly. "That… went well."
Meridia's eyes narrowed. "Mortals are weak. They will not act until the knife is already at their throats."
"Maybe. Or maybe they're just trying to survive."
She didn't answer.
By midday, we'd spoken to a handful of others. Or rather, I tried to. Most of them wouldn't even open their doors. The ones who did either muttered nonsense about "the mist" or warned us to leave before nightfall.
I knew the burned house quest from the game. A vampire, a ghost child, fire in the swamp. But this felt different. Bigger. Worse.
At one point, I caught sight of a small shrine tucked near the water, half-collapsed. At first, I thought it was to Kyne, maybe Mara—but when I got closer, I saw the carvings. Tentacles. Eyes.
My stomach dropped.
"Mora," I muttered.
Meridia hissed, actually hissed, the sound sharp and venomous. "Filth."
I turned to her, voice low. "So it's him? He's got his claws in here too?"
She didn't answer, but the fury in her expression said enough.
We spent the afternoon walking deeper into the swamp. The fog didn't lift, even with the sun above us. Everything smelled damp, old. I couldn't tell where the land ended and the water began.
Meridia kept her head high, but I noticed her hand hovering near mine once or twice. Not to touch—just… close. Like she was ready to anchor herself if something pulled at her.
The thought that she might feel uneasy sent a chill through me.
At some point, we stopped at a ruined dock. The wood was splintered, half-submerged in the black water. Something about it made my chest tighten.
And then I realized why.
Claw marks. Deep, jagged gouges ripped across the boards. Not made by tools. Not by animals I knew.
Meridia crouched, her fingers brushing the scars. Her lips pressed tight. "It has already fed here."
I crouched beside her, swallowing hard. "On what?"
She didn't look at me. "Pray you never see it."
We returned to town just before dark. The inn was louder now—people whispering, arguing, trying not to sound afraid but failing miserably. The moment we stepped inside, the room fell silent.
Every eye turned on us.
Not friendly. Not curious. Just… accusing.
I sat down anyway, forcing myself to act normal. Ordered food, a drink. Meridia didn't touch anything, of course—just sat beside me, her gaze sharp as a blade.
It didn't take long before someone finally spoke. A man, drunk, red-faced, glaring at me from across the room.
"You," he slurred, pointing a finger. "Ever since you came, the swamp's been worse. Fog's thicker. Shadows longer. You brought it!"
Murmurs rippled through the room.
I tensed, my hand brushing my sword hilt. "I didn't bring anything. I'm just—"
"Liar!" he spat, standing. "You've cursed us!"
Meridia rose in a flash, her presence flooding the room like fire. Her voice thundered, not loud, but heavy enough to make the air shake.
"Silence, worm. Do not lay your weakness at his feet. Your swamp festers because you bow to shadows instead of banishing them."
The man froze, trembling. His mouth opened, closed, then he staggered back and sat down hard.
The whispers continued, quieter now, but thick with fear.
I muttered under my breath, "Way to keep a low profile…"
Meridia sat, her expression sharp. "Fear is already here. Naming it changes nothing."
Maybe she was right. Maybe she wasn't. Either way, I knew one thing for certain.
Morthal wasn't just a swamp town anymore. It was a hunting ground.
And whatever was watching us in the fog… it wasn't done yet.
That night, when I finally tried to sleep again, I dreamed of eyes.
Dozens. Hundreds. Watching me from the mist.
And a voice, low and wet, whispering from somewhere I couldn't see.
"You are seen…"
"You are chosen…"
"You are mine…"
I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.
And Meridia was standing over me, her hand on my shoulder, her expression colder than ice.
"It begins," she whispered.