As the group pressed deeper into the woods, the trees grew closer together, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocked out most of the daylight. The air turned thick and humid, the only sound coming from the occasional drip of moisture and the rustle of unseen creatures.
Dave's grip on the cart tightened as he slowed his pace, eyes scanning the shadowy path ahead. "This place is getting worse with every step," he muttered, his voice edged with unease.
Then he saw it—a faint red glow pulsing between the trees. He stopped in his tracks. "No… no, no, no. That better not be what I think it is."
But as they moved closer, the red light revealed itself: a massive slime, shimmering and pulsing like a living wound. Inside it, several figures floated—animals, bones, even a man who locked eyes with them through the thick gelatinous prison. His face was pale and desperate, lips moving silently as if begging for help.
Dave stepped back, horrified. "Oh god. He's still alive in there."
Matt clenched his fists but said nothing, his heart sinking.
Harlic, still seated in the cart, looked at the scene with grim calmness. "You can't save someone once they're inside. The slime absorbs anything it touches. Try, and you'll be the next soul trapped inside it."
Dave looked at Harlic, then at the trapped man again, disbelief and anger written all over his face. "We're just going to leave him? Seriously?"
"There's nothing we can do," Matt said quietly, his eyes fixed on the ground. "We'll only die trying."
As they walked past, Matt refused to look back. The silence between them was heavy.
Dave broke it after a while, voice low. "What kind of place is this? Can anything good even survive in a hell like this?"
Nia, perched on the edge of the cart, glanced around with narrowed eyes. "Not everything here is evil… but it's true. This forest doesn't welcome hope easily."
The red light faded behind them, but the image of the trapped man lingered in all their minds.
Nia's voice broke the silence as the forest thickened around them. "We're close now. This is where the forest always told me not to go."
The air was different—damp, heavy, buzzing with the sound of insects and the constant drip of moisture from twisted vines above. Everything felt alive in the worst way, as if the plants were watching.
At the center of the swamp-like clearing stood a crooked cabin, its wood darkened with age and covered in moss. It didn't look abandoned, but it certainly didn't look inviting either. The roof sagged under a thick mat of vines, and strange symbols were carved into the walls.
Matt wiped his palms on his pants and turned to the others. "Stay close to the cart. I'll talk to her."
He took a deep breath, walked up to the door, and knocked three times.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then a voice echoed from inside, soft and cold, like wind through dead branches. "Come in… or stay out. But decide."
The door creaked open on its own.
Standing in the doorway was a woman unlike any Matt had seen before—tall, graceful, and stunningly beautiful, with eyes that held both mystery and sorrow. Her long hair flowed like a dark river over her shoulders.
Dave immediately dropped the cart and nearly tripped over himself rushing to Matt's side. "Good evening, miss. We're humble travelers, you see, and—"
The woman sighed. In the blink of an eye, her form changed. Her skin sagged and wrinkled, hair turned wiry and gray, her beauty replaced by a face that was gnarled and crooked, like an old tree stump. Her eyes remained the same, sharp and unreadable.
Dave recoiled so hard he nearly fell backward. "Are you kidding me?! You—you were just—ugh, my stomach—"
"You came here uninvited," she said calmly. "This is why I live far from the world. I prefer peace, not desperate men trying to impress me."
Matt gave Dave a sharp elbow to the ribs and stepped forward. "We're sorry for the intrusion. We didn't come to bother you… we came for help."
The witch raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Her eyes shifted toward the cart and lingered on the mirror inside Matt's bag, as if she already knew why they were there.
The witch stepped aside without a word, leaving the door open just enough for them to enter. Matt gave a small nod to the others and stepped in first, followed by Nia and Dave—who hesitated, then shuffled in, mumbling something about staying near the door in case she turned into a toad or something worse.
Inside, the cabin was cramped but strangely clean. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars of dried herbs, animal bones, and small items that were better left unexamined. A bubbling cauldron in the corner filled the room with a sharp, minty scent.
The witch pointed to a bench. "Sit."
Matt carefully unstrapped the bag from his back and placed the mirror on a small table. Its surface was dull and gray now, like the life inside had dimmed.
The witch stared at it in silence, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. After a long pause, she finally spoke. "Where did you get this?"
"It was in a mansion in Emberhold," Matt said. "The woman who lives there… she isn't who she says she is. We believe the real woman—Harlic's daughter—is trapped inside this mirror. Her body's being controlled by… something else."
The witch walked around the mirror slowly, her eyes never leaving it. "This isn't just any binding mirror," she said. "It's old. And dangerous."
Dave raised a brow. "We sort of got that part already."
She ignored him. "This kind of mirror was created by forbidden magic. It traps not just a soul, but the essence. The mind, the will… everything. Swapping the soul inside with something else is not unheard of, but reversing it—" she looked at them with a grim expression "—is extremely difficult."
Nia stepped forward. "Can it be done?"
The witch was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe. But you'll need more than just me. You'll need something stronger—something that can break the binding without destroying the soul inside."
Matt leaned forward. "Do you know where we could find something like that?"
The witch slowly nodded. "There is a place. An old ruin, deep in the heart of this forest. It's guarded and cursed, but it's said to hold fragments of the original spell used to create these mirrors. If you can find that, I might be able to help."
Dave groaned. "Why is it always ruins, curses, and danger? Just once, I'd like a map to a comfy armchair and a slice of pie."
The witch smirked. "If you survive, I'll bake you one."
Matt called over his shoulder, "Harlic, you can come in now!"
The old man carefully stepped inside, eyeing the room with suspicion and wonder. As he entered, Matt turned back to the witch. "We'll go. Just tell us what we need."
The witch didn't say anything at first—just walked over to one of her shelves and pulled down a small, wooden figurine. It was about the size of a hand, crudely carved into the shape of a squat, muscular creature with stubby legs and stone-like arms. Then, she grabbed a dark bottle filled with a thick, murky liquid that sloshed as she held it out.
"These," she said, placing both items on the table, "will give you a fighting chance."
Dave reached out and picked up the figurine, squinting at it. "How is this supposed to help us? It looks like something a kid would make with a broken spoon and too much time."
The witch raised an eyebrow. "That figurine is a golem. Pour a few drops of your blood onto its head and toss it to the ground. It will grow into a full-sized guardian and protect you—until it's destroyed or the sun sets."
Dave blinked, suddenly gripping the figure a little more carefully. "Right… noted."
Matt nodded toward the bottle. "And the liquid?"
"It's a warding tonic. If you drink it before entering the ruins, you'll be protected from curses—temporarily. It dulls the magic trying to seep into your bones. But don't rely on it for too long. It won't save you from everything."
Nia took the bottle gently and slipped it into Matt's pouch. "Thank you."
The witch looked at each of them with a cool, tired gaze. "The forest will twist around the ruins. You'll know you're close when the trees stop whispering and the birds refuse to sing."
Dave gave a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Great. Love a cheerful warning."
"Go now," she added. "Before the forest decides to keep you."
Matt, Nia, and Dave gave Harlic a quick rundown and left him with the witch to rest while they prepared to head deeper into the woods.
Branches above grew thicker. The air dampened, and the wind stilled.
As they ventured deeper into the cursed forest path, a voice suddenly called down from the branches above, mocking them. "The witch is a liar. She will make stew out of your old friend."
Dave froze and squinted at the source of the voice, realizing it was a bird speaking. "What if the witch turned someone into a bird and this one is trying to warn us?" he asked, uneasy.
Matt narrowed his eyes, remembering something. "Don't you remember what we were warned about? 'Don't trust birds that speak your language.'" He gripped the strap of his bag more tightly, staying on alert.
The bird continued to mock them, cackling from its perch. Dave, now frustrated, grabbed a stick from the ground and hurled it at the bird. "Shut up!" he yelled.
Nia, who had been keeping close to the group, suddenly grabbed the murky bottle from Matt's pouch and uncorked it. "Drink this," she said quickly. "The path ahead is cursed, it is time to drink it."
Dave hesitated, but then Matt nodded firmly. "We don't have a choice," he said. "We can't afford to be unprepared."
The group quickly drank from the bottle, feeling a strange warmth spread through them. The bird's mocking laugh echoed in the trees above, but they continued onward, their minds now more focused on what lay ahead.
They arrived at the collapsed ruins, the remnants of what was once a grand structure, now swallowed by time and covered in thick layers of moss and ivy. The entrance to the underground tunnel was barely visible, hidden in the shadows of the ruins. The air was damp, and the whole area seemed to have been abandoned for centuries.
Matt knelt by the entrance, checking his bag for his lighter. After a moment, he produced it and ignited a small torch, holding it up to illuminate the dark tunnel ahead. The flickering light cast long shadows along the tunnel's walls, revealing cobwebs and crumbling stone. "Stay close," Matt said softly, glancing back at the others.
Dave, nervously holding a knife in his hand, kept it pointed downward, but his other hand gripped the figurine tightly. He was ready to splatter blood on it at the first sign of danger, convinced something was waiting for them in the dark. His eyes darted around the tunnel, scanning the edges, but the silence was oppressive. No growls, no shuffling, no eerie sounds. It felt... too quiet.
Nia walked just behind Matt, her sharp eyes constantly watching the shadows for any movement.
The deeper they went into the tunnel, the heavier the air seemed to grow, as if the place was holding its breath. No monsters, no traps, just the echo of their footsteps in the oppressive silence.
Then, at the very end of the tunnel, they saw it. A shattered silver symbol, its intricate lines broken and worn with age, embedded in the stone floor. The light from Matt's torch revealed a portion of text, written in an ancient language none of them could read.
Matt stepped forward cautiously, kneeling next to the symbol. "This must be what the witch meant," he said, his voice low and focused as he reached down to touch the fragment. His fingers brushed against the cool metal, and he felt a surge of energy course through him, though it didn't last long. It was as if the symbol had once held something far greater, but now it was only a shadow of its former power.
Dave's grip on the knife tightened. He felt like something was going to spring out at them any second, the tension building as he scanned the shadows. "It's too quiet," he muttered, unable to shake the feeling that a boss monster would appear at any moment, ready to spring on them.
Nia, standing behind them, whispered, "I don't like this. Something feels wrong."
Just as Matt stood, still holding the silver fragment in his hand, the ground suddenly trembled beneath them, and the echo of distant footsteps reverberated through the tunnel.
Matt yelled, "Now!"
Dave didn't hesitate—he slashed his finger with the knife and let a few drops of blood fall onto the carved figurine. Then he dropped it to the ground with a shaky breath.
The footsteps in the dark, which had been slow and steady, suddenly turned into a sprint. Whatever was down there had heard them—and it was coming fast.
Dave stared at the figurine. "Come on, come on," he muttered, backing away. "Do something!"
From the torchlight, they finally saw it—something dark and fast, a shadowy figure with no clear face, only glowing eyes and long, clawed limbs. It bolted straight toward them, covering the ground faster than anything human.
"Anytime now!" Dave shouted, practically begging the little statue as it sat motionless on the floor.
Then, just as the creature lunged, the figurine trembled—then cracked—and exploded in a flash of stone and light. A golem, nearly twice the height of any of them, rose in its place, catching the creature mid-leap with a crushing grip. The shadowy figure screeched, flailing as the golem slammed it to the ground with a loud crunch.
"Go! Now!" Matt shouted, grabbing Nia by the hand as they bolted past the two clashing forms.
They sprinted back through the tunnel, torchlight flickering wildly on the walls as they ran. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the tunnel echoed with the sound of the golem battling the creature behind them.
They burst out of the tunnel and into the ruins, gulping in the fresh forest air. Dave stumbled to a stop and turned with a grin.
"Did you see that?" he said, panting. "Perfect timing. Totally under control."
Matt doubled over, catching his breath, and gave Dave a look. "You were screaming at a rock thirty seconds ago."
Nia just shook her head. "Still, it worked."
Dave held up his bandaged finger proudly. "You're welcome."
Back at the cabin, Matt gently handed the fragment over to the witch. She took it with a sharp glint in her eyes and said, "Oh yes, this will do perfectly."
She brought the mirror out from its wrappings and held the broken silver fragment against its surface. Whispering something in a language none of them could understand, her voice took on a rhythmic, almost melodic tone. The mirror shimmered, and the air in the cabin grew heavy. A low rumble started beneath their feet.
The whole cabin began to shake.
Harlic, pale and tense, reached out toward the witch. "Please, be careful," he said. "My daughter's soul is still in there."
The witch didn't answer. Her eyes glowed faintly as she continued chanting, the fragment melting seamlessly into the mirror's surface. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped.
She staggered back, visibly drained, and handed the mirror back to Matt. "It is done," she said with a weak breath.
Her appearance shifted right before their eyes—wrinkles smoothing out, silver hair turning to a lustrous black. The spell had drained her so much that she lost control of her illusion, revealing the beautiful woman they'd seen once before.
Dave stepped forward, grinning. "Great, soul-saving magic and beauty transformations. Now, about that pie you promised…"
The witch gave him a tired glance. "You'll get your pie when the soul is returned. Now listen closely."
Everyone quieted down.
"The mirror is no longer just a vessel," she said. "It's a bridge. When you show it to the one who stole the body, the real soul inside—Harlic's daughter—will see her body again. The soul in the wrong body will be pulled back into the mirror, and she will return to where she belongs."
Matt tightened his grip on the mirror. "So we just have to get close enough to show it to her?"
The witch nodded. "Exactly. But be warned. The one wearing her body… may fight to stay."
Dave looked at Matt and Nia, then back at the witch. "Guess it's time to crash another party."