The red light flickered like a dying star beyond the treeline, pulsing faintly in the night. Marcus and Erin moved swiftly but silently, blades at the ready, their footsteps muffled by damp pine needles and ash. The forest loomed dense and strange, even the trees seemingly warped by the encroaching shadow—bark darkened, branches twisted as though recoiling from something unseen.
"Do you hear that?" Erin whispered.
Marcus paused. There—faint, almost imperceptible—a whisper riding the wind. Not speech. Not quite.
It was like dozens of voices all exhaling at once.
"The Forest of Echoes," he murmured. "I heard stories about this place as a boy. Said to be cursed after the War of the Blackened Crown."
"I thought those were just bedtime tales."
He glanced at her. "So did I. Until now."
They pressed deeper into the woods. The red light danced ahead like a phantom, always just out of reach, drawing them like moths to a flame. Soon, the forest opened into a clearing—a wide circle of scorched earth surrounded by trees blackened to the root. At its center stood a stone monolith etched with blood-red runes, glowing softly.
Marcus stepped forward cautiously.
"What is it?" Erin asked, scanning the shadows.
"A summoning stone," he said grimly. "The Crowborn use them to call their horrors from beyond the veil."
Just then, the whispers stopped.
A silence fell so absolute, it made Marcus's heart beat louder in his ears.
Then came the rustling.
Low at first. Then louder. All around them.
The trees began to shift.
Figures emerged from the darkness—cloaked in rags, faces covered by porcelain masks painted with red tears. Their movements were unnatural, too fluid. Limbs bending at wrong angles. They carried no weapons, but their presence was suffocating.
"Ten of them," Erin said, voice tight. "Maybe more in the trees."
"They're not soldiers," Marcus replied, raising the Covenant blade. "They're shadows in skin."
As the first creature lunged, Marcus met it mid-swing—blade slicing clean through. But instead of blood, black mist poured from the wound. The thing screamed—high-pitched and otherworldly—before collapsing into ash.
Another took its place instantly.
Erin ducked a clawed swipe, buried her dagger in a masked face, and rolled away from two more. She was quick, vicious, precise. But they were relentless.
"This isn't a battle," she said. "It's a test."
Marcus slashed another creature down. "Then let's pass it."
The monolith began to hum, louder and louder, the red runes glowing brighter. One of the masked figures shrieked and ran for it, throwing back its arms.
"No!" Marcus shouted.
He hurled his sword like a spear.
The blade struck the creature mid-charge, pinning it to the monolith. For a moment, the stone cracked—then exploded outward in a burst of crimson light.
All at once, the creatures collapsed.
The forest fell silent again.
Marcus retrieved the Covenant blade, breathing hard. "That was too close."
Erin was already inspecting the shattered monolith. "They were trying to open a gate," she said. "Something bigger was coming."
Marcus looked around. "They were willing to sacrifice themselves for it."
Erin nodded. "The Crowborn don't fear death. They worship it."
From the broken stone, a small shard remained intact. Erin pocketed it. "Could be useful."
They turned to leave, but Marcus lingered for one last glance.
The forest seemed to sigh, as if exhaling a breath it had held for centuries.
"Let's hope we stopped whatever it was," Erin muttered.
But as they rode back to camp, a figure watched from the far treetops. Cloaked in black, face hidden by a veil of crows, it let out a low chuckle.
"Soon," it whispered, as the wind carried its words into nothing.