Lybid walked down the muddy road leading away from the church and toward the hunting outposts. It was still early, and dew clung to her dress as the fog of the Drowned Forest lazily stirred. She needed warriors. She needed those who had stared death in the face and walked away still breathing.
She found Maksym, the hunter, sharpening a worn blade behind his cottage. His face was as hard as the steel in his hands, but the flicker of recognition in his eyes softened when he saw her.
"The forest calls," Lybid said simply.
Maksym grunted. "I've heard it. It scratched at my window last night. Took one of my dogs the night before. I'll follow."
Others joined as the day passed. Halyna's son Yurko, strong but quiet. Old Martyn, who once claimed to have seen a shadow step from a tree. And finally, Shchek, the lumberjack.
Shchek was a simple man, broad-shouldered and slow of speech, but kind. He had never killed anything larger than a pig, and most laughed at the idea of him taking up arms. But Lybid did not. The forest took what it wanted, and it wanted souls, not warriors. Even innocence was a weapon, if sharpened by belief.
That night, the group gathered at the village square. Methodius stood apart, whispering scripture to Kyi. Lybid finished distributing talismans woven of dried reeds and bone. She gave Shchek one, pressing it firmly into his palm.
"Sleep well tonight," she said.
But Shchek would not.
He lived alone at the forest's edge, in a crooked house that creaked when no wind blew. That night, as the others settled, Shchek returned home and lay on his bed, exhausted.
He forgot to close the door. It was open—just a crack—but enough to show the hallway beyond.
His hands trembled slightly as he lay down and pulled the coarse blanket to his chest. The talisman was under his pillow. His room was dark. Not pitch-black, but dark enough that shapes blurred.
He shut his eyes.
The silence pressed in on him. Seconds passed. Then minutes. He tried to remember how his room looked like in his head, that's what always helped him to sleep.
He outlined his axe hanging on a wall, half-opened door to his room, a chair and so on until he felt sleep slowly taking him.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Low.
Wet.
Right beside him.
"You are not asleep."
Shchek's blood turned to ice.
He dared not move.
"I know you hear me. I know you feel me."
There was no breeze, but something moved—just beyond the door. A shifting, like something wet dragging itself across the wooden floor.
"Don't open your eyes, Shchek. I like open doors, but don't like to be seen. Not by men who wish to remain whole."
He clenched the blanket tighter, holding his breath.
The voice drew closer. It was at his bedside now. He could feel it—not just hear it—but feel its presence, like ice under skin.
"Do not move. Do not speak. Only listen."
A pause.
"You will go into the forest. You will follow the girl, the priest, the boy. You will not tell them about me. And in return, I will keep you… whole. Unless you disobey."
A weight pressed against the bed. Something cold brushed his neck. Shchek thought he would scream.
"Should you ever betray me, I will come back. And this time… you will see me. For helping me you will become my blessed."
Then silence.
Heavy. Terrifying silence.
Shchek lay still, eyes squeezed shut, trembling. He did not sleep.
By morning, he rose as if nothing had happened. The talisman was still beneath his pillow, but it had turned black.
When Lybid met him at the edge of the forest, she saw only a tired, pale man ready for the journey.
She did not know what followed behind his eyes.
And he would never tell.
The group—Lybid, Methodius, Kyi, Maksym, Yurko, Martyn, and silent Shchek—entered the Drowned Forest together.
One of them was already claimed.