The next morning dawned sickly pale, the marsh mists refusing to burn away even under the weak sun. Liora moved through the village like a shadow, keeping her hood up as she slipped between clusters of muttering villagers. Word had spread of the failed hunt, though no one spoke openly of it. Their fear hung in the air like damp cloth.
Corren waited for her at the edge of the healer's grove, arms folded, cloak drawn tight. He didn't speak as she approached; he didn't have to. The set of his jaw told her everything—he'd been awake since before dawn, watching the paths, gauging the mood.
"They're restless," he said at last, voice low. "Branek's men are blaming the fog, but that won't hold for long. They're sharpening spears already."
"They think tonight will be different," Liora murmured.
He nodded. "Branek's nephew is planning to lead another search at nightfall. But if Maren's warning meant anything, whatever's out there won't wait politely for them to find it."
Liora glanced toward the marsh. The reeds shivered though no wind blew. A heaviness pressed at her chest. "Then we go before they do."
Corren's brows rose, but only slightly. He had expected this. "We'll need to be quick. If they catch us sneaking out again, Branek will have us both in the stocks."
She met his eyes. "Then we don't get caught."
Through the Fog
They left just after midday, when most of the villagers were distracted by Branek's impromptu council meeting in the square. Corren led their horses to the narrow western path, where the ground was firmer and the fog hung low in silvery swirls. Liora followed close, clutching her satchel of herbs and flint, heart hammering against her ribs.
The deeper they went, the quieter the world became. Even the birds fell silent. The marsh seemed to draw breath in, holding it, waiting.
"Last night," Liora said softly, "when she spoke… her eyes changed. For a moment, it wasn't the Beast looking at me. It was her."
Corren kept his gaze ahead. "Curses don't erase people completely. They twist them. Sometimes what's left fights its way through."
She studied him. "You sound like you've seen it before."
"I have." He didn't elaborate, and she didn't push.
They reached the old willow arch where they'd met Maren the night before. The ground was churned up, reeds broken—signs of her hasty retreat. Corren crouched, fingers brushing the mud. "Two sets of tracks," he murmured. "Hers… and something else."
Liora knelt beside him. The second set was odd: deep, narrow impressions with long gouges trailing behind, as though something with hooked limbs had dragged itself forward. It didn't look human. Or like any animal she knew.
"They weren't here last night," Corren said. His voice was tight. "Whatever made them came after she left."
"'They… coming,'" Liora whispered. Maren's broken words echoed in her mind like a chill through stone.
Maren — Watching
From high within a nest of twisted roots, Maren watched them approach. She hadn't intended to follow them—she told herself she didn't care what they did—but when she caught their scent in the marsh, something pulled her closer.
They were heading straight for the Deep. Fools. Brave, perhaps, but fools all the same.
The marsh shifted uneasily. Beneath the water, the old things stirred. She remembered their cries, the way they had torn through the night long ago. She had run from them then. She could run again now.
But she didn't. She moved silently through the trees, shadowing them, her breath misting, the Beast's senses stretched taut.
The Whispering Deep
The trees began to change as Liora and Corren pressed deeper. The willows grew warped and skeletal, their roots rising out of the water like the ribs of some drowned giant. The air cooled sharply, carrying with it a low, continuous sound—like whispers under the surface of the water.
Liora stopped. "Do you hear that?"
Corren's hand went to his knife. "Yes."
They advanced slowly, every step stirring dark water. Ahead, the marsh widened into a shallow basin ringed by ancient stones. At the center, the water swirled in a slow spiral, as if something beneath were breathing.
Liora's skin prickled. "This is old," she murmured. "Older than the village."
Corren nodded grimly. "This is what I was afraid of."
He told her then, in a low, clipped voice, of a tale he'd heard as a boy—of creatures that lived beneath the marshes before humans settled here. Hungry things. Bound by rituals that had been forgotten. The Beast wasn't their origin… she was a warning.
The whispering grew louder, seeping into their bones. Liora clutched her satchel, struggling to focus. "Something's down there," she breathed.
And then, with a sudden crack like breaking ice, the surface of the spiral burst.
Something surged upward—a shape slick and black, crowned with bone-like spines, dragging itself into the shallows. Another followed. And another. Long limbs, too many joints. Mouths that weren't mouths opening in soundless hunger.
Corren swore. "We need to move."
But before they could retreat, the reeds behind them rustled—a shadow flashed between the trees. The creatures turned toward it, hissing in unison.
Maren stepped out of the fog.
For a moment, everything stilled. Liora's breath caught as she saw Maren in the half-light—not fully beast, not fully woman. Her eyes burned like lanterns. She faced the creatures not as prey… but as someone who had seen them before.
"They found me," Maren growled, voice rough. "Now they find you."
Standoff at the Basin
The creatures crept closer, movements jerky and insectile. Liora stumbled back, nearly slipping into the water. Corren stepped protectively in front of her, knife drawn though it looked pitifully small against the things that emerged.
Maren didn't move. She stood on the stones at the basin's edge, claws flexing. Her breath came fast, but there was a terrible steadiness to her. "You brought them out," she rasped at Liora. "Fools. You woke what sleeps."
"We came to understand," Liora said, trying to keep her voice level. "You warned us. We listened."
"Too late," Maren snarled. "They do not sleep. They wait."
The largest of the creatures lunged suddenly, its limbs lashing out toward the shore. Corren shoved Liora aside and slashed, blade glancing off wet hide. Maren leapt forward with a roar that shook the reeds, slamming into the creature with all the weight of the Beast. The two crashed into the shallows, water exploding upward.
It wasn't a graceful fight. It was savage, desperate. Maren's claws tore at slick flesh; the creature wrapped its limbs around her, dragging her down. Liora rushed to the water's edge without thinking, fumbling for one of the flasks of fire-herb oil she'd packed. She struck flint, lit it, and hurled it toward the basin. The oil ignited in a sudden bloom of orange flame across the surface.
The creatures recoiled, hissing. Maren burst up from the water, soaked and snarling, eyes glowing through the smoke.
Corren grabbed Liora's arm. "We have to go. Now."
Liora's gaze locked with Maren's across the flames. For a heartbeat, Maren didn't speak—but her look said everything: Run while you can.
They fled through the reeds, the whispering rising behind them into a chorus of shrieks.
Return to the Edge
They didn't stop until the trees began to thin and the distant bells of the village reached their ears again. Both of them were soaked, panting, streaked with mud and ash. Corren leaned against a tree, wiping blood from his sleeve.
"Gods," he breathed. "What were those things?"
"I don't know," Liora said, her voice shaking. "But Maren does. And if they're awake…" She trailed off. The implications were clear.
Corren stared back toward the marsh. "Branek and his men think they're hunting one beast. They have no idea what's actually waiting out there."
Liora clenched her fists. "Then we tell them."
He gave her a grim look. "And you think they'll believe you? Branek's already calling for fire and soldiers. If they see those things, they'll burn the marsh—and everyone in it."
She thought of Maren, standing between them and the horrors in the basin. Beast and woman, curse and will. She couldn't let the village destroy her… or ignore the warning she embodied.
"Then," Liora said, her voice firming, "we make them believe."
Maren — Alone with the Deep
Maren dragged herself onto the stones, blood and black water dripping from her claws. The flames were dying, but the creatures had retreated—for now. She stared into the spiral, chest heaving.
"You shouldn't have come," she whispered to the fog. But a part of her was almost… glad. For years she'd faced the whispers alone. Now, someone else had seen.
The spiral darkened again. More shapes stirred below.
She bared her teeth. "Then come," she growled into the water. "I'll be waiting."