The marsh was quieter than it had been in nights. No beasts prowled the shallows, no herons shrieked. Only the wind moved, threading through cattails like a whisper that didn't want to be overheard. Liora adjusted her cloak and pressed forward through the muck, her lantern shuttered to a sliver of light. Behind her, Corren followed, his spear balanced in practiced silence. Ahead, the faintest glow marked their destination: the ruined shrine of the Old Circle.
She felt it before she saw it—an invisible pressure gathering against her chest, like standing at the lip of a storm. The shrine had always felt wrong, but tonight it throbbed with a pulse she couldn't ignore. Shadows twitched at the edges of her sight.
"Keep close," she whispered.
Corren grunted in response. His eyes were sharp, scanning for movement. They'd been hunting for any sign of Maren or the thing that stalked in her shadow, and every lead had led them deeper into these haunted wetlands.
The shrine emerged from the reeds like the ribs of some colossal animal, its pillars cracked and leaning, its stonework covered in moss and symbols too eroded to read. Once, this place had been sacred. Now, it was a wound.
Liora stopped at the threshold. She could feel it: the magic here was awake.
And she wasn't alone.
A figure stepped out from behind a broken column. Maren. Her hair was damp, tangled with marshgrass, and her eyes held that flickering double-light — woman and beast overlapping. She raised her hands slowly, as if she'd been expecting them.
"I knew you'd come," Maren said. Her voice was calm, but there was a tremor underneath, like the note of a string pulled too tight.
"Where is it?" Corren demanded, stepping forward.
Maren tilted her head. "You mean her."
Liora lowered her lantern further. "This isn't the time for riddles. If the Beast's here—"
"She isn't hunting tonight," Maren interrupted softly. "She's listening."
The wind shifted, and a low hum vibrated through the stones. Liora felt it in her bones. There was something ancient moving beneath their feet.
"What is this place to you?" Liora asked.
Maren's gaze flicked to the cracked altar behind her. "It's where the binding was made. The pact between my bloodline and… what you call the Beast. Centuries ago, the women of my line offered themselves to hold back what slumbered beneath the marsh. We became her shape. Her mask. Her voice in the world."
Corren scoffed. "A curse dressed up like devotion."
Maren's eyes flashed. "It was survival. Do you think the Circle raised these stones for gods? No. They were built for a prison."
Liora's heart hammered. She had suspected something ancient, but not this — not a binding pact so deep that it lived in someone's blood.
"What's stirring beneath us?" she asked.
Maren stepped closer. The light from Liora's lantern caught her face, and for a heartbeat, her shadow split — one human, one monstrous, both standing side by side. "When the Circle fell, something in the marsh began to wake. The Beast… she is not what you think. She's the key. But someone's been chipping at the lock."
Liora thought of the soldiers, of Branek's sudden interest in the wetlands, of the way the ground had shaken the previous night. "They're digging."
Maren nodded. "And if they keep going, they'll unseal what my ancestor bound. The Beast kills to keep them from reaching it."
Corren shifted uncomfortably. "Then why attack the village? Why kill innocents?"
Maren's expression hardened. "Because the Circle's wards are failing. She's slipping. Every hunt, every scream—it's not just her rage, it's the prison fraying."
The ground beneath them let out a deep, shuddering groan, like a giant shifting in its sleep. Liora gripped the lantern tightly. "Then tell us how to stop it."
Maren met her eyes. "Help me finish the pact."
Corren barked a laugh. "You want us to join you in this madness?"
Maren didn't flinch. "I want you to help me restore the Circle's binding. If we do nothing, by the next full moon, the prison will break."
Liora stared at the crumbling altar. The air was thick, almost electric. She could sense the marsh listening. A choice was forming, heavy and inescapable.
Before she could answer, a horn sounded in the distance — three sharp blasts. Corren's eyes widened. "That's the northern watch."
Liora cursed. "They found us."
Torches flared beyond the reeds. Soldiers, led by Branek himself, were advancing toward the shrine. Their armor gleamed dully in the moonlight, boots squelching through the wet earth. Behind them, a covered wagon dragged heavy chains and iron spikes.
"They're going to seal the shrine," Corren said.
"No," Maren hissed. "They're going to break it."
She turned to Liora. "You have to choose. Stand with them—or with me."
Liora's pulse roared in her ears. She looked at Corren. He was torn, eyes flicking between loyalty to the village and the truth they'd unearthed.
Then the marsh itself made the decision for them.
A tremor ripped through the ground. Reeds bent. The torches of the approaching soldiers flickered wildly. And from the black water beyond the shrine, something massive rose — just a silhouette at first, but unmistakable. Antlers like twisted roots. A shape both woman and monster. The Beast had arrived.
"Get down!" Corren shouted.
The Beast let out a roar that shattered the quiet like glass. Soldiers screamed as the shockwave knocked them into the mud. The wagon toppled. Chains snapped.
Maren didn't run. She stepped forward, arms spread, and the Beast lowered its head toward her like a predator greeting a mirror. For the first time, Liora saw no fear in Maren's eyes — only a fierce, aching recognition.
"She's mine," Maren whispered.
Liora realized, then, that this wasn't a simple curse. It was a bond. And if they didn't act quickly, the soldiers would either die trying to fight her… or succeed in shattering the Circle's last line of defense.
She turned to Corren. "We help her," she said, surprising even herself with the certainty in her voice.
Corren gave a grim nod. "Then we make our stand."
The three of them moved as one. Liora threw open her lantern, light flaring across the shrine. The Beast reared back, momentarily dazed by the brightness. Corren surged forward, intercepting the first wave of soldiers to reach the stones. Maren began chanting in an ancient tongue, her voice threading through the air like a blade.
The ground split further. A black fissure yawned beneath the altar. From its depths came a breath — hot, fetid, alive.
Something below was listening. And it was hungry.