Dawn crept slowly over the marshlands, a pale and fragile light bleeding through the mists. The shrine stood battered but intact, its cracked pillars steaming faintly in the cold morning air. Smoke rose in thin columns from the scattered torches and the smoldering wreck of Branek's wagon. The night's fury had left its mark on everything — stone, mud, and flesh alike.
Liora sat on a fallen column, her hands still wrapped in blood-stiff bandages. Every muscle ached as though she'd wrestled with the marsh itself. Her ears rang faintly from the roar that had sealed the fissure. And yet, beneath the exhaustion, something deeper lingered — a thrum in her chest, as if the Circle's heartbeat had taken root inside her.
Corren stood a few paces away, his spear planted in the ground like a flag, his clothes soaked through and torn. He hadn't spoken much since the ritual. He watched the marsh silently, eyes narrowed, as though expecting the fissure to split open again at any moment.
Maren knelt at the altar's base, tracing the new scars in the stone with reverent fingers. Her face was pale but her eyes shone with grim satisfaction. "It held," she whispered. "By the gods, it held."
"For now," Liora muttered. Her voice was hoarse. "You said it yourself — the Circle's broken."
Maren didn't argue. "Yes. But we bought time. And time is more than we've had in centuries."
A distant horn sounded — not Branek's men this time, but the village watch. Liora's stomach tightened. The soldiers who survived the night would be spreading their version of the story. And with Branek dead, someone else would seize control of the narrative.
Corren finally spoke. "We should head back before they send riders. If they find us here with the bodies…" His gaze flicked to Branek's corpse, lying face-up in the mud. "It won't matter that we saved them."
Maren rose, brushing mud from her skirt. "They won't thank us either way. The Circle's secrets were never meant for those who build cages out of fear."
Liora stood slowly, every joint protesting. "Then we go together. If we show up divided, they'll turn us against each other before we can speak."
The three of them began the trek back through the marsh. The path felt different now — quieter, but heavier, as though the land itself was holding its breath. The Beast did not follow. When Liora glanced back, she saw the antlered silhouette watching from the shadows of the shrine, eyes gleaming faintly. A silent sentinel.
They reached the outskirts of the village as the sun fully breached the horizon. The once-still air was now alive with noise: shouts, hammering, the clatter of armor. Branek's soldiers who had fled were regrouping under the leadership of a hard-eyed lieutenant named Dren. Makeshift barricades had gone up overnight. And at the heart of the square, Branek's body was being carried in on a litter, his bloodied sword placed across his chest.
The villagers' faces were pale with fear, their voices sharp with suspicion. Liora could feel their eyes on her, on Corren, on Maren. She knew what they saw: three survivors returning from the marsh after a night of terror, their clothes marked with blood and ritual, no sign of the Beast's corpse.
They were already weaving stories.
Dren approached, flanked by two armored men. His gaze swept over them coldly. "Branek is dead," he said flatly.
"Yes," Corren replied. "He tried to tear down the shrine. He would have unleashed something worse than the Beast."
Dren's jaw tightened. "And yet, you three survived. Convenient."
Liora stepped forward. "Because we stopped it. The fissure is sealed. If we hadn't been there, the marsh would have swallowed the entire northern watch by dawn."
A murmur went through the crowd, a ripple of disbelief and fear.
Dren folded his arms. "And what of the creature? Did you slay it?"
Maren spoke before Liora could answer. "The Beast is bound. She will not trouble the village — not for now."
The lieutenant's gaze snapped to her. "Not for now? That's not an answer I give to grieving families."
The crowd's murmur grew louder. Someone shouted from the back, "She's one of them! She speaks like the marsh-witches!"
Another voice: "They brought this on us!"
Liora felt the shift — fear turning to suspicion, suspicion to blame. It was as old as any curse. She raised her hands. "Enough! None of you understand what Branek was about to unleash. The Beast isn't the enemy here. Something deeper is buried beneath those stones, and he tried to break the lock."
Dren's eyes narrowed. "And you expect us to take your word for it?"
Corren stepped forward then, voice steady and loud. "Take mine." The crowd quieted. Corren had served in the watch for years; he'd bled beside most of them. "I saw it. I stood with them. What happened last night was no trick. If we hadn't acted, none of us would be here to argue."
That gave Dren pause. But his distrust didn't vanish. "If what you say is true, then the Circle and whatever it binds are now our problem. And I don't like problems I can't control."
Maren's lips curved in a faint, bitter smile. "You'll find the Circle doesn't care for control."
Dren ignored her. "Until we know more, you three are not to leave the village. You'll be questioned. And if I even hear whispers that the creature is near, I'll burn the marsh to its roots."
He turned on his heel, barking orders to his men. Soldiers began erecting patrol lines at the marsh's edge. The crowd slowly dispersed, but not without lingering, fearful glances.
When they were finally alone in the square, Corren exhaled heavily. "He's going to make this worse."
"Yes," Maren said quietly. "Because he doesn't understand. And because he thinks he does."
Liora gazed north, toward the unseen shrine. A faint breeze carried the smell of marshwater and something else—an undercurrent she couldn't name. The fissure was sealed, but the world felt no safer.
"We'll have to hold the Circle ourselves," she said. "And if the Beast falters…"
Maren looked at her, eyes dark with unspoken thoughts. "Then one of us will have to take her place."
The words hung in the air like a storm cloud.