The village changed overnight.
Barricades went up at the marsh's edge, torches burned at all hours, and patrols doubled. Where there had once been quiet suspicion of the wetlands, now there was outright fear. Every creak of the reeds, every croak of a frog after dark made people startle like hunted animals.
Dren moved quickly, establishing his authority in Branek's absence. He wore his lieutenant's badge like a crown and stationed guards at every gate. He claimed it was for protection. But to Liora, it looked more like a noose tightening.
She and Corren were confined to a small house near the southern square — "for questioning," Dren had said, but no questioning had actually begun. It was a soft imprisonment, wrapped in polite language. Two armed soldiers watched their door day and night. Maren had been kept separately, in one of the old granaries. Liora suspected Dren wanted to keep them from speaking freely.
The townsfolk avoided her in the streets. Children who used to run past her workshop now crossed to the other side. She caught whispers in doorways: "witch," "traitor," "beast-friend." Fear had found its scapegoats.
Corren paced their one-room shelter, restless. His injuries were healing, but his mind was as taut as a bowstring. "He's turning them," he muttered. "One order at a time."
Liora watched the lantern flame sway with the draft. "He's afraid. They all are. Fear makes men follow anyone who sounds certain."
Corren stopped pacing. "And we're just going to sit here while he prepares gods-know-what against the marsh?"
Liora lowered her voice. "No. We're going to watch. And we're going to choose our moment carefully."
Three nights later, their chance came.
Liora had been pretending to sleep on the cot when the bells near the northern palisade clanged sharply — three quick strikes. Marsh-side alarm. Corren was on his feet instantly. Through the shutters, they saw torchlight gathering near the outer wall.
Without a word, Corren moved to the back window. The guards out front rushed toward the commotion, leaving their post. Liora followed, slipping out behind him into the dark. They crossed narrow alleys, avoiding lamplight, until they reached the north gate.
A crowd had gathered at the wall. Soldiers were hauling something in from beyond the barricade. When Liora and Corren climbed onto a cart to see over the heads, her breath caught.
It was a man — or what was left of him. His body was twisted, clothes shredded, face locked in a rictus of terror. But the strangest thing was his hands: the fingers were blackened, as though he'd plunged them into frost, despite the warm night.
Dren stood over the corpse, grim-faced. "Scouting party found him near the outer channel," he barked to the soldiers. "Eyes open. Whatever did this might still be close."
A soldier whispered, "Was it the Beast?"
Dren didn't answer. But his silence was enough to let suspicion bloom.
Liora pushed forward. "That wasn't the Beast," she said loudly. Heads turned toward her. "She hasn't attacked since the fissure was sealed."
Dren gave her a look of cold calculation. "And how would you know that? Has your friend been whispering to you in the night?"
Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Corren stepped beside her, jaw clenched. "You know as well as I do this doesn't match her kills."
Dren crouched by the corpse and held up the man's hand for everyone to see. "Then tell me, old friend—what beast freezes the blood in a man's veins?"
The crowd recoiled. Liora's stomach twisted. This was something new. Something that had slipped through the cracks left in the Circle's seal.
Dren straightened. "Double the watch. And if anyone sees anything near the marsh, you sound the bells. No one moves alone."
He caught Liora's gaze as the body was carried away. "And you," he said softly, just loud enough for her and Corren to hear. "You stay where I can see you."
Later that night, Liora crept from their shelter to the granary where Maren was kept. The guards were half-asleep; she slipped past them easily. Inside, Maren sat cross-legged on the floor, pale in the moonlight, her wrists bound loosely with rope. She looked up as Liora entered.
"You shouldn't be here," Maren whispered.
"They found a body," Liora said. "It wasn't the Beast. The fingers were black — frostbite."
Maren's eyes widened. "Already?"
Liora frowned. "What do you mean?"
Maren shifted, her expression hardening. "The Circle's seal doesn't just hold the Beast. It holds back echoes. Fragments of the thing below. They're not whole, not like her, but they're dangerous. And now that the fissure was forced open, those echoes will seep through the thin places."
"Thin places?"
"Cracks between what's bound and what's free. They manifest at the edges first. Near water. Near old stones." Maren leaned forward. "If someone's been frozen, it means a Shade is moving."
Liora's blood ran cold. "Can it be stopped?"
"Yes," Maren said. "But not with patrols and torches."
Liora knew then that Dren's militaristic tightening would only feed the fear — and give the Shades room to move unseen.
Maren caught her arm as she turned to leave. "Liora," she said softly. "The Circle chose us. It marked us that night. If the Beast falters, if the Shades multiply, the bond will look for a replacement."
Liora met her gaze. "You mean me."
Maren didn't answer.
By morning, panic spread again. Another corpse was found, this time at the southern well. Same blackened hands, same terror-stricken face. Patrols were stretched thin. Rumors spread faster than Dren's orders could contain them: whispers of a second beast, of cursed air, of punishment from gods long dead.
Dren's suspicion hardened into hostility. He stormed into Liora and Corren's shelter before dawn, slamming the door against the wall. "Two bodies in two nights," he snarled. "And you expect me to believe this isn't your marsh-spawned pet?"
Corren stepped forward, voice steady. "We told you: this is something else. Your soldiers saw what Branek unleashed."
Dren ignored him. "You want to prove your loyalty? Fine. You're coming with me tonight. Patrol the marsh perimeter. If your Beast is out there, you'll help kill it."
Liora's jaw tightened. "And if we find something else?"
"Then you can explain that to me," Dren said, eyes narrowing. "And pray I believe you."
That night, torches lined the northern path like teeth in the dark. Dren led a column of soldiers through the marsh's edge, Liora and Corren forced to march in the middle. The reeds whispered around them. Fog coiled low over the water, dense and shifting.
They reached the outer channel where the first body had been found. A ruined footbridge sagged across the black water. The torches' light didn't penetrate far; beyond the first few meters, the marsh was a wall of shadow.
"Fan out," Dren ordered. "Eyes sharp."
Liora closed hers briefly, listening. Beneath the croaks of frogs and the rustle of reeds, there was something else. A faint, almost musical hum — cold, sharp, threading through the night like icy fingers.
"Corren," she whispered. "Do you hear that?"
He nodded grimly. "Something's here."
A soldier near the bridge suddenly gasped. The torch in his hand flared blue, then went out with a hiss. The air grew colder in an instant.
Then the screaming started.
Shapes moved through the fog — not solid, not fully formed. Like silhouettes made of winter air and shadow. Eyes like shards of ice flashed in the dark. One Shade drifted across the bridge, and the wooden planks beneath it frosted over, creaking.
"Shields up!" Dren bellowed.
The soldiers raised their weapons, but their blades passed through the Shades like through smoke. Liora could feel the Circle's bond thrumming in her blood, urging, calling.
She grabbed Corren's arm. "We can't fight them like this. We have to draw them back to the shrine!"
"And if they don't follow?" he asked.
"They will," she said, her voice low and certain. "They're echoes. They follow the bond."
As if hearing her, one Shade turned its hollow eyes toward her and began gliding closer.