CHAPTER 159: DREADS OF THE JOURNEY 3

For a long moment, the Necrotic Forest held its breath with no moans and no scraping claws. No sign of the fissure, only the faint whistle of wind moving through skeletal trees, carrying with it the stench of charred bone and putrid flesh.

Kelvin slumped against a broken stump, with Speer across his knees and his chest breathing fast. His skin was clammy, sweat mingled with streaks of black ichor from wounds that hadn’t yet closed.

The green glow that had infected his veins was fading, but not fully gone. Every beat of his heart made his vision waver.

Xerion’s voice hissed low, the beast was quiet than usual. You danced too close to the Hollow’s hunger. Any weaker, and it would have swallowed you whole.

Kelvin wiped his mouth, tasting copper. "We did not...have a choice." Darius spat onto the ground, blood and saliva mixed.

He leaned on his war hammer like a crutch, armor dented in three places, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Rhoam limped beside him, the panther’s flanks was rising and falling heavily.

"That thing nearly split me in half," Darius muttered. "I thought Boneclads only roamed near the Hollow’s threshold. What in the abyss was one thing doing here?"

Lyra stood apart from them, cleaning her daggers in silence. Her raven, Salaris, perched on her shoulder with its feathers puffed up and sharp eyes scanned the clearing. Lyra’s face was pale but set and expression unreadable as always.

When she finally spoke, her voice was thin but edged. "The fissure birthed it. The cult is influence is thicker than we thought. Whatever they are doing near the Hollow, it is spreading outward. They are planting seeds. This was just one that sprouted."

Her tone made Kelvin’s stomach twist. Seeds of horrors. Waiting to hatch. The fissure remained sealed with its silver stitches glowing faintly against blackened soil.

.The forest floor around it looked like a battlefield grave with half-buried corpses, shattered bone fragments, claw marks gouged into the earth.

Kelvin approached it gingerly, with his hand brushing the edge. The runes were woven by Mealin’s tome that hummed softly, soothing in their rhythm.

Darius frowned with his arms crossed. "Do you think it will hold?" Kelvin nodded faintly and said. "Yes, for now but the Hollow will gnaw at it, same as it gnaws at everything else. If the cultists return, they will rip it open again."

He caught Lyra’s gaze but she was not looking at the fissure. Her eyes were fixed deeper into the forest, where the trees were thicker, branches interlaced so tightly that they blotted out the sun. From there, the faint echoes drifted—like whispers pressed into the wind.

"We are not done," she said softly. "The forest is alive with more of them." Kelvin shivered, not with cold but with recognition.

He had heard whispers like that before. The night his parents fell. They did not linger. Lingering meant waiting for the forest to gather itself again. Already, faint shudders ran through the ground, as though the earth was restless beneath their boots.

Darius led with his hammer slung across his back, his other hand was holding a shard of soulstone that pulsed faint blue light to keep the way it lit.

Rhoam padded at his side with shoulders brushing against tree trunks. The beast’s armored hide made faint scraping noises as he passed, every sound is too loud in the silence.

Kelvin walked for a second, with his Speer gripped tight. His wounds still throbbed, but Xerion’s presence lent him strength. It was not healing, not exactly but more like being held upright by a predator too stubborn to let him collapse.

Lyra followed in the rear, her daggers always loose in her hands. Salaris flew overhead with wings that are dark against the canopy.

The deeper they went, the more the forest grew stranger. Trees leaned inward unnaturally and their bark splitted to reveal the veins of pale green light.

Mushrooms glowed faintly along roots, releasing clouds of spores that shimmered like fireflies before sinking into the soil. Each spore that touched ground and gave off a faint.

Darius swore under his breath. "By the Stonefather’s bones... it is like the forest itself is rotting alive." Kelvin muttered, "It is feeding on the Veil. Every root, every leaf is drunk on it."

Lyra was silent, but she traced her finger along a tree trunk as they passed. Her eyes were narrowed. "Not feeding that is chained. Something forced this corruption in. This is not a natural spread, it is cultivated."

Her words made the back of Kelvin’s neck prickle. By nightfall, mist began to coil around their ankles, creeping upward until it licked at their waists. It wasn’t natural mist, no damp chill, no weight of water. This was thin, almost ethereal, glowing faintly green.

And with it came voices. At first it was faint. Just murmurs. Like someone whispering from behind a door. But as the fog thickened, the words sharpened.

"Kelvin..." His head snapped up. It was his mother’s voice. It was gentle, familiar and real.

He froze in place, with his heart on a continuous hammering. He saw her with her silhouette half-formed in the mist, reaching out a hand. Her hair, long and dark, her smile exactly as he remembered before the fire consumed it.

"Come home, Kelvin. You do not have to fight anymore." He stumbled forward before Xerion hissed, sharp and furious, in his mind. Deception, false. A hook baited with memory, step closer and you will never crawl free.

Kelvin’s knees buckled. He dragged in a breath, forcing his feet to still. "This is not real," he whispered, with his voice breaking. "You are not real."

Beside him, Darius swore violently. His father’s voice echoed through the fog, calling him "boy," commanding him to stand straight, to carry his hammer properly. He snarled and smashed his weapon into the ground to silence it and sparks flared.

And Lyra stood frozen, with her hands trembling around her daggers. "Lyra..." Her sister’s voice called out. It was as clear as the day.

The mist shaped itself into Elara’s form, bloodied, pale, but smiling faintly. "You couldn’t save me, but you can join me. It’s quiet here and peaceful."

Lyra’s breathing faltered. She stepped forward. Salaris shrieked, flapping wildly with talons raking her shoulder until she stumbled back. The raven’s eyes glowed with runic light, while breaking her trance.

Lyra fell to her knees, clutching her chest and teeth that is bared in silent grief. The voices didn’t fade but they sharpened. The mist was thickened, while twisting into forms, figures of shadow and bone, mockeries of their loved ones.

Shamblers born of fog. Their eyes are burned pale green, with their forms insubstantial yet clawed.

Darius growled, "Real enough to fight, then!" and swung his hammer through the nearest. The shadow shrieked, torn apart in a splash of mist but reformed seconds later, stronger.

"They are feeding on us!" Kelvin shouted. "The more we listen, the stronger they get!" Lyra rose with her eyes burning. Her daggers dripped black fire as she sliced through three at once, but the mist only thickened around her. "Then we don’t listen."

Easier said than done. The whispers crawled inside their skulls, tugging at memories too raw to silence.

Kelvin bit his tongue until blood filled his mouth, anchoring himself with pain. Darius roared, drowning the voices with his own fury. Lyra clutched Salaris’s feathers and focused on the raven’s harsh caws instead of Elara’s voice.

Together, they fought not just the shadows, but their own minds. Kelvin realized brute force wouldn’t end this. The shadows were endless, spawned from the fissures beneath the soil.

"Mealin’s tome!" he gasped and struggled to open it. The pages fluttered, runes was giving light. He slammed his palm down and silver light exploded outward in a circle, cutting through the fog. The whispers shrieked, twisting violently as if it burned.

Darius and Lyra moved into the circle instinctively, though their beasts were close. The moment they crossed the boundary, the whispers dulled, as if it was muffled.

Kelvin gritted his teeth, holding the circle steady, as he said. "Stay close. If you step out, they will drag you under." The fog pressed hard against the barrier with whisper-shadows slammed into it, clawing, desperately. The tome thrummed under his hands, demanding more will and more focus. While his arms were shook.

Xerion whispered. Anchor it to me and et me devour the false. Kelvin hesitated and then let the beast drink. The Speer unleashed black-violet with runes etching into the circle.

The whispers screamed as Xerion’s presence tore through them, ripping illusions apart, devouring the false voices. One by one, the shadows disintegrated, the fog thinning, until only silence remained.

Kelvin collapsed forward, while panting and sweat dripping from his brow. Darius knelt with one hand on his shoulder and said to him, "You are bleeding from your eyes."