The Wretch stepped closer. Its weight made the soil sag under its feet even though it moved with a slow, uneven rhythm. Each step sounded like damp cloth scraping against stone. Ravel felt the temperature around them drop again. The mist thickened near the creature, as if it carried the fog inside its hollow chest.
Seris raised her sword. The blade reflected what little light filtered through the branches, a thin gleam in a sea of gray. Her posture was firm. Her feet planted wide. Her breath steady. She did not blink.
Ravel, however, felt rooted to the ground. Not from bravery. From fear that tightened his ribs until each breath felt carved from stone. His fingers dug into the strap of his satchel. The sphere pulsed steadily, warm enough that he felt the heat spreading through his arm.
The Wretch lifted its head. Its hollow eye sockets faced Ravel. A faint hiss escaped its twisted bark-like face, as if air was leaking from a cracked vessel. The sound cut through the forest like a thin blade.
Seris took a step sideways, positioning herself between Ravel and the creature. "Do not run," she said. "Running triggers them."
Ravel swallowed with difficulty. "What triggers them to stop?"
"Nothing simple," Seris said. "They respond to intent. They sense emotion more than sight."
The Wretch leaned forward. The moss on its shoulders dripped a thin strand of water onto the soil. The droplet hissed as if falling onto something hot.
Ravel whispered, "What does it want?"
"It wants resonance," Seris said quietly. "Wretches are born when old memories rot. They cling to energy. They follow warmth. And you carry the warmest thing in these woods."
Ravel pressed his hand over the sphere. It pulsed again, harder now, as if aware of the danger and bracing against it.
The Wretch took another step. Its long fingers brushed against a tree trunk. The bark blackened at its touch. Leaves near the contact withered. Ravel's breath caught in his throat.
Seris moved in front of him fully. "Back away slowly," she murmured.
Ravel began to move. One step. Then another. His boots sank into soft earth that muffled each sound. He kept his eyes locked on Seris's back.
The Wretch followed.
Its neck twisted as it turned toward the retreating warmth of the sphere.
Seris lifted her sword higher. "Wretches do not see the way we do. They hear breath. They taste fear. Stay calm."
"That is not helping," Ravel whispered.
"Try anyway."
The Wretch stopped for a moment. Its head tilted. The mist around its torso thickened. A hum rolled through the air, almost like the vibration Ravel had felt beneath the soil earlier. A memory awakened.
Seris's voice dropped even lower. "It is searching for the origin of the pulse. Ravel, the sphere is reacting to it. You need to quiet it."
"I do not know how," Ravel whispered, panic rising.
"You did it at the stone circle. Do it again. Calm yourself. Slow your thoughts."
Ravel closed his eyes. His breaths came fast at first, shallow and unsteady. He forced them slower. He imagined pushing the warmth inward, drawing it into the sphere's center.
The sphere cooled slightly.
The Wretch paused. Its head twitched. The mist near its body thinned a little.
Ravel exhaled with relief.
But then his fear spiked again when the Wretch lifted one long arm and pointed directly at him. The fingers were thin and stretched, almost branch-like. The hand opened. The air around it shimmered as if heat radiated from its empty palm.
Seris shifted her stance. "If it marks you, it will attack."
"What do I do," Ravel whispered.
"Keep the sphere quiet," Seris said. "I will handle the rest."
Ravel tried. He pressed his palm against the sphere and focused. But fear clouded every thought. His heart pounded. His breath quickened. The sphere reacted to each surge of panic, pulsing harder.
The Wretch stepped forward again.
Seris cursed under her breath. She tightened her grip on her sword and took a fast step to the side, placing herself between the creature and Ravel once more. "If it lunges, I strike its joints. The limbs break easily."
"That does not sound comforting," Ravel said.
"It is the only advantage we have."
The Wretch loosed a low rumble, a sound like air being forced through hollow wood.
Its arms spread.
Seris stepped forward.
But the creature did not lunge at her.
It leaned toward Ravel.
Seris lunged first.
Her sword cut through the air and struck the Wretch's arm at the joint. The blade sliced clean through. The limb detached with a wet crack and fell to the forest floor.
The Wretch shrieked.
The sound was not loud. It was worse than loud. It was sharp enough to slice through thought, a piercing cry like the tearing of cloth that had been soaked for days. The forest answered with hush. Even the owls above did not move.
Ravel dropped to his knees, hands clamped over his ears.
Seris stepped back, ready for the counterattack.
The Wretch staggered. Its body bent in unnatural angles as it tried to compensate for the missing limb. Moss and dirt spilled from the wound. The mist around its torso shook and thinned.
The creature turned its head toward Seris and let out a rattled breath.
It lunged.
Seris dodged to the side. The Wretch's remaining arm scraped against a tree, carving a deep groove in the bark. The tree shuddered. Leaves fell like rain.
The creature stumbled, off balance.
Seris swung again, this time at its leg. The blade connected. The leg buckled. The Wretch collapsed onto one knee.
Ravel forced himself to stand. The sphere heated until it felt like fire under his shirt.
"Seris," he said, voice strained. "It is reacting again."
"Keep it contained," she shouted, dodging another swipe from the creature's arm.
"I am trying," Ravel said. "It will not calm."
The Wretch pivoted toward Ravel again, pulled by the sphere's heat. Its body trembled, as if held together by memory and spite alone. The creature reached out with its remaining arm.
Seris moved fast.
Her sword arced once more.
The blade sliced through the creature's elbow.
The second arm fell.
The Wretch toppled forward, its weight sending a tremor through the soil. Its head tilted toward Ravel. The hollow sockets stared directly at him.
Then it collapsed fully.
The body hit the ground and burst into a cloud of thick mist mixed with dirt. The feathers of moss turned into wilted strips. The limbs dissolved into sludge that sank into the earth. The bark-like mask on its face cracked down the center like old pottery.
Only silence remained.
Ravel exhaled with a shudder.
Seris kept her sword raised until the mist settled. Only then did she lower it. Her breaths were controlled but strained.
She turned to Ravel. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Ravel said. His voice shook. "But the sphere almost pulled it toward me."
Seris sheathed her sword slowly. "Wretches feed on lost resonance. Something inside it recognized the sphere as a source."
Ravel pressed a hand to his chest. "Why did it feel like the sphere was reacting to it?"
"Because the sphere remembers the same world the Wretch once belonged to," Seris said. "But the Wretch was only a broken echo of that world."
Ravel's skin prickled. "Are there more?"
"In a forest this old," Seris said, "there are always more."
Ravel swallowed hard. "So what now?"
Seris pointed deeper into the woods. "Now we move fast. The fight will draw attention. The watchers will warn the deeper guardians."
"And is that good or bad?"
"It keeps worse things away," Seris said, "but it also means the forest is watching everything you do."
Ravel felt the sphere pulse again.
And for the first time, he realized the woods might be guiding him toward something it remembered.
Something it wanted him to find.