The deeper they moved into the forest, the thicker the fog became.
At first, it was just a faint mist curling around their feet. But with every step forward, it grew denser—until it felt as though the world behind them had been swallowed whole.
Visibility dropped.
Sound dulled.
Even the air felt heavier.
It was as if they were being cut off… isolated from everything beyond the forest.
The path they had been following slowly faded until it disappeared completely.
Raemond raised his hand, signaling everyone to stop.
Both parties gathered close, their senses sharp as they stood in the eerie silence.
"This is far enough," Raemond said, his voice calm but firm. "We'll discuss the plan here."
All eyes turned toward him.
"According to the scout reports," he continued, "there are two minion groups. One is stationed at the ruins. The other is roaming within the forest."
He paused, scanning both teams.
"My party has four members. We'll head toward the ruins and deal with the main group."
Then he looked at Asiel.
"You take care of the roaming pack."
The fog shifted slightly between them, almost as if reacting to the decision.
Asiel nodded without hesitation.
"Understood."
Yrion gave a small approving glance, while Silver tightened his grip on his staff.
Both groups adjusted their equipment, preparing to separate.
Asiel stepped forward slightly.
"Be careful," he said, his tone steady. "Even if they're just minions… something about this place feels off."
Raemond's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened slightly.
"…We'll keep that in mind."
With that—
The two parties split.
Raemond's group moved straight ahead, their figures quickly fading into the thick fog, swallowed by the direction of the ruins.
Asiel turned the other way.
"Stay close," he said quietly.
Yrion moved to the front, instinctively taking point despite the earlier discussion. Silver stayed behind, alert and watchful.
Step by step, they advanced deeper into the forest.
The silence grew heavier.
No birds.
No insects.
Nothing.
Only the faint crunch of leaves beneath their feet.
Then—
Yrion suddenly stopped.
His hand tightened around his weapon.
"…Something's wrong," he muttered.
The fog around them shifted unnaturally.
And from somewhere within it—
A low, distorted sound echoed.
Not quite a growl.
Not quite a voice.
But something… watching them.
Waiting.
The hunt had begun.
As Asiel's group advanced deeper into the forest, the fog thickened into something almost tangible, wrapping around them like a living presence. The world narrowed to a suffocating corridor of pale grey, where only the silhouettes of trees emerged—tall, unmoving, and unnaturally still. Behind them, whatever traces remained of Raemond's party had long since vanished, consumed entirely by the mist, as if they had never been there to begin with.
Each step forward felt heavier than the last.
The forest was wrong.
There were no distant bird calls, no rustling of small creatures fleeing their approach—only silence, vast and oppressive, pressing against their senses. Even the wind seemed to hesitate before entering this place.
Asiel walked at the center of the formation, his posture firm, his gaze steady as it scanned the obscured surroundings. To an outside observer, he appeared composed, almost unfazed. But beneath that controlled exterior, his body betrayed him in the smallest ways—his fingers trembled slightly, his breath came more measured than usual, and a faint tension coiled in his shoulders.
Fear was there.
Sharp. Clear. Unavoidable.
Yet he suppressed it completely.
(I don't understand how dangerous these minions really are…)
The thought lingered in his mind like a shadow.
(That's what I hate the most… facing something without knowledge.)
Uncertainty was far more dangerous than any visible enemy. It left no room for prediction, no foundation for strategy—only instinct and reaction.
"Asiel?" Yrion's voice cut through the silence, low but alert.
Asiel exhaled quietly, regaining absolute control over himself.
"Take the lead," he said, his tone calm and decisive. "You're the swordsman. You'll react faster at close range."
Yrion didn't argue. He stepped forward, naturally adjusting his stance, his hand resting near the hilt of his weapon as his eyes pierced through the fog ahead.
Silver shifted slightly behind them, staff in hand, maintaining a support position. His gaze moved constantly, scanning their flanks, his awareness sharpened by the unnatural quiet.
Asiel remained centered, his focus turning inward.
His Kairo began to circulate with precision, flowing steadily through his body before extending outward. The faint connection with the earth beneath his feet stabilized his stance, grounding him. He wasn't casting—he was preparing, holding the energy in a controlled state, ready to respond the moment danger revealed itself.
The three moved as one, slow and deliberate.
Then—
A sudden rustling sound broke through the silence.
Not distant.
Close.
Too close.
The bushes to their right shifted sharply, leaves trembling as something moved within.
In an instant, all three reacted.
Yrion's hand snapped to his weapon, his body turning toward the sound with lethal readiness. Silver raised his staff, Kairo gathering faintly at its tip. Asiel's focus tightened, the energy beneath him responding instinctively.
No hesitation.
No wasted movement.
The forest, silent until now, seemed to hold its breath.
Whatever was inside the bushes—
Was about to reveal itself.