The Mire Woods was a drastic change from the Amberlynn Bridge. The luxurious golden trees that stood still in a perpetual harvest palette had given way to a collection of thin and sickly twigs that could topple with a single gust and dense, twisted goliaths, with a tangled web of roots as thick as a man’s arm. The leaves were unlike anything Vas had seen before, tapered ends collected in flowering buds, with tiny, almost invisible hairs covering the face of them. The deeper they went, the more abundant the trees became. The trunks, blending and fusing, leaving little room for the fleet to navigate. As the Spectres went deeper into the Mire Woods, the ground became spongy and sodden with pockets of stagnant water. A damp, dense fog covered the area limiting the already minimal visibility of the woods. A brisk wind rattled tree limbs and fallen leaves, Autumn was ending soon, and it was signaling in a cold, harsh, and long Winter—surely and swiftly.

Vas subconsciously grabbed at the fastener of his cloak, a dire wolf fighting against a serpent that coiled around it—it was the symbol of The Vale. The only free nation of Karonus, shielded by the Green Mountains. The cloak and the sword were Emilie’s final gifts to him: to protect him and comfort him. The last memory of a home he no longer had. The cloak was made from Hillin’s Wool, named for the plains resting on the outer rim of The Vale, the Hillin-Fors. The Hillin-Fors craftsmen were renown across Karonus for their handiwork and had open trade with every Fae-less nation of Karonus. The wool was used for the finest and sturdiest of outerwear. When it was woven, it was enchanted by Nature Magic, making it versatile, protective, and able to adapt to all forces of the natural elements. Vas wrapped tightly around his body, clinging to it for a bit of warmth and security. It wasn’t terribly cold at the moment, but the cloak felt… safe.

Instinctively he reached into the leather pouch that held the Malachite stone and carefully pulled out a small stack of parchment, bound with a leather thong. The letters were beginning to yellow, and despite the care he used when handling them, the corners were starting to bend and fray, while the edges were worn down from constant handling. With all the delicacy and tenderness of handling an infant, he unbound the string and removed one of the letters.

‘My Love’—it began, ‘I hope this letter finds you well. It was difficult finding a place for the courier to send this to you. I only hope despite the vastness of the capital city that both the letter and package reach you. Its been a year since you left home, thankfully not much has changed in the long seasons since. We all continue to believe that you’ll come to your senses and return home. We all miss you. I miss you. Although I know and understand why, I still find myself wishing you would have stayed, or at least have been able to join you. The Shadow knows how much you mean to me and how I wish I could have joined you. Please find your way home to me. Forever Yours, Emilie’

He ran his thumb tenderly over Emilie’s name as if brushing a stray hair off her forehead, a melancholy smile haunting him. Despite having read continuously over the letters in the six years following, it always felt like he was reading them for the first time. He skimmed the remaining notes, chronicling their journey from adoration and pleading, to apathy and contempt. He could practically recite them from memory at this point. She had written to him every month, and most of the letters would be venting her frustrations over the inane things going on in The Vale, such as the ‘inexcusable price gouging’ in the local market or to share a joke she heard that he might appreciate. More often than not, they ended with her pleading him to come home or lamenting the fact she hadn’t joined him when he left.

He never really felt the desire to write her back like he should. He never knew what to say. ‘Sorry for leaving? I changed my mind, and I’ll be home soon?’ How could he respond? He wasn’t sorry, and he had no intention of returning.

Sometimes the letters would contain an update on his family and their goings-on. Their constant disapproval of his’ abandonment of duty.’ The fact that his parents were trying= and failing for a new child. When he reached the last letter in the stack, remorse swallowed him like a monstrous whale, dragging him to the depths of his grief. He had refused to open it since its arrival, days before the bidding process. It was the last letter he had received from Emile. He sighed heavily as he prepared himself for its contents. He unfastened the wax seal on the back and unfolded the paper. Inkblots, water stains, and scratches decorated the parchment as if she wasn’t sure what to say or even how to say it.

‘My Heart, I no longer know if you are alive or…’ an inkblot was smeared over the word, and a line was scratched through the sentence,

‘Vas,

It has been a year since my last letter, a year since I bid you goodbye. The past five years that I have written to you, I hoped and prayed to The Shadow that I would see your smile again. Always expecting to have some token of acknowledgment that you are getting these letters and that I was reaching you. I am long past the hurt and desire your absence has wrought, and have accepted its permanence. However, it is with a heavy and distant heart that I write to you now, not knowing whether you are alive or whether you even desire to hear from me.

‘Your mother is sick with child, and the clerics don’t believe she will last the pregnancy. Knowing this, hopefully, you will find it in your heart to return and pay your respects to your family. Your father, and mine, have offered to welcome you back with open arms, saying, “All will be forgiven and forgotten.” Please, consider this. They just want you home, we all miss you terribly. I ask this of you as your friend. Please, Vasilios. Don’t make them wait any longer.

-Emilie Karadim’

A raven screamed from the depths of the woods. With a heavy sigh, he carefully tied the bundle of letters together again and returned them to his pouch for safekeeping. “Why can’t things ever be simple?” He groaned.

That letter was almost two months old now. He lost two months because of his own damn stubbornness and desire for ‘individuality.’ How far along was his mother? Is he too late? He looked around him at the grubby footsoldiers trudging through the swamp, their boots slinking and sloshing through the thick mud. They looked just as miserable as him. He needed to return to Poluranis, he owed his family that much. Maybe when he put those ghosts to rest, he finally could move forward? Perhaps they would, at last, accept his decision that he didn’t want to be a leader. Hopefully, Belmont would allow him temporary leave once his Trial ended. Ultimately, it all hinged on his final say and the outcome of this mission. Somewhere in the distance, another raven’s haunted call sounded in the dense fog.

It was hard for him to believe that such a significant town like Elmora could be so far removed from civilization and in the middle of a swamp. As if on cue, his foot sunk into a puddle of putrid water and mud, water leaking in from a hole in his boot. He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Ugh, bogs. I hate bogs,” He let out a quiet groan of annoyance. “Why couldn’t we just use the trails?” He shook his foot, the brown water and mud swashing about.

Elmora’s major exports consisted of berries, booze, and, surprisingly, housing equipment. Elmoran mead, wine, and ale were some of the sweetest and smoothest drinks in all of Karonus, and usually went for a whole Five-piece, or fifty gold, just for a pint at other domestic bars and taverns. Their brilliant crimson furniture was a luxury in most parts of Ellisandere, typically found, crafted, and polished from the petrified wood that littered the mire. At times whole excavation teams would be seen diving into the alkaline sludge to extract these 500 some-odd-year-old trees. Then when given just the right amount of stress and the correct polish, the artisan’s pieces would have a brilliant sheen made up of a menagerie of colors. Vas and Emilie’s families had countless pieces of these dotted around their estates. Well, at least they did six years ago when he left.

By the time the Spectres reached the midpoint of the woods, the undergrowth, treeline, and swamplands were too thick for the mounts to traverse safely through the area. Unfortunately, one of the older horses had sprained an ankle and needed to be put down, much to Vas’s dismay. One of the junior squads were left to maintain the care and treatment of the remaining mounts, escorting them back to the main army near Gallahan the following day, per request of Frost. Apparently, they had had some issues with Faebeasts.

‘Faebeats… Pray, The Shadow keeps us safe.’ Seizing the opportunity, Vas sought out Belmont, hoping that they could come to an understanding. “Lieutenant Belmont,” Vas said, breaking out into a gait to catch up with the scouting leader.

“What is it, Elementalist?” He said. Lance slowed his walking pace allowing Vas to catch up to him.

Vas clutched the stone he kept in his pocket and inhaled deeply, letting his ball of nerves loosen. Remember, strength. “I couldn’t help but notice the route we took; wouldn’t it have been easier to use the roads, like the others?” He asked, matching his steps with his superior officer’s, “We could have had the horses with us and wouldn’t be down such manpower.” Vas said, observing the soldiers trekking through the underbrush and odorous mush – the smell of rotten eggs. Vas’s face contorted with disgust. They were down to 16 units from the original 30, now. “Here’s hoping someone is looking out for us.” He whispered quietly.

“I understand your concerns, Son, but from here on, we won’t need as many footsoldiers. And since the main force lost a good amount of swords in the raid, we need to contribute. That way, their mission can be counted as a success, as well. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The two walked on in silence as Vas planned his approach. After several minutes, he finally spoke again, hoping to nudge the conversation in the right direction. “About how far from Elmora, are we?” Vas measured his words carefully, trying to navigate a verbal minefield. One wrong move, one wrong word…

“We should be at the campsite by evening. Once there, it should be about half a day’s travel to the city gates.” Although it felt like he was giving Vas his full attention, the lieutenant kept his attention focused on the road ahead of him. Vas watched his eyes dart across the way. He was on-guard as if he was expecting something to impede their progress.

“That’s not too far then,” Vas said. It had been almost two weeks since his private conversation with the lieutenant. Although he still held no desire to lead armies, Belmont insisted on tutoring him, refining his skills and techniques. On the other hand, Joris and the Blades helped Vas break out of his shell, allowing him to be more comfortable and open with the other Spectres. “Do we have a timeline on how long this recon mission is supposed to take, Belmont?” Belmont betraying his guard, allowed a hint of pride dash across his lips in the form of a smirk before returning to his usual stony façade.

“Never thought I would live to see the day you would address me in such a brusque manner, Elementalist.”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to,” Vas said, ducking his head, embarrassed at the coarseness of his actions.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Saerkin.” He smiled again, this time purposefully. “It shows you are finally starting to come out of your head more. As for a timeline? That entirely depends on subsequent events that I will go over with everyone tonight.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Vas said calmly, but inside he felt his heart swell with pride and gratitude. Pride in himself for taking the first steps in conquering the hurdle that crippled him, and thankful for everyone patient enough to help him overcome it in the first place. “I couldn’t have done it without the help of this company. I still have a ways to go, but now I know I can get there.”

“Good. Remember that, Elementalist. We are a family, a ragtag one at that, but family. We are all in this together. Now, was there something else you needed?”

“Actually, there was,” Vas said, bursting confidence. “I needed to talk you about my Tri—” Belmont’s ears perked as he stood up straight, lifting his hand to silence Vas.

“There’s something here. I can sense it, we are… unwelcome in these woods.” Belmont’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Unwelcome?” Vas asked. ‘How could they be unwelcome in the middle of a forest?’ There was nothing here for miles save for wildlife just going about their lives, right? A frog croaked and found its home on another lily pad, and fish bubbled around Vas’s legs, perturbed by the home invader. Rustling leaves and snapping twigs caught Vas’s attention in the fog behind Belmont. He moved to his position, guarding Lance’s back, raising his casting hand and gripping his sword. A small pile of red and gold leaves, picked up by the wind, began their seasonal ballet waltzing with the ebb and flow of the icy winds. In the distance, a lone wolf called out to his people. By all rights, it should have been a typical day. However, something did seem off, though. Was he being watched? But by what, or whom, even? Shrouded by the fog, the shadows of the trees began to sway, and contort. In the murk, one of them was growing larger and… moving?

Belmont raised a fist in the air above his head, signaling the group to halt and then motioned them to cover themselves. Vas knelt down, his knee sinking into the cold sludge. Despite the sturdiness and thickness of his leather slacks, he still felt the moss-ridden swamp water through them, like he was kneeling bare-ass in the purplish-green mud.

The pungent and sickening sweet smell of decayed flesh overwhelmed Vas, causing him to gag. He covered his mouth and nose with the excess fabric of his shirt, treating it as if it were a facemask. It didn’t help. Vas’s eyes began to water as the sickeningly sweet odor enveloped him.

“What on earth is that damn smell?” Vas grumbled, “It smells like death.”

“As it should,” Belmont’s eyebrows narrowed as he addressed Vas. His voice expressionless, matching his stern face. This was not going to be a pleasant encounter. “Corporal,” Belmont commanded. “I need you to fall back with the Blades. Now. Let them know we need them on guard and ready, should that shape get any closer.”

“Aye, sir, but what is it?”

“Go, I’ll tell you later should we be able to escape its observation.” Belmont hurried him along as he stared down the moving Shadow.

Vas slowly made his way to the blades, slogging through the water, careful not to disturb it and generate unnecessary ripples. When he arrived, the Blades were broken into a diamond-guard pattern; Karson was covering the left flank and Hyulfgar covering the right. Vas crawled over to Dallion and Joris, “So what did the big ol’ Boss-man want?” Dallion whispered. “I can’t say I’m a fan of these woods, nor downsizing over half our troop. These woods… they seem unfriendly. A bad omen, it is.” He scratched his chin, blonde and silver stubble was making its home.

“You aren’t alone. The lieutenant and I feel the same.” Vas replied.

“Natural instincts of a Blade, I guess.” Joris smiled.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it instincts, more like proof.” The Blades stared at Vas like he was a madman.

“Auch whaddya mean, lad.” Gar sauntered over to them, followed by Karson’s hulking figure.

“We might have a problem up top. Belmont wanted me to make sure you all are armed and on guard.”

“That tells us nothing, what is it? What happened?” Dallion said. A few strands of his hair fell loose, Vas sniffed. It was kind of humorous, his hair did that too whenever he was annoyed or frightened.

‘Focus..’ Vas said to himself. “I don’t know, we saw some shadows moving deeper in the woods, and one of them looked like it was coming towards us.”

“What did it look like?” Dallion’s eyes wide with fear, embracing himself for the report.

“I- I don’t know. I guess it was tall, kind of lanky. It just looked like a tree. I mean, it was a shadow. I can’t give much more than that, because there wasn’t more than that.” Vas clicked his tongue, brushing his own bangs off his forehead. He was starting to get agitated. What was he supposed to say? “A shadow, is a shadow, is a Gods-Damned shadow. Right?” He asked the others.

“No, Elementalist. It is not,” It was Belmont who spoke. “We need to go before it comes back.”

“Comes back?” Vas and the Blades stood to match Belmont.

“Correct. Shortly after you left, a wolf passed through and drew it away. Strangest thing I have seen in this neck of the woods. Now come, let’s get out of here.”

After being veered off course by the unexpected Shadow, the terrain they hiked began to change to a slow and steady incline. By evening the trees thinned closer to the top, but the underbrush had become worse and more challenging to navigate. When they reached the peak of the hill, there was a pleasant plateau waiting for them. Lance instructed the platoon to halt and set up camp.

“We’re about fifteen miles from Elmora,” Lance said. “We should be right outside the view of their watchtowers,” Belmont scanned the horizon. “To make sure we stay that way, we won’t be lighting any cookfires or flames. We can’t risk the smoke being spotted on the horizon.” He said crossly.

“Sir, uh, why are we setting up camp? Innit sposed to be a–whatchacallit—pre-emptive strike or sumthin?” One of the enlisted, who Vas learned was named Florinz, spoke up. He was from the Midwest region of Karonus, about twelve days’ travel from Poluranis.

“In theory, yes, but we need to make sure we know as much as we can about them. Information is vital if we plan on claiming the Three Kingdoms. We need to know their strategy, their allies, supply lines, everything. This is why our unit was selected instead of the weight of Regiment Three. Does this answer your question, Leghorn?” Lance stared down the man.

“Aye, sir.” The man executed a salute and melted back into the platoon. Lieutenant Belmont then turned his attention back to the rest of his soldiers,

“Once we have the information we need, we’ll report back to General Frost and finish making our plan of attack. I’ll be sending a small unit to infiltrate Elmora and gather as much information as they can.” He made eye contact with Vas, who felt his stomach sinking, twisting, and tieing itself over in knots.

Bile climbed to the tip of his throat. With disgust, he forced it back down, a wet sludge rising from the bowels of his anxiety and uncertainty. ‘Why can’t things ever be simple?’

Lance returned his attention to his unit. “The rest of us will act as support and reinforcements, should things go south—which I pray doesn’t happen. Any other questions or concerns?” His steely eyes, staring down his troops like a hawk. After a resounding chorus of agreement, he stepped down from his podium and approached Vas and Company.

The dwarf and Plainsman had just rejoined the group standing on either side of Vas and Joris. “Evening, sir.” Vas nodded. The remaining Blades mumbled their greetings as well.

“Evening, lad. I can assume you know why I am addressing you all, then?” Lieutenant Belmont eyed them conspicuously. His grey eyes stern and bright, embraced by the thin lines of his eyebrows. Vas couldn’t help but feel that he looked rather regal.

“It appears,” Joris eyed over the other Blades. “That you mean to send us in. Am I correct?” He challenged Lance with his gaze, who smiled and nodded his head.

“But why’s that?” Vas blathered. “Surely, there’s someone more qualified than me… us,” He quickly corrected.

“Vas, do you doubt your own abilities or those of your friends?” Joris said, giving him an icy cold stare.

“N-no, of-of course not,” Vas’s face grew hot. The top of his head burned as it teased him, begging him to scratch.

“Good,” Joris smiled. “When do you need us to leave?” He asked, straightening his robes.

“We could leave right before dawn, and that would enable us to arrive before midday,” Dallion said.

“That will work. Here,” Belmont tossed Joris a sack of Imperial Crowns. “The main army is still at least a couple of weeks away. Crows will be going out around the same time as you leave, not my preferred method, but it’s better than exposing ourselves with magic.” Lance grumbled. “Take as much time as you feel you need. I need your information to be concise and as accurate as possible. I wager it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days, but these are different times,” His gaze turned north in the direction of Elmora. “I know I can trust you all to be able to blend in with them. Especially you, City Boy.” A brief smile dashed across the lieutenant’s face as he clapped Vas on the shoulder. His hand was huge, encompassing his shoulder in its entirety. Vas’s knees gave away slightly from the unexpected familiarity.

“Aye, sir!” The Blades said in unison.

“Good. I look forward to your reports Master Vas and Master Joris,” Lieutenant Belmont turned to leave. “and be safe.” His voice was quiet, almost being dropped from the wind. Lance left and headed to the center of the camp where his tent was being prepared for him.

The Blades spent the rest of the evening unraveling their beddings and bundling into their cloaks. Vas picked at the dried meat and cheese wedge. His thoughts were unstable and wild. He kept thinking about the incident in the woods earlier in the day. Was he being watched? I mean, he always felt he was, but that was usually just because of nerves and anxiety. However, this time he genuinely, honestly, and legitimately thought that he was being watched, even now. He felt an energy, a presence. Something ancient and familiar. He can’t recall ever feeling like that before, at least not in this life. Now, that was an odd thought.

Vas had always heard tales of haunted woods and restless spirits. Monsters and demons in the dark, but those were usually just scary stories he was told back home. Home. A heavy feeling rose in his chest, a longing. He dug through his pack to gather the letters from earlier. “All will be forgiven and forgotten.” He collapsed backward onto his sleeping roll, a gale of exasperation and fleeting content escaping from his mouth. Because of the day’s harrowing events, he had been unable to talk to Belmont about visiting Poluranis. Then again, was there even a point to it? To trek there and back would be almost two months of travel time minimum. Maybe he could take a ship then? Elmora was port town after all. Even so, there’s no guarantee that he would make it in time. He hadn’t seen The Vale in what, six or seven years now? I mean, it wasn’t like he had any reason to go back before now. His parents had taken everything from him when he made his decision to leave home, abandoning Emilie and his parents’ plans for him. All in hopes to chase after a foolish dream of identity and heroism.

He would joke with Emilie and his friends, saying that he was adopted or found in the Shadow of a great mountain. That he would be some great hero, prophesies foretold. He would have a harem (much to Emilie’s disapproval and annoyance), and he would have a thousand battles fought and won in his name. He would be a legend! And how’d that work out for him? Ass deep in the middle of a swamp, getting ready to infiltrate a town he knew very little of, all in hopes of gathering intel for a war he wanted no part in, to impress the superiors that wanted him—expected him—to be some kind of great leader or general.

His head burned and pounded as question after question bombarded him like a heavy rain of doubt and insecurity. Every scenario played out before him like a play, all of them ending in the worst-case scenario, and he hated it. He asks Belmont, gets called a coward, and loses the respect he had worked so hard towards. Ultimately, ending in Vas failing his Trial and being discharged and abandoned at the Imperial Army’s first opportunity. Or worse, what if Belmont says yes? Vas hops on a boat, arrives in Poluranis several weeks later, and he’s too late. His family and Emilie would hate him even more than they already do. His name would be blacklisted and forgotten by everyone, stripped of everything. Back to where he was when he first left home, ultimately gaining nothing and winding up in the exact same situation. He would lose everything… and everyone. He looked at his comrades sleeping peacefully around him. There was no outcome he could see that ended well for him. In every scenario, he would always wind up hated and useless. “What should I do? What can I do?” He groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Why can’t things just be simple?”