In the shared cabin was lively and filled with the savory aroma of freshly cooked food. 

The small fireplace crackled, casting a warm glow across the room as Kazaks, Qarek, and Andhur gathered around a makeshift table piled high with a hearty meal. 

The dishes were a mix of meats, roasted vegetables, and the few supplies they had managed to get from Yzavynne and Leeani.

Andhur let out a contented sigh as he grabbed a slice of well-seared steak, still sizzling from the pan. 

"Now this," he declared with a grin, waving the steak around like a trophy.

"This is the real deal. I mean, the real feast!"

Kazaks, seated across from him, raised an eyebrow, his war-hammer leaning against the wall beside him. 

He took a slow, deliberate bite of the roasted meat, chewing as if he were pondering Andhur's words. 

He mocked, smirking slightly.

"The real feast, huh? You're just happy to eat without lifting a finger, Andhur."

Qarek, already midway through his third helping, chuckled. 

"You two bicker like an old couple. Just eat, or Andhur's going to finish everything before we even get a taste."

Andhur, unfazed, continued munching, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. 

"Not gonna lie," he said between bites.

"I was actually looking forward to having some fish. Ever since we joked about being the 'Warriors of Fishes,' I can't get it out of my head. Imagine the tales we'd spin. Legendary warriors, slayers of sea monsters, and conquerors of... trout?"

Kazaks snorted. 

"Warriors of Fishes? And here I thought you were the Warrior of Excess. It's no wonder, given how you devour anything in sight." 

He stabbed his fork into a piece of meat. 

"Though, I'll admit, some freshly caught fish would've been a good change. This village could use a taste of the sea."

Qarek took a swig from his cup, laughing. 

"I can already picture it. Andhur, charging into the river, shouting battle cries at the poor fish."

Andhur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning widely. 

"It would've been glorious! I'd craft a spear out of the finest willow branches, wade into the water, and—" 

He mimicked throwing a spear, nearly knocking over his cup. 

"The fish wouldn't stand a chance! We'd be feasting on grilled fish, smoked fish, fish stew!"

Kazaks leaned back, crossing his arms. 

"And what would you do if a river monster appeared instead? You'd be the one on the menu."

Qarek joined in on the mockery, pointing his fork at Andhur. 

"You'd be running so fast, you'd make ripples on the water."

Andhur clutched his chest in mock horror. 

"Running? Me? I would dive headfirst into battle! I'd tackle the beast and wrangle it into submission!" 

He then leaned in closer, a serious look crossing his face before cracking into a smile. 

"And then, when it's all done, I'd turn it into the best seafood stew you've ever tasted!"

Kazaks rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. 

"You never fail to surprise me, Andhur. One moment you're talking about slaying monsters, and the next you're dreaming of cooking them."

Qarek shrugged. 

"At least we know he'd never let us go hungry. But if I had to eat fish every day, I might just go mad."

The three of them laughed together, the sound echoing through the cabin as they continued to eat. 

The playful banter between them felt like a brief escape from the burdens they usually carried. 

For a moment—

It was as if they were just old friends sharing a meal—

Rather than warriors who had faced countless battles.

Andhur wiped his hands on his shirt, reaching for another slice of meat. 

"You know," he said thoughtfully.

"It's nice to have a moment like this. No fighting, no running for our lives. Just... eating."

Kazaks nodded slowly, his expression softening. 

"Yeah, it's been a while since we've had a chance to just sit down and enjoy a meal."

Qarek leaned back, patting his stomach. 

"We've been through a lot together. It feels like we're always moving from one fight to the next."

Andhur raised his cup, looking at Kazaks and Qarek with a genuine smile. 

"To us, then. To the Renaissance Band, and to many more feasts—whether it's fish or not."

Kazaks raised his cup in return, a rare, small smile on his face. 

"To us."

Qarek joined in, lifting his cup as well. 

"And to whatever adventure comes next."

They clinked their cups together, the sound a quiet promise of their bond, forged through trials and shared laughter.

Andhur, as usual, broke the solemn moment with a cheeky grin. 

"Now, who wants seconds? Because I'm not stopping until this table is empty!"

Kazaks laughed, shaking his head. 

"You're hopeless."

Qarek chuckled, already reaching for another piece. 

"But that's why we keep you around."

△▼△▼△▼△

Andhur, still chuckling at one of his own jokes, glanced casually towards the window. 

His smile faltered when he saw a shadowy figure standing just beyond the glass, barely visible in the dim light.

He froze, squinting his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining it. 

But the longer he looked—

The more distinct the dark figure became. 

A shiver ran down his spine, and he shot up from his seat, knocking over his cup in the process.

Andhur shouted, pointing to the window.

"What's... that?!" 

Kazaks and Qarek instantly turned their heads, following Andhur's gaze. 

Their expressions shifted from confusion to alertness as they too saw the shadowy figure outside. 

It was tall, shrouded in darkness, standing impossibly still, almost blending into the night. 

The way it seemed to peer into the cabin felt unnatural—

Sending a chill through the room.

Kazaks, gripping his war hammer instinctively, exchanged a glance with Andhur. 

Both spoke at the same time, their voices overlapping:

"Is that... the witch Captain Zach talked about?!"

Andhur, usually quick to crack a joke, had a serious, determined look on his face. 

"Come on," he urged, already moving towards his glaive.

"That witch is behind all the issues this village is facing, right? Let's confront her head-on!"

Kazaks nodded, the muscles in his arms tensing as he prepared himself for a potential fight. 

Qarek, despite his usual bravado, felt an uncharacteristic nervousness settle in. 

His hands were clammy, gripping his war axe tightly. 

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. 

This wasn't just a random intruder—

It felt more sinister—

More... malevolent.

Nevertheless, he stood up, the scrape of his chair loud against the wooden floor. 

 Qarek muttered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

Without another word, the three of them stormed out of the cabin, the door slamming behind them. 

The air outside was thick with the damp chill of dusk. 

The tall grass surrounding their cabin swayed gently in the wind, but there was an unnatural stillness that hung over the area. 

It felt as if the entire village was holding its breath.

They pushed through the tall grass, their eyes locked on the dark figure standing a few yards away. 

The figure didn't move, didn't react to their approach—

It merely stood there—

Observing them in eerie silence.

Kazaks stepped forward, his war hammer gleaming in the faint light of the moon. 

He raised it slightly, pointing it towards the shadow. 

"Who are you?!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the quiet night. 

"You must be the necromancer, aren't you? The one seeping the life out of this village's food supplies, not even letting us have one... two day's rest from our long journey?!"

Andhur, standing beside him, brandished his glaive with a wild grin, trying to mask the nervous flutter in his chest. 

"Hey, you!" he shouted at the figure, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. 

"Are you the one pulling all the creepy tricks around here? What's your problem, huh? Not enough friends to haunt? Did you run out of ghosts to talk to?"

Kazaks let out a short, bark-like laugh at Andhur's attempt at humor, but his eyes never left the shadowy figure. 

Qarek, meanwhile, was sweating despite the cool air. 

His instincts screamed at him that this was no ordinary foe. 

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the oppressive weight of the figure's gaze even from a distance.

The dark figure stood motionless, the tall grass barely reaching its knees. 

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, it tilted its head to one side, as if it were studying them. 

The move was so subtle—

Yet it sent a wave of unease through all three of them. 

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

And then, without warning, the figure raised a hand—a slender, pale hand that emerged from the folds of its dark cloak. 

The movement was slow, deliberate, and as it did, the ground beneath them began to quiver. 

Kazaks, Andhur, and Qarek instinctively took a step back, the earth beneath their feet feeling suddenly unstable.

The figure's hand curled into a fist, and from the soil, a series of grotesque, twisted roots burst forth. 

They writhed like serpents, coated in a viscous black substance that gleamed under the moonlight. 

The roots coiled and twisted, sprouting decayed, skeletal hands that clawed at the air, grasping for something unseen.

Kazaks gritted his teeth, lifting his war hammer in a defensive stance. 

"What in the name of—?"

Before he could finish his sentence, one of the skeletal hands shot out, grabbing hold of his ankle with a vise-like grip. 

He snarled, swinging his hammer down with all his might. 

The impact shattered the hand, sending fragments flying, but more skeletal limbs erupted from the ground, reaching towards them.

Andhur took a step back, his bravado fading as he watched the grotesque scene unfold. 

He muttered, his voice tinged with both awe and horror.

"This... this is necromancy."

Qarek's eyes widened, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. 

He could see the figures of what looked like decomposed villagers emerging from the ground—

Souls trapped between life and death. 

The sight made his stomach churn, and he took a hesitant step backward. 

"This isn't right."

The dark figure remained silent, its face obscured by the shadow of its hood. 

It seemed to be relishing in their reaction, the eerie stillness of its body contrasting sharply with the chaos it had unleashed.

Andhur, perhaps out of sheer defiance, found his voice. 

He pointed his glaive at the figure. 

"Hey, you creepy shadow! Is this all you got? A bunch of dead weeds and skeleton hands? You think this is gonna scare us off?" 

He laughed, though it was forced and strained. 

"I've had nightmares scarier than this!"

Kazaks shot him a glance. 

"Andhur, now's not the time to be provoking—"

Before Kazaks could finish, the dark figure took a step forward. 

The grass around its feet withered instantly, turning black and crumbling to ash. 

The skeletal hands retreated back into the ground, and a foul, putrid smell filled the air, making it hard to breathe.

Andhur gagged, covering his nose. 

"Ugh, smells like you've been eating nothing but rotten fish! What the hell?"

Kazaks tightened his grip on his hammer. 

He demanded, his voice strong, even as his heart raced in his chest.

"Who are you? What do you want?" 

The figure slowly lifted its head, and for a brief moment, they caught a glimpse of a face—pale, almost translucent, with hollow, glowing eyes that seemed to pierce through them. 

It opened its mouth, but instead of words, a guttural, inhuman sound came forth, like the groaning of the dead.

The eerie noise reverberated in the air, sending chills down their spines. 

The shadow figure then raised both arms, and the ground beneath them began to crack and split open. 

Dark, tar-like ooze bubbled up from the fissures, and with it, the heads of skeletal creatures emerged, their hollow eyes glowing with a sickly green light.

Qarek could barely hold onto his weapon, his hands shaking. 

"We... we need to get back! This isn't something we can handle on our own!"

Kazaks, however, stepped forward, his face a mask of grim determination. 

"No," he growled. 

"We face this thing now. If we run, it'll only keep haunting this village."

Andhur, despite his fear, nodded, stepping up beside Kazaks. 

"Right. Let's show this witch what happens when you mess with us!"

The dark figure didn't move, its eerie, glowing eyes fixed on them, as if daring them to come closer. 

The confrontation was just beginning, and it felt like the very air around them was holding its breath, waiting for the battle to commence.

Kazaks, Qarek, and Andhur stared at the shadowy figure as it moved, the unnatural stillness now broken by a slow, deliberate motion. 

The figure began to remove its cloak, the fabric slipping away to reveal a horrifying sight beneath. 

The creature's body was grotesquely thin, its skin almost entirely peeled off, leaving exposed red muscles glistening in the moonlight. 

The muscles writhed and pulsed as if alive on their own, and patches of raw flesh dangled loosely, peeling away from the sinew like wet paper.

For a moment—

The three warriors were frozen—

Paralyzed by the gruesome display. 

This was beyond anything they had ever faced before.

Andhur's voice trembled as he muttered.

"What... what the hell is that?"

The creature—Evelori—took a step forward, her body almost serpentine in the way it moved, bending and twisting as if her bones had been shattered and reassembled incorrectly. 

Her face was devoid of any recognizable emotion, her lips pulled back into a grotesque, unnatural smile that revealed teeth stained with blackened blood.

Her voice, a chilling, rasping whisper, cut through the air. 

"Who are you?" she asked, her tone almost playful yet dripping with malice. 

"I don't remember seeing such brave people here before. I come here often, visit the village beyond these grasses, and take its people—consume them, dismember them, skin them alive. I experiment on them, create replicas... little clones that blend seamlessly among the humans."

Kazaks felt bile rise in his throat, his grip on his war hammer tightening. 

"You're... you're horrible!" he shouted, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and fear. 

"Why are you doing this?!"

Evelori didn't answer immediately. 

Instead, she ran a hand over her own face, the skin peeling away under her fingers. 

Evelori

It sloughed off like a mask, revealing underneath a face so perfect it seemed sculpted—smooth, porcelain skin, youthful features, and delicate, bloodless lips. 

Her hair was long, cascading down like strands of silver silk. 

Her body now appeared completely changed, as if the grotesque, exposed musculature had been replaced by the form of a beautiful, naked woman, almost ethereal in her pale, ghostly appearance.

Andhur, still in shock, stammered.

"Why... why do you look like that?"

Evelori's smile widened, her teeth now an unnaturally brilliant white against her red, raw gums. 

"I am no longer alive," she explained, her voice dripping with a sinister, mocking tone. 

"What you see is but a façade. This is nothing but a skeleton, coated with layers of cosmetics and makeup. My organs are compressed, twisted within these bones. I fashion my skin from the flesh of the villagers I harvest. My hair, my eyes, my lips, my face—every part of me is pieced together from the remnants of those I've taken. I am a beautiful patchwork of stolen life."

Her words were a grotesque symphony of gore and horror. 

The imagery painted in their minds was enough to send a shiver down even the bravest warrior's spine. 

Kazaks felt his stomach churn, while Qarek turned pale, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find words that wouldn't come.

Qarek, breathing heavily, took a step back. 

"Hey, you two," he muttered nervously, the sweat pouring down his face. 

"Let's get out of here and inform the others about this—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Evelori twisted her own back with a sickening crack. 

Her spine snapped like dry wood, her torso flipping backward so her hands touched the ground. 

In an instant, she began crawling toward them with an inhuman speed, her limbs moving in jerky, insect-like motions.

Kazaks roared, swinging his war hammer with all his might. 

"Aaargh!"

The weapon came down in a brutal arc aimed directly at her face. 

But before it could connect, Evelori's body seemed to stretch, elongating unnaturally, and she caught the hammer in her bare hand. 

The force of the swing made her entire body shudder, but her grip held firm. 

Kazaks' eyes widened in shock as he felt the cold, sticky sensation of her flesh against the metal.

"Hu—Huh?"

Evelori's face shifted before his eyes, transforming into a hideous mask. 

Her eyes, once bright and youthful, became bloodshot, blood trickling down from the corners. 

Her nose began to bleed, followed by her ears. 

Dark, viscous blood oozed from every orifice on her face, dripping down her cheeks and onto her chest. 

Holes began to appear all over her body, small at first, but rapidly growing larger, revealing a dark void beneath her pale skin.

Kazaks recoiled, yanking his hammer back, but the dark substance on her hand stuck to the weapon, pulling it closer to her as if it had a life of its own. 

"Ge—Get off!"

Andhur took this chance to leap forward, his glaive gleaming as he stabbed at her. 

He struck her chest, then her side, then her arm, piercing her repeatedly, but every strike seemed to sink into her flesh without effect, as if she were made of tar.

With a grotesque smile, Evelori yanked on the glaive, pulling Andhur closer. 

He stumbled forward, his eyes wide with fear as he realized his weapon was stuck, sinking into her body like quicksand. 

He shouted, trying to wrench it free.

"What the—?!"

Qarek, seeing his friends in danger, gritted his teeth and charged forward. 

"Let go of them!"

He raised his war axe, aiming to sever her head in a single, powerful strike. 

He swung down with a roar, putting all his strength into the blow. 

But as the blade reached her neck, she turned her head unnaturally fast, catching the axe between her neck and shoulder. 

The skin there stretched, tearing slightly but holding the weapon in place. 

Her eyes locked onto Qarek's, and a chilling, bloody smile spread across her face.

Kazaks and Andhur both pulled back, trying to free their weapons, but Evelori's sticky, tar-like flesh held them fast. 

She opened her mouth wide, impossibly wide, as if her jaw had been dislocated. 

Her voice came out in a guttural, inhuman growl.

"You... think you can harm me with such pitiful weapons?"

Kazaks' heart pounded in his chest. 

This wasn't an ordinary opponent. 

This was a monster unlike anything he had ever faced. 

He glanced at Andhur, whose face was drained of color, and at Qarek, whose bravado had crumbled into pure fear.

Before any of them could react further, a distant voice pierced the tension. 

The shout was desperate, urgent, and filled with terror.

"Kazaks! Andhur! Qarek!" 

They all turned their heads toward the sound and saw Seraphina running toward them, her expression a mix of fear and determination. 

Lyra was beside her, her enchanted arrow and bow in hand, both women sprinting towards the confrontation.

Evelori's twisted, bleeding smile faded slightly as she turned to observe the newcomers. 

The momentary distraction gave Kazaks and Andhur the chance they needed. 

With a final, desperate heave, they pulled their weapons free, stumbling backward.

Seraphina's eyes widened as she took in the grotesque sight of Evelori. 

She whispered, horror washing over her face.

"No... It can't be..."

The fight had only just begun, and already, the three warriors felt as if they had been thrust into a nightmare. 

But with Seraphina and Lyra's arrival—

The odds had changed—

Whether for better or worse remained to be seen.

═════ ◆ TO BE CONTINUED ◆ ═════