The sun grazed the horizon, cascading fleeting rays onto Arcadia's soil. Dew glistened on potted plants and grass squares, spotlighting the blue leaves. A mist infiltrated the air, clinging and damping earlier morning travelers.

Isla tugged her hood lower, sweeping her locks beneath the cover. She passed a crippled old man testing his pathway with a cane. The rest steered clear, but their heads swiveled her way.

She looked forward towards the meetup point—the city's exit. Today, they left for the ritual site on Mount Avia. Varnis required two days to ready his men, now he would deliver his services.

While drawing her cloak closer, her sisters came into view. Layla had declared she would drag her younger twin to her departure. The declaration was inferior to the why. A foolish desire. Yet, she succeeded. At least with age, she corrected the inability to keep baseless promises. Isla snorted at her own prattle. Not a chance.

The leather satchel across her shoulder smacked her leg with each step. She shoved the sack behind. Her sister whined and complained about Isla having the proper necessities. And she gave in.

Isla had stubbornness, she knew herself well. But contending with a nagging, unending annoyance, her solid front lost stature. For argument's sake, how did she escape her without leaving these lands? The scourge chased her.

The blurred image of her sisters focused. Layla paced back and forth while Linda sat prim and organized, inspecting her nails. Beyond them gathered four men, their shapes and sizes a striking difference.

"Isla, there you are!" Layla shouted, dashing towards Isla. Her dress floundered and eased as she halted. She lunged forward, dividing Isla's cloak. "Why aren't you wearing the clothes I picked out?"

Isla slapped her hands and stepped back. "Hands off," she growled.

"Layla, why bother?" Linda added. "You're wasting your time."

Layla pouted, her lips curved down. "Fine, fine. But I'm not giving up."

She rolled her eyes and diverted her attention to Varnis. Their gazes locked, his bored and aloof, hers reserved. They played a similar game, each waiting and observing their opponent. One flinch would steer the course and atmosphere of her quest.

He moved, his lean body towering two heads over her. He carried his silver-coated lance across his shoulders, one arm balancing the weight. Magic symbols highlighted the tip, the minimal etchings amplifying the strength and durability of the weapon.

"Let's go," Varnis voiced as he scrutinized her next move.

She nodded, passing her sisters and joining his pace one step behind.

"Blessings be with you, Isla," Layla said.

She neither flinched nor reacted. Rather, inside her stomach clenched and revolted. Couldn't she be left alone? When would she understand? Nothing could exist between them, at least not anymore. Isla trailed Varnis, transferring her focus to the forest.

"Boss, you sure about this?" scoffed a man Isla's height. He strutted before her with his unruly midnight hair curling at his ears. "Why the hell are we helping a God again? Sure, the Queen ordered it last time, but this time?"

Varnis glanced backward. "Shut up Slate. Money is money. We finish the job and move on."

"I ain't okay with a God as the next ruler, don't tell me you are?" he retorted before spitting the ground. "Aren't you two the same?" His words targeted his comrades marching ahead.

One sustained a considerable weight, the seams of his clothes threatened to buckle. His ear ridges reddened, matching his short red hair spiked with sweat. He lacked the cloaks and coats worn by his comrades. Yet, the omitted cloth exposed the leather breastplate, a light brown against a pale blue undershirt.

"But the money, Slate," whined the plump man in a high pitched boyish voice.

Isla pinched herself. She wasn't dreaming, right? She swore the words came from a young child, not a man.

He embodied the saying, first appearances were deceiving. The large battle-ax strapped to his rucksack bore his aptitude, but perhaps not enough to conquer his image. His waddled short stride supplemented her inner inquisition. She narrowed her eyes. Perhaps her judgment should be restrained. But still, a weak link.

"Yeah, Slate. Ham needs his meat. Don't take it away from him. Just think, another few years and he'll be ripe," the wavy blond-haired man cracked. The ankle-length black leather coat he wore draped his thin frame.

"If Ham gets any fatter, he's out of a job," Varnis added.

"Wolfe, he'll stab you later," Slate chuckled.

"I'm not worried. He has to catch me first."

Ham sighed, long and heavy. "Hey, at least I don't get mistaken for a woman!"

"I'd rather look like a woman than a pig. Oink, oink."

The two-faced, fists raised. Wolfe swiped Ham's ear and he yelped.

"You hit like a girl," Ham whined.

"And you cry like one."

Slate smacked them and they jolted forward. "Idiots, stop. Remember, we're on the job right now."

"Thought you hated the idea," commented Wolfe. He relaxed his arms behind his head and continued to walk.

"Don't worry. First sign of trouble and I'm gone." He glanced at Isla, waiting for a retort.

She revealed no smidgen of intent, leaving her face blank and stared back. He swiveled around, muttering, "damn God."

What a joke. Layla had been right, the problem child would announce themselves without inquiry. He was simple. He wore his temper. She smirked, covering her mouth to suppress a laugh.

Her emotions settled as the forest sprouted to size. The needle-like trees grew into pure monstrosities, their ash stricken cores stark against the foliage. This sight pinched her insides. Like bittersweet chocolate, a reminder of good times. What would Rydin have said? Would he have laughed at their return to the abominable forest? He would profess a desire to investigate and understand the forest quirks. His gaze would enliven, beaming and drawing.

Better yet, would she recall him everytime adventure and unknowns introduced themselves? There was no escape. How did he delve so deep past her defenses within a short time? Rather, how could she let this happen? What a weakness.

They halted with the woods and grassland boundary ahead. The stark azure blades darkened and shortened to black earth. The air shimmered, a silverish tint bleeding from existence. Isla swept a hand through the divide, her skin buzzed. A viewable barrier? No, not a barrier, the miasma.

Varnis approached her. "Don't dawdle and slow us down." He issued his commands then strode off.

She rolled her eyes. His over-exaggerated exterior coupled his job.

They crossed the separation, an invisible film encased their bodies. She stopped and inspected their surroundings. Nothing jumped or rushed at their appearance, instead, the silence consumed them. It was different. No buzzing of insects, chirps of birds or the rustling of foliage. The only sound was her companions rhythmic footsteps. Odd, would the difference be so substantial?

She focused her hearing, but her gaze wandered. The earth contained no weeds or above ground roots. A forest, she expected something, anything. Fallen trees, rocks, small animals scurrying the grounds, even leaves stripped by the wind. Her instincts screamed. This felt wrong.

Their pace was slow, but they continued onwards.

Her vision blurred and she rubbed them. Had she concentrated for too long? No, the haze heightened, dampening the monotone colors.

"Stupid miasma," Slate grumbled, "seriously every time."

"I'll cover the back," Wolfe commented, pausing until Isla passed him.

Her eyes perceived the hilts of daggers arranged in columns. Wolfe had woven pockets into his leather coat to stash his weapons. The coat's flaps revealed their blackened ends with each step.

She returned to scouring the plain forest. Would the landscape transform as they plunged deeper? With the mirrored lengths and directionally sapping smog, no wonder adventurers refrained from traveling alone. But still, where were the monsters preying on unsuspecting foes? The squirming insides of this living forest.

Her peripheral caught movement. A black narrow object. Yet, when she veered her gaze, a dull scenery greeted her. She blinked, her eyes watering. Was she hallucinating?

The sighting existed. Ahead, a hulking root ripped from the ground, showering their party with dirt. The stem shot up before diving to entangle Ham. His body jerked, launching him feet first into the air.

"Help me!" Ham screamed while his unhindered limbs flailed.

"To battle," Varnis shouted, lunging the root ensnaring Ham with his lance. The blade delved deep, but snug halfway.

An assault of roots emerged from the ground. They flicked and twirled, hanging down like claws eager to pierce. They were surrounded.

Isla unsheathed her weapon and readied her stance. Clasping the hilt, she waited with her heart racing. Her eyes darted, watching for the next attack. The plant limbs swayed and halted their grand movements. Would they combine their offense, or seek annihilation? She chewed her lip, all or nothing, the attack would reign.

Wolfe neared her side, his back facing her. He retrieved two arm length daggers labeled with wind inscriptions and twirled them.

As Slate and Varnis worked to sever the tether gripping Ham, the onslaught designated them first. In pairs, the roots darted towards them.

Isla sidestepped to cover their backside, Wolfe joining her. She cleaved through the thin assailants. The fallen limbs smoked and disintegrated, their fumes coalescing with the forest miasma.

The fight paled, but a thicker bark ladled husk entered the fray. Isla leaped, throwing her body weight against her sword. Her fingers tightened and she growled, sinking only mere inches.

Shoving against the hilt, the resistance peeled away. The root trembled but slinked onwards with her attached. She dug her heels, sliding sideways. Not yet, she wouldn't give.

She jumped off an oncoming tree, kicking the force into the blade. With the last push, she bisected the bark and fell alongside it. The living side twitched before retreating underground.

Scrambling to her feet, she heaved a breath. Dirt clung to the sweat encasing her arms. Still, she regained her tempo, rectifying her defense. She caught Wolfe eliminating the wisps with sharp wrist movements. His range expanded, exceeding her own.

Her ears perked at a heavy thud followed by a moaning Ham.

"Ouch, be gentle," Ham whined.

"Shut up," Varnis barked.

Isla remained focused, severing the approaching stems. Still, her gaze entrapped Ham as he surged forward, his battle-ax swinging. One arc cleaved a substantial chunk, the remnants burning and the survivors retreating.

"Fatty, why do you have to get caught by the Mad Wood," Varnis grumbled, slapping Ham across the head.

"We've gone over this. They like them plump," he mused.

"Idiot," Slate muttered.

"Damn trees, always ruin my good knives," Wolfe growled.

Isla sheathed her blade and glanced at Wolfe. His gaze was entranced by his weapons. He held one, caressing the blade as he blew on it.

"Let's go," commanded Varnis.

Their trip resumed, the pace increasing with Ham leading the group.

"Ham, how long till the second ring?" Slate yawned.

"Another half an hour, maybe. See that tree." He pointed at one tree curling another. "It's shaped like a turtle. That's my reasoning."

"You're crazy," Wolfe groaned from his backseat. "Why is he leading us again?"

"Because only crazy can retain their sense of direction in this forest," Varnis sighed. "Avoid the damn Mad Wood, for Arcadia's sake."

"If you don't like me leading then you do it," Ham said, stopping and turning with a pout. His cheeks were rosy red accompanied by the sweat slicking his face.

Slate booted his knee. "Shut up and move fatty. Or we'll sacrifice you to the Mad Wood. It'd probably be our free ticket out of these blasted woods."

"Oh!" Ham exclaimed before pointing again to another odd conglomeration. "I remember that one too, we're getting closer."

"And how do you remember this one?" Wolfe mocked.

"It has the nice shape of the women I like," he chirped while rubbing his stomach.

"Eh. I don't see a pig," Slate retorted.

"No. I see a clearing," Varnis interjected, his voice morphing into a growl. "Ham, you're an idiot."

They breached the treeline, stopping at the divide. An area of flat trimmed grassland laid ahead. The forest connected on the horizon's edges with the distance across half that. Still, an empty wasteland of movement.

"Not my fault! I followed the landmarks," Ham shouted, his hands clenched and shaking. He released his fists, scratching his head. "I swear this was the right way. The forest must have changed." Ham dropped his head and his shoulders slumped.

"So, do we sprint across?" questioned Wolfe.

"We take the risk or lose time," Varnis growled. "Listen, we make this quick. Run fast. Don't separate."

Isla glanced around, curious and puzzled. What sparked this concern? What were they afraid of? A clearing provided protection against the Mad Wood. A welcoming situation.

"All right. The fat man leads," Slate added. He altered his stance, sword sheathed, knees bent and arms raring to go.

"Don't worry, I got this."

Ham bounced forward, his pace brisk and steady. His belly flopped, but he entwined the jerks like an expert, shifting him ahead. Behind his plump form, their party balled up gazes alert and focused. The distance shrunk, a minute then two and the solid tree wall thinned. Soon, they'd be undercover.

Yet, their nearness dawned her folly. Low furious growls erupted from their path, stopping their movements.

"Shit," mumbled Varnis. "Form a circle. Hurry!"

A pack of monsters sprinted from the woods, heading for them. Their sleek black bodies blurred together, creating an illusion of one, large beast flicking multiple tails. Eyes gleamed red, shining bright against the daytime light. With talons protruding from their legs and saliva spawning grass fumes, they approached.

Their circle closed and weapons were unsheathed and readied. The beasts circled, snarling with snouts wrinkling. Isla watched their synchronized walk, breathing deep, she relaxed her stiff frame. Calm and attentive, all other reactions were worthless.

"Damn. Bloodhounds," Varnis said.