The air in the Ashen Glade grew heavier with each step, thick with decay and an unsettling dampness that clung to their skin. The oppressive atmosphere pressed down on Emberlight like an unseen force, as if the very air sought to smother them. The faint hum of the miasma had grown louder, an eerie symphony that seemed to reverberate in their bones. Every sound—the brittle crunch of dead leaves underfoot, the low creaking of twisted branches overhead—felt unnatural, amplified as though the glade itself was listening. Shadows stretched and recoiled at the edges of their vision, flickering in ways that defied logic.

  “This place… it’s wrong,” Nel muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He gripped his staff tightly, his knuckles white. “The mana here is twisted. It’s like it’s fighting itself.”

  Leona paused, her fingers brushing the faintly glowing amulet around her neck. The warmth of its magic barely reached her fingertips, as if the oppressive energy of the Glade was smothering its light. Her stomach twisted. "I can feel it too. It’s not just the miasma. There’s something else… something malicious." Her voice was steadier than she felt.

  Ash raised a hand, signaling the group to stop. His katana rested lightly in his grip, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Becareful. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

  Grant adjusted his shield, his grip tightening as a shiver ran down his spine. He forced himself to steady his breathing, but the weight in his gut refused to ease. "Whatever it is, we’ll handle it," he said, though his usual confidence felt more like a mask. Letting his fear show wasn’t an option—not now.

  The deeper they ventured into the glade, the more twisted the terrain became. The path narrowed into uneven ridges, where the ground pulsed with damp, unnatural warmth. Gnarled roots coiled like serpents above the earth, some twitching ever so slightly underfoot as if reacting to their presence. The trees loomed like gaunt sentinels, their bark slick with black moss, and from every branch, withered vines dangled like veins—or nooses. Faint whispers carried on the wind, not quite voices, but layered murmurs that stirred the air like breath against the nape of the neck.

  Leona shivered and instinctively reached for the amulet at her neck. “I hate this place,” she murmured. “It’s like the forest is watching us.”

  “It is,” Nel said quietly, scanning the canopy. “And listening.”

  As they stepped over a patch of mushrooms that oozed a viscous purple sludge, Grant grimaced. “Is this place really the Ashen Glades? ‘Cause it feels like we stepped into another world.”

  “That’s not wrong,” Nel muttered, then halted beside a mound of tangled brush. Something metal glinted faintly from beneath a tangle of roots and vines. He knelt, brushing away the rot with the hem of his robe, and unearthed a shattered helm. The steel was warped and brittle, warped with rust, but unmistakably bore the cracked emblem of a Silver Eagle—its wings seared through with black claw marks.

  “This…” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “This belonged to another Silver-Ranked adventurer.”

  Leona leaned closer, covering her mouth as she inhaled the foul scent clinging to it. “Silver? Out here?”

  “No one at Silver should fall so easily here,” Nel said, almost to himself. “This place was originally classified as Bronze Rank. They had to have been ambushed. Overwhelmed. Or worse…”

  “Unless they faced something far beyond them,” Ash said, his voice grim. His fingers curled instinctively around the hilt of his katana. The air was too still. Too silent.

  Then came the rustle—a sharp movement in the brush ahead. All four tensed, weapons drawn, but what stepped out was no beast. It was a stag. Emaciated, ribs jutting through its matted coat, its eyes cloudy and milk-white. It stumbled forward, aimless and unafraid, as if the forest itself had stripped it of fear. With a choked sound, it turned its head slowly toward them—and collapsed mid-step. Its body struck the ground with a wet thud.

  The party stood frozen.

  “…It was already dead,” Leona whispered.

  Ash moved closer, kneeling beside the fallen creature. A faint black fluid leaked from its mouth and eyes, staining the moss beneath it. He touched the hide—it was cold. Far too cold for a freshly fallen animal.

  “Miasma saturation,” Nel said grimly. “There’s no natural life left in this place. Only things that haven’t realized they’re dead yet.”

  The group advanced cautiously, their steps slow and deliberate. The forest seemed to breathe, the twisted trees leaning toward them, their bark pulsing faintly as if veins of something dark ran beneath the surface. The deeper they ventured, the more the terrain felt wrong—patches of earth quivered underfoot, and the occasional bloom of fungus exhaled a sickly-sweet scent that made the air thick and cloying. Then, a low, guttural rumble rolled through the glade, reverberating through the trees like a primal warning. The sound wasn’t sudden—it had been there, lurking beneath the other noises of the glade, an ever-present growl too deep to be heard until now. The trees seemed to tremble in response, their gnarled branches creaking as if recoiling from the unseen force. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was a presence, a force that seeped into their bones, stirring an instinctive dread. The party froze.

  “What was that?” Leona whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

  The ground gave a slight tremor, almost imperceptible at first. Then another, stronger this time, sending ripples through the miasma-laced air. A distant, rhythmic pounding followed—a deliberate, methodical beat, like something immense taking slow, deliberate steps. The vibrations crawled up their legs, sending a silent warning through their bones. The rumble came again, louder this time, accompanied by a sound like steel scraping against stone. A massive shadow emerged from the gloom, its shape towering and grotesque.

  A massive shadow loomed at the edge of their vision, its hulking form barely distinguishable in the miasma’s haze. The air turned thick, suffocating, as a heavy metallic scent—like blood left to rot—filled their lungs. Then, out of the shifting gloom, the shape moved, stepping into the clearing with the weight of an avalanche. The ground trembled beneath its monstrous bulk, each step echoing like a war drum. It was a troll, but unlike any they had seen before. Its crimson skin was stretched taut over bulging muscles, veins of dark energy pulsating across its body. The miasma swirled around it like a living thing, twisting and writhing in unnatural patterns. In its massive hands, it clutched a steel club nearly as large as the creature itself, the weapon’s surface scarred and stained.

  The troll’s eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and its gaze swept over the party with a malice so intense it felt like a physical blow. A guttural snarl rumbled from its throat, and the miasma around it pulsed in response, radiating an aura of pure menace.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “That’s no ordinary troll,” Ash said, his voice low but steady. “It’s mutated. The miasma has corrupted it.”

  “Its aura…” Leona whispered, clutching her staff tightly. “It’s suffocating.”

  As the troll stepped forward, an ominous shift in the air occurred. Dark tendrils of miasma rose from the ground, forming a translucent barrier around the clearing. The party exchanged alarmed looks as the swirling energy closed them in.

  “We’re trapped,” Nel muttered, panic creeping into his voice. “That barrier—we can’t run even if we wanted to.”

  Grant planted his shield firmly in the ground, his voice resolute. “Then we fight. No way out but through.”

  Then the forest exploded into motion.

  The troll roared, slamming its steel club into the ground. The shockwave blasted outward, fracturing the soil and hurling stones through the air. Leona dropped to one knee, her ward breaking in a shower of sparks. Nel barely managed to drag her behind a gnarled root as he conjured a dome of ice to deflect the incoming debris.

  "It's trying to isolate us!" Ash called, circling wide. "Grant get its attention!"

  Grant surged forward, shield raised. The troll brought its club down in a diagonal sweep that would have shattered bone had he not braced in time. The blow rang out like thunder, sparks erupting from the impact. Grant grunted, forced back several paces, his shield arm numb.

  "It hits like a godsdamned siege weapon!" he barked, spitting blood.

  Ash dashed in, his katana flashing. He aimed low, slicing across the troll's calf. The blade bit in, black ichor spurting. The troll howled and swiped horizontally. Ash dropped, slid beneath the blow, and rolled clear, dust rising in his wake.

  "Lure it toward that thicket! The ground’s soft!" Ash shouted.

  Grant understood instantly. He pivoted and ran, pounding his shield to draw the troll’s attention. It followed, snarling. As it stomped into the sludgy terrain, its weight began to sink into the muck.

  "Nel! Freeze it!"

  Nel slammed his staff into the earth. "By the binding breath of winter—Frost Nova!". Blue light spiraled outward, flash-freezing the swampy ground around the troll’s feet. As he cast, his voice rang out in a sharp chant.

  The creature snarled and struggled, but its left foot was locked in place.

  Ash seized the moment. He dashed in, leapt from a tree root, and brought his katana down in an arcing strike across the troll’s shoulder. Flesh split. The troll roared and thrashed, throwing Ash aside like a ragdoll. He landed hard, groaning.

  The troll freed itself with brute force, ripping its frozen foot from the ground along with a chunk of ice and root. It slammed its club down again—this time striking Grant square in the chest. The shield cracked. Grant flew backward, smashing onto the ground.

  "Grant!" Leona screamed.

  Ash staggered to his feet. Leona rushed to Grant’s side, casting healing light with trembling hands. "By the grace of Luminis's light, restore what darkness breaks—Heal!"

  Nel’s breathing had grown ragged.

  "I’ve got enough for one more," he muttered. "It’ll either break that thing’s spine or kill me in the process."

  Ash looked at him. "Then let’s make it count."

  Nel nodded. He planted his staff, channeling volatile mana. The air sparked around him, glyphs burning bright white as the spell built.

  As his grip tightened, he whispered a layered incantation, his voice low but forceful: "Spiral the lines, break the form—Soul Fracture."

  Ash turned to Leona. "How's Grant doing?"

  Her hands shook, but she nodded. "Fine... from the looks of it".

  Grant, bloodied but conscious, forced himself to stand. "I’ve got one arm and a death wish. Let’s do this."

  Nel’s glyph flared. A radiant sigil appeared on the troll’s upper back.

  "Ash! Strike the sigil!"

  Ash surged forward. Grant hurled his shield at the troll’s face—just enough to get its attention.

  The troll turned.

  Ash leapt.

  As his katana cleaved through the glowing sigil, the blades edge changed color into a deep burning crimson red. Ash sliced completely through the troll's hardened body with any resistance. The troll’s final scream shook the trees. It collapsed forward, slamming into the earth with a thunderous crash that silenced the glade.

  Ash landed beside it, panting, katana dripping with black ichor.

  Nel slumped against a tree, coughing. "Did we win?"

  “We did it,” Leona said softly, her voice tinged with relief.

  Leona was already at Grant’s side, hands glowing again. "You’re lucky your ribs didn’t pierce your lungs."

  Grant wheezed. "Takes more than that to kill me."

  Ash looked down at the troll’s corpse, then at the faintly pulsing core nestled in its chest. The surface was etched with twisted runes—marks that pulsed with residual miasma. He knelt and touched it. The core pulsed once beneath his fingers, like a dying heartbeat.

  Ash stepped back, his katana slick with ichor. He turned to his team, his expression grim.

  “Seems like the miasma had completely changed it into something else. We need to report this to the Guild immediately.”

  Nel nodded, his usual smugness replaced by a rare seriousness. “Agreed. If there are more creatures like this, we need to be prepared.”

  They stood in silence as the miasma began to thin. The oppressive weight in the air lightened, and the sickly scent of rot began to fade.

  With renewed determination, Emberlight left the clearing after retrieving its Magic Core.

  For the first time, the Ashen Glade seemed quiet.

  But it wasn’t peace.

  It was a warning.