The journey dragged on, and my legs had been screaming for a break for days. Grik and his drenched forest were a blurry memory, but his words about “weird shadows” still echoed in my mind.   

Driul was close—Rikami estimated a day, maybe less—but every step across this desolate plain felt endless.   

The sun sank toward the horizon, casting a reddish glow over the sparse grass, while a dark forest loomed to our left like a living wall.   

  

Yura walked beside me, humming a silly song about a prince lost in mud—another barely disguised jab.   

Leyart trailed behind, silent, his eyes scanning the void as if seeing ghosts.   

Rikami led the way, her cape snapping in the wind, one hand never far from her katana. Since Grik’s warning, she’d been tense, and it set my nerves on edge.   

  

“What do you think he meant by those shadows?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence.   

Rikami slowed, her gaze sliding toward me.   

“Goblins are complete idiots, but they sense danger better than us. If he saw something, it’s not hot air. Keep your eyes open, Arthur.”   

Her voice was firm, protective, like a teacher shaking you for your own good.   

  

Yura snickered, adjusting her pack.   

“I bet he saw a twisted tree and freaked out. ‘Oh no, a walking shadow!’”   

She staggered like Grik, pretending to spill a drink, and Leyart let out a fleeting smile.   

“Maybe,” I said, “but he seemed sincere. As much as a drunk goblin can be.”   

“Sincere? He gave you a stick as a ‘thank you’!” Yura burst into laughter, and I joined despite myself. That little green disaster was a mess.   

  

The wind picked up, carrying a strange smell—damp earth, rusted metal, and something acrid, like an abandoned machine.   

The forest to our left thickened, its twisted branches resembling clawed fingers.   

Then a sharp, heavy crack echoed from the trees. Rikami froze, raising a hand.   

“Quiet.”   

  

We held our breath, tense. I drew my sword, more out of panic than courage, and Leyart gripped his sheath, squinting into the dark.   

Yura whispered:   

“A boar, maybe?”   

“Too big,” Rikami murmured.   

  

She stepped forward, her katana half-drawn, its blade gleaming with deadly cold.   

Another crack, closer. Then a shadow moved between the trunks—tall, thin, too straight to be natural. I blinked, but it had already melted into the blackness.   

“There! Did you see?”   

Leyart nodded, grim.   

“Yeah. Not an animal.”   

  

Rikami turned to us, her tone sharp but calm.   

“Close ranks. Arthur, behind me. Yura, Leyart, flanks. If there’s trouble, we strike.”   

She was in her element, a wall between us and the unknown.   

  

We resumed walking, cautiously, every sound amplified by the oppressive silence.   

The wind whistled, the trees creaked, and my hands trembled on my sword.   

“If it’s a welcoming party, they forgot the banners,” I rasped.   

Yura groaned:   

“Maybe a gift from the Lost Lands. Those pests love to escape.”   

  

Leyart flinched, his voice low.   

“The Lost Lands… The barrier failed at Nébiatine. If it breaks elsewhere…”   

He trailed off, but his eyes told the story—the Krampus, the blood, his severed arm.   

  

Suddenly, a howl ripped through the night—guttural, inhuman, a cry from another world.   

The forest fell silent, frozen. A cold shiver ran up my spine.   

Rikami sheathed her weapon, but her shoulders stayed rigid.   

“It’s moving away. For now.”   

“What was that?” I stammered.   

“Could be an echo from the Lost Lands,” she replied, grave.   

“Those cursed lands stretch across the continent—ruins of a dead world filled with monsters. Wendigos, Krampus… worse. The barrier holds them, but it weakens sometimes.”   

  

She fixed me with a stare.   

“You saw Nébiatine, Leyart. If it happens here, we’re in trouble.”   

We set up a hasty camp in the plain, a flickering fire at its center.   

  

Yura tried to joke:   

“If it’s a Little Girl, I’ll sing her a lullaby, and off to sleep she goes!” But her laugh rang hollow.   

Leyart stared into the flames, murmuring:   

“At Nébiatine, we sought answers… ruins with twisted machines, things we couldn’t understand. Then they came.”   

Rikami sat beside me, her presence reassuring.   

“Scared, kid?”   

“A bit,” I admitted. “The Lost Lands… is it really that bad?”   

“Worse than you think,” she said.   

“But you’re not alone. Rest after your watch. Driul’s close, and we’ll need you sharp.”   

  

The night fell, cold and heavy.   

During our watch, Leyart and I scanned the darkness, but nothing returned.   

Still, I felt that pressure, like an unseen gaze.   

  

When I lay down, sleep swallowed me, and images flooded in: flames, flying swords, a half-collapsed rusty tower, a child’s laugh in the dark.   

I woke in a sweat, heart pounding, but Leyart was still asleep.   

Driul approached, and with it, perhaps answers—or worse.