As Aengus waded into the dark swamp, the eerie landscape stretched out before him like a twisted nightmare. The black, corrupted water lapped against his legs, its coldness seeping through his clothes, but it was more an unsettling sensation than a real discomfort.
The water seemed to recognize him, parting slightly as he moved deeper, almost as if acknowledging his presence.
The trees that dotted the swamp were ancient and grotesque, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands. Their bark was cracked and lifeless, devoid of any color or vitality, as if the very essence of life had been drained from them long ago.
A thick mist clung to the air, swirling around Aengus as he moved forward, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional ripple in the water or the creaking of the decaying trees.
