The Crescent Marsh was like a scene pulled from a nightmare—a vast expanse of murky water and twisted vegetation, cloaked in a dense mist that swirled and shifted as if alive.
The marsh seemed endless, stretching as far as the eye could see, though visibility was so poor that even the horizon was lost in the shroud of fog.
The air was thick, heavy with moisture and the smell of decaying plant matter, filling Cruzer's lungs with each cautious breath.
A damp chill clung to everything, seeping into his armor and chilling his skin despite his resilience.
He could sense something else in the air, an unnatural energy that seemed to permeate the entire landscape, giving the place a subtle but unsettling pulse.
The ground beneath his boots was treacherous, a mix of soggy earth and ankle-deep mud that swallowed each step with a wet squelch.
