Three days after capturing the owl, the group moved deeper into the forest, their packs heavier with fresh kills.
The hunting had been good—better than usual. Spirits were high, even as the thick crimson canopy above them cast an eerie glow over the path ahead.
Jace walked near the front, rolling his shoulders. "Damn, I can't wait to get back," he muttered, adjusting his grip on his bow. "First round of drinks is on me."
"You say that every trip," Rian snorted. "And every trip, you somehow disappear when it's time to pay."
Lira chuckled, stepping over a gnarled root. "Man's got a talent for vanishing at the right moment."
Jace smirked. "What can I say? I'm a survivor."
The group shared a laugh, the tension of the long trek momentarily forgotten. Then—
Jace stumbled.
A sharp, rasping cough tore from his throat. He bent over, one hand clutching his chest as his body shuddered. Another cough followed—deep, wet, violent.
"Jace?" Aric frowned, stepping closer.
Jace's entire body trembled. His breath came in ragged gasps, his skin suddenly pale. Then, with a sickening gurgle—
Blood.
Dark, thick, spilling from his mouth and splattering onto the forest floor. His eyes widened in horror as he clutched at his throat, choking on his own breath.
"What the—" Rian took a step back, his face twisting in alarm.
Jace dropped to his knees. His body jerked, convulsing violently as more blood spilled between his fingers. His veins bulged, dark lines creeping up his skin like ink spreading through water.
"Help—" Jace croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers dug into the dirt, his nails clawing at the earth. His body twitched once, twice—
Then he went still.
Silence.
The others stood frozen, their breathing harsh in the sudden stillness of the forest.
Lira swallowed hard. "What the hell just happened?"
No one answered.
Rian took an unsteady step forward, staring at Jace's lifeless body. "Poison?" he muttered. "Something he ate?"
Aric's jaw tightened. "We all ate the same thing."
A heavy silence settled over them. The forest, usually alive with distant chirps and rustling leaves, felt unnaturally quiet.
Lira knelt beside Jace's body, hesitant, as if expecting him to suddenly move. Her fingers hovered over his wrist, searching for a pulse.
Nothing.
She let out a shaky breath. "We should bury him."
Aric gave a stiff nod. "Yeah."
They didn't speak as they dug the grave, their hands moving mechanically, their minds too numb to process the loss. Jace had been laughing just moments ago. Now, he was gone.
By the time they finished, the sun— filtered light had dipped lower, casting long shadows through the crimson leaves.
They stood around the freshly covered mound of dirt, unsure of what to say.
Then Rian exhaled sharply. "We need to keep moving."
No one argued.
As they walked, their movements were quieter, more cautious. It wasn't just grief weighing them down—it was fear.
Something wasn't right.
Kael kindly accepted the white mist that flowed from Jace's lifeless body, his expression unreadable. The mist coiled in the air for a brief moment before vanishing into him. With a flicker of control, he turned his attention to the lone surviving rat from their earlier hunts.
The small creature twitched, then scurried toward the freshly packed grave. Its claws worked feverishly, dirt flying in all directions as it burrowed downward, seeking the flesh beneath. The others didn't notice.
The hunters moved forward in silence, their earlier ease completely gone.
Something felt wrong.
The air felt heavier, the once-familiar forest suddenly unfamiliar. The shadows stretched longer, the distant cries of the wildlife seeming muted, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
No one spoke.
They all felt it.
It wasn't just Jace's death that weighed on them—it was everything. A creeping unease had settled into their bones, an unshakable feeling that their luck had soured.
Yet, none of them voiced it.
Luck? That was a fool's notion. In the world they lived in, luck meant nothing. Only strength mattered. Only power decided who thrived and who perished.
And Jace… he simply hadn't been strong enough.
That was all.
At least, that's what they told themselves.
The group trudged forward, their usual chatter gone, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of boots against the damp forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of decaying leaves, and every rustling branch seemed to claw at their nerves.
Then—
"Khh—!"
A cough.
It wasn't loud, but in the silence, it might as well have been a thunderclap.
Everyone stopped.
Rian hunched forward, pressing a fist to his lips, his body trembling with a deep, wet cough. His breathing was heavy, labored. Sweat clung to his forehead despite the cool evening air.
Aric turned, brow furrowing. "You good?"
Rian swallowed hard and nodded. "Just—" Another cough racked his body, more violent this time. He groaned, dragging a sleeve across his mouth, but then—he froze.
His sleeve came away stained red.
Blood.
"Shit," Lira breathed, stepping back.
Rian's eyes darted between them, his own breath coming faster. "Wait—no, it's nothing. Probably just—"
Then Aric saw it.
Green.
At first, it was just a faint discoloration near Rian's collar, almost easy to miss under the dim light filtering through the canopy. But then, as Rian instinctively reached up to rub his arm, the sleeve of his tunic shifted, revealing more.
Pale skin splotched with sickly green patches, as if something was spreading underneath.
"Rian…" Aric's voice was tense. "Your arm."
Rian followed his gaze and slowly rolled back his sleeve.
The moment the full extent of it was exposed, everyone took a step back.
The green patches weren't just discoloration—they were growing, darkening, veins bulging in unnatural patterns beneath the skin. His fingers twitched involuntarily, his body shuddering with a feverish chill.
"The hell is this?" he muttered, panic creeping into his voice.
"Hold on—" one of the others, Bran, raised his hands, trying to think. "When did this start? How long have you been feeling off?"
Rian swallowed, struggling to steady his breathing. "I—I don't know. I was fine this morning."
"That ain't normal," Lira said sharply.
"Nothing about this damn forest is normal," another muttered.
Then Bran's gaze flickered with realization. "Wait… Weren't you one of the guys who buried Jace?"
Silence.
The words hit like a hammer.
Rian stiffened. His fingers curled into fists.
Bran turned to the others. "He was—so was Davon and Hens. They handled Jace's body."
That changed everything.
Everyone's stance shifted, bodies tensing.
Bran took a slow step backward. "What if… what if this is something from Jace?"
"You think this is from him?" Lira's voice was low.
"What else could it be? He died coughing up blood, and now Rian's got the same thing—worse, even!" Bran's voice rose, his unease spreading.
Aric's jaw tightened. He wasn't one to believe in curses or omens, but the timing was too damn close to ignore.
Lira exhaled through her nose. "If it is from Jace, we need to be careful."
A long pause followed. Then—
"Which means," Bran said slowly, "we stay the hell away from the ones who buried him."
Rian's stomach dropped. "Wait, you're serious?"
The others were already stepping further back, eyes filled with uncertainty.
"Just a precaution," Aric muttered, though even he looked reluctant.
"Precaution?" Rian let out a bitter laugh, though his breath hitched midway. "You think I don't hear what you're saying?!" He looked around at their wary stances, his expression twisting. "You think I'm already dead."
No one answered.
But their silence was enough.