The atmosphere grew heavier as they ventured deeper into the forest, the light from the sun above almost entirely blotted out by the thick canopy. Their surroundings had shifted from the mundane to the surreal. Shadows seemed to lengthen and warp, moving like living entities with every step they took.
"Stay close," Gawain's voice was low, caution lacing his tone. "We're nearing the boundary between realms."
As they moved forward, Amber stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and dread. "This isn't…normal," she whispered, glancing nervously around. "I've heard tales of places like this. This forest—it's more than just shadowed. It's like we've stepped into the edges of the Shadow Realm."
The mention of the Shadow Realm sent a chill through the group. Even Hetty, who was well-versed in magic, seemed uneasy. She clutched her staff tightly, her knuckles turning white. "The Shadow Realm," she murmured, almost to herself. "A place where darkness holds sway and time and space are twisted."
Gawain glanced over his shoulder, nodding. "It's an in-between space, where reality and shadow intersect. Few mortals have ever wandered here and returned unchanged. We need to be vigilant."
The forest around them seemed to deepen in response, as though recognizing their awareness of its true nature. The trees grew more gnarled, their bark etched with patterns resembling twisted faces and clawed hands. The very air felt thick, heavy with an otherworldly chill that seemed to seep into their bones.
Rebecca held her staff close, whispering a spell under her breath to conjure a faint light. The glow barely pierced the darkness, swallowed almost entirely by the oppressive shadows. "It's like the darkness itself is alive," she muttered, her voice trembling.
"Alive is one way to describe it," Byron replied, his hand steady on his sword's hilt. "The Shadow Realm… it's said to feed on fear, to amplify it. Stay calm, or it'll start to twist your mind against you."
Amber let out a dry laugh, her voice tinged with forced bravado. "Fear? Twisting minds? Sounds like a party."
Gawain allowed himself a small smirk. "Perhaps, but remember, Amber, in the Shadow Realm, even the bravest can lose themselves."
As they advanced, a faint, ghostly light began to pulse at the edge of their vision, flickering in and out like a candle on the verge of dying. Shapes moved within the shadows—vague forms, silhouettes that seemed almost human but not quite.
"Wraiths," Hetty murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "The remnants of souls that never found peace."
Betty clutched her frying pan, trying to stifle a whimper. Gawain reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Stay strong. They sense fear, but they're not invincible. If we keep our wits, we can pass through without incident."
The air around them grew colder, a biting chill that seemed to carry whispers—soft, incoherent murmurs that brushed against their ears. It was as if the shadows themselves were speaking, drawing them deeper into the forest.
Rebecca shuddered, gripping her staff tighter. "How much farther do we have to go?" she asked, her voice shaky.
"Not much," Gawain replied, though he wasn't entirely certain. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, as though time and distance had lost meaning.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it a low, haunting sound that seemed to echo from every direction. The shadows pulsed, shifting and coalescing into a form—a figure with hollow, empty eyes and a mouth twisted into a silent scream.
"Stay calm," Gawain instructed, his voice steady as he drew his sword. "It's just a shadow, a fragment. It can't hurt us if we don't let it."
Amber muttered a quick prayer under her breath, her dagger drawn as she kept her gaze fixed on the apparition. "Just a shadow," she repeated, as if trying to convince herself.
The shadowy figure flickered, its form wavering as if caught between worlds. It reached out with a ghostly hand, and Rebecca instinctively stepped back, almost stumbling over a tree root.
"Hold your ground," Hetty reminded her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "It's trying to instill fear. Don't let it."
As they pressed forward, the shadows seemed to grow restless, the wraiths gathering, their hollow eyes watching from every angle. The deeper they ventured, the more the boundaries between the physical world and the Shadow Realm seemed to blur, as if the forest itself had become a bridge between realities.
At last, they reached a small clearing where the shadows seemed thinner, the oppressive weight lifting slightly. Gawain signaled for the group to pause, allowing them a brief moment to gather their bearings.
"We're close," he said, his voice firm. "Beyond this clearing, we should find a way out of the Shadow Realm's influence."
Hetty exhaled, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "Good. This place… it wears on the spirit."
Amber looked around, her usual bravado returning as she flashed a grin. "Well, let's get out of here before these shadows decide we're overstaying our welcome."
As they prepared to move forward, a faint but clear voice echoed through the clearing, a whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Not all who wander these woods leave unmarked."
Gawain turned, his gaze hard. "We'll take our chances."
With renewed determination, they set out, moving swiftly and silently. As the shadows slowly faded behind them, a sense of relief washed over the group. They had survived the Shadow Realm's edges—for now. But in each of them lingered a reminder, a touch of darkness that would not be easily forgotten.
The eerie laughter continued to echo from within the mist, an unsettling, ghostly sound that seemed to mock the disoriented group. It was as if a taunting voice were watching from every corner of the fog, relishing in their confusion. The specter that Gawain had split in two vanished, but just as swiftly, it reassembled itself in another part of the haze.
This wraith mist… had a mind of its own.
Realizing this, Hetty felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead. The mist had initially presented itself as mindless, lulling them into a false sense of safety while subtly sapping their strength. As time wore on, each of them would grow weaker until, in the crucial moment of attempted escape, they would be too depleted to fight. At that point, the spirits within the mist would strike.
Luckily—or perhaps due to some inherent flaw in undead nature—the creature had revealed itself too soon with its mocking laughter.
Yet, the situation was still grim.
The ordinary soldiers found themselves nearly powerless against such a sinister enemy, relying on sheer willpower to resist the malice and terror seeping from the fog. Betty, lacking any combat ability, had been positioned at the center of their formation for protection. Byron's sword glowed with a fierce heat as he slashed through the chilling fog, severing ghostly limbs that reached out from the mist. Under his protection, Hetty and Rebecca had a relatively stable environment to cast their spells.
Hetty recited incantations, using various low-level support spells to weaken the surrounding fog. Rebecca's attacks, however, were far more direct and explosive—she fired off one fireball after another, her face set in fierce concentration.
The fireballs caused bursts of flame throughout the mist, but the results were disappointing. While fire was typically effective against undead, the wraith mist was an unusual opponent. Being so diffuse and expansive, it absorbed much of the blast, rendering the fireballs only partially effective.
"Stop using fireballs!" Gawain called out, noticing the inefficacy of her attacks. "Use wide-area spells—power doesn't matter, but the range is essential. This fog spreads out and dissipates single-target damage!"
Rebecca shouted back in frustration, "But fireball is all I know how to cast!"
"What?" Gawain was stunned.
"She only knows fireball!" Hetty's voice was tinged with exasperation. "Five years of training, and that's her one spell!"
Rebecca's face turned red, clearly embarrassed by her lack of versatility. She gathered all her magical energy, forcing it into the familiar spell, then swung her staff to unleash a fireball the size of a basin directly into the densest part of the mist.
The oversized fireball exploded, dispersing some of the fog, but it quickly filled in again. Worse, a sudden scream filled with terror and rage erupted from behind them.
One of the family soldiers, his eyes red with madness, had succumbed to the mist's insidious effects. His soul, weakened beyond repair, showed visible signs of decay—his skin turned pale and shriveled, and he began swinging his sword in a frenzy, lashing out at imaginary enemies.
Two nearby soldiers dodged his wild attacks, then tackled him to the ground. The stricken soldier continued to thrash, his body writhing as if trying to tear itself apart. With a final, hoarse shout, he begged, "Kill me! Just kill me!"
But the other two soldiers, with the same blood-red haze clouding their eyes, seemed unable to respond to his pleas. They were on the verge of losing their own sanity.
Seeing this, Gawain drove the tip of his sword into the ground and tapped into the original power that came with his resurrected form: *Mental Fortitude.*
This rare knightly skill swept over the battlefield, exerting an overwhelming force of will that struck all hostile entities with a crushing mental blow, while boosting the morale of his allies.
Under its influence, the two soldiers quickly regained control, but the unfortunate man pinned beneath them had already lost his soul entirely. He lay still, his body a shell devoid of spirit.
Scanning the fog-laden battlefield, Gawain noted with alarm that the mist had only grown thicker, despite Hetty and Rebecca's efforts. And where the three soldiers had been stationed moments ago, Betty was now nowhere to be found.
"Where's Betty?!" Gawain's heart tightened with dread as he called out, "Betty!"
Amber appeared from the shadows nearby. "I saw her wander off into the mist—she looked like she was sleepwalking!"
"Damn… she's lost her mind," Gawain muttered, his face grim. "How did this wraith mist become so powerful?"
Amber's face twisted in fear. "I have no idea, but this is already a disaster!"
"This fog hasn't weakened at all," Gawain observed, drawing from the knowledge embedded in his memories. "Even the most resilient wraith mist should've dissipated by now under such prolonged attack. And this region's magic focal point is supposed to be weak—how could it possibly create such an intelligent wraith mist?"
Amber caught on quickly. "You're saying this isn't natural? There's some other force sustaining it?"
"It doesn't have to be artificial, but there's definitely something sustaining it," Gawain said, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pierce the fog with his gaze. "And whatever it is, it's cloaked from our perception."
"But Lady Hetty already used Detect Distortion…" Amber's eyes widened as she trailed off, then gasped. "You don't think… it's not on 'this plane'?"
Before she had even finished her sentence, Amber took a step back and vanished into thin air.
No, she hadn't vanished.
Gawain noticed a strange, faint shadow on the ground in her place. It was an indistinct, human-like silhouette that occasionally flickered in and out of view, shifting across surfaces like a ghostly reflection.
Amber was moving between realms, her form casting an eerie outline in the material world as she passed through its boundaries—a phenomenon known as Shadow Walking.
This unexpected display of power left Gawain both impressed and puzzled.
*Just who exactly is this half-elf thief?*
Before he could ponder further, Amber reappeared in the air beside him, moving with urgency. Grabbing Gawain by the arm, she pulled him forward, her face set in determination.
Gawain stumbled, feeling a sudden coldness wash over him as he crossed an invisible barrier. When his vision refocused, the world around him had transformed.
All color had faded, leaving only shades of black and white. A thin layer of mist covered everything, an ethereal chill hanging in the air, though it lacked the malignant force of the wraith mist.
Looking around, Gawain saw that the dense forest was now gone. Instead, the ground was littered with dry, stunted tree stumps positioned exactly where the trees had been in the material world.
Nearby, he could see Hetty, Rebecca, and the others standing in a frozen tableau, as if turned to stone. They were unmoving, their faces locked in expressions of fear and concentration.
Rebecca was closest to him, clutching her staff with a tense grip, her vacant eyes staring forward. Her entire body had turned a dull, ashen gray, as if she were a lifeless statue. Black mist curled up from the ground, seeping into their rigid forms and spreading thin cracks across their surfaces.
The sight was so disturbing that Gawain reflexively glanced at his own hands, relieved to see that they were still flesh and blood. He tightened his grip on his sword and moved toward Rebecca, intending to sever the mist's influence.
Before he could get closer, Amber reappeared, gripping his arm with surprising strength. "Don't," she warned. "Interference might make things worse."
Gawain looked at Amber in astonishment, noting how different she appeared in this monochrome world.
Her hair had lengthened, floating weightlessly around her head, and her normally brown eyes glowed faintly with a golden light. A dark, smoky aura gathered and dispersed at her feet in a continuous, rhythmic pulse.
"Don't ask too many questions," Amber said quickly, glancing nervously around. "If you ask, I won't answer, and that'll be awkward—especially after, you know, grave-robbing you. Just follow my lead; we don't have much time. I've never gone this 'deep' before, and bringing you along makes it even trickier."
"What is this place?" Gawain asked, focusing on the most pressing question.
"The Shadow Realm," Amber replied, nodding toward Hetty and the others. "Look."
Where Betty and the soldiers had once stood, one of the soldiers now lay in pieces on the ground, shattered like fragile porcelain. The others remained frozen, trapped in their last defensive stances.
However, a faint trail of glowing footprints extended from where Betty had stood, leading deeper into the shadowy fog.