strange anomaly

Through the dark corners of the forest, the blinding light of a torch pierced the gloom. It seemed that a group of people was moving with some hidden purpose.

The old man, adjusting his helmet, frowned and asked:

— So, your name is Arlo, right?

— Yeah, but you can call me whatever you like, — replied the young man they had picked up along the way.

He was running toward the cave with his comrades.

The old man kept watching him.

— You say you came from the village on the eastern side of the island? But how did you get here?

— It... it was very difficult, — mumbled one of the emaciated settlers. His voice trembled, and his words barely formed coherent sentences. — If not for luck...

He was clearly wounded, but his injury didn't seem like something one could receive from skeletons. He also looked frightened, and his speech was hard to decipher. Though, to be fair, that was how all the impoverished villagers spoke—people who rarely had the chance to converse with educated individuals. Only a few, like Glumer, could express themselves more or less coherently.

For the locals, accustomed to a miserable existence, even a simple conversation with the guards was an unusual spectacle.

Glumer couldn't read or write, but his curiosity about people and their stories allowed him to maintain a conversation better than most. His social skills couldn't be called outstanding, but they weren't bad either.

The old man furrowed his brows a couple of times but eventually waved his hand dismissively—he seemed to find nothing suspicious in their behavior. In such a situation, even he would have been confused.

And then, from behind them, a horrible, unnatural scream rang out.

The sound was so powerful and terrifying that it sent a chill through everyone. Instinctively, they turned around.

Somewhere on the other side of the island, darkness yawned open, and before anyone could comprehend what was happening, they were attacked again by four-legged skeletons. There were three of them.

The old man instantly adopted a battle stance, raising his greatsword, and with a single strike, he blocked all three attacks at once. The powerful blow sent the undead flying back, but they quickly recovered and lunged forward again.

He did not hesitate. His stance was more defensive, but in a situation where he had to protect the wounded and the weakened, dragging out the fight was dangerous.

The first swing—two skeletons were cleaved apart diagonally. The third tried to seize the moment and leaped at his back, but the old man swiftly sidestepped, letting the creature pass. A moment later, his sword sliced the enemy in half.

Piles of bones collapsed to the ground, turning to dust.

Glumer watched in amazement.

— Damn, old man, if you're this strong, then why the hell do you have so many wounds?

The old man remained silent.

— We're lucky these are only Awakened-rank monsters. If they were higher...

— ...we would have a problem, — Glumer finished for him. — We need to move faster.

They pushed forward, gathering survivors as they went. By the time the old man finished off another squad of undead, their group had grown to twenty people.

— Respected guard, will they let us in? — someone asked timidly.

— What, you doubt me? The cave always needs more working hands. They'll let in anyone who isn't crippled.

Those words brought some relief to the people.

Glumer felt Vale whisper in his ear:

— Damn, you really know how to surprise... Where do you know him from?

— Forget it. Long story.

— Ugh, there you go again...

Glumer focused on his surroundings. In moments like these, getting distracted by conversations was a sure way to invite disaster.

Thunder grumbled in the dark clouds, rain lashed down, and the cold seeped into their bones. Fear and pain gave way to pure survival instinct.

Suddenly, a teenager around fifteen or sixteen appeared beside him. His clothes were tattered, his face obscured by raindrops.

— Hey, my name's Marlo. You guys from that village on the hill by the shore?

He had joined the group only a few minutes ago. How did he know?

— Glumer, — he introduced himself, narrowing his eyes warily. — How did you guess?

— It wasn't hard. That village is mostly children, right?

— Aren't there children in every village?

— Maybe, — Marlo shrugged. — But in most places, there are too few of them. They rarely live past eight.

Glumer froze.

Had he survived only because his village was in a fortunate location?

But Marlo didn't give him time to ponder. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the rain:

— Glu... or whatever your name is. Don't you think the tree branches... are getting closer?

Glumer blinked and looked around.

His heartbeat quickened.

The trees really were closer.

They should have been ten steps away. Now—only six.

How?

He had been here hundreds of times. An earthquake? An optical illusion? Magic?

Alright, maybe it was just nerves...

But when he glanced up again, the trees had moved even closer—now only four steps away.

Shit.

Glumer swallowed hard.

Everyone had started to notice, but no one dared to tell the old man, assuming he already knew.

But no. Glumer knew for sure—this was not normal.

The trees were shifting slowly, silently, leaving no sound, no trace.

Glumer swallowed again.

Another step.

Another.

Another.

— Old man, stop!

Everyone froze. The tension in the air became almost tangible.

— Glumer, now is not the time for your whining.

— No, you don't get it. The branches... those damn branches... THEY'RE MOVING!

Everyone turned at once.

And at that moment, the forest closed in even tighter.

Now the trees were only four steps away.

— This is impossible... — someone whispered.

— Are we lost? No, there weren't trees like this ahead, I remember for sure...

— Weren't we supposed to have arrived already?

The old man looked at the forest and frowned.

— In my forty years of life, I've seen all kinds of shit... but this...

Glumer shuddered.

— WHAT?! You're forty? Isn't that too old?

— Idiot, I'm still young!

And in that instant, the trees moved.

All at once.

Silently.

Like a predator closing in on its prey.

The group flinched.

Panic.

The old man didn't hesitate.

His sword flashed in the torchlight.

The battle had begun.