The Withered Woods

The dawn was barely a glimmer on the horizon when Liora and the Veilbound set out. The morning mist clung to the earth like spectral fingers, and the faint light of a pale sun filtered through the gnarled trees, casting crooked shadows over the path. The wind was bitter and listless, carrying only the faint, lingering scent of decay from the Withered Woods.

Liora rode at the front of the group, her hood drawn low over her face. The Codex of Lost Souls rested at her side, bound tightly in leather strips as if it might otherwise slip free and spill its dark secrets upon the soil. The midnight drums had ceased, but the silence they left behind was no comfort. It was heavier, louder—an absence that spoke of waiting.

The Veilbound rode in silence behind her, their faces somber, their movements measured. Alaric, always calm and composed, rode to her left. His penetrating blue eyes were ever-watchful, scanning the trees with the practiced gaze of a man who had seen too many things emerge from the darkness. To her right rode Selene, the raven-haired scout who had first spoken of the Heart of Mourning. Her sharp green eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, her hands never far from the twin daggers at her belt.

The forest pressed in around them. The trees here were twisted and blackened, their bark marred with jagged scars as if they had been slashed by some ancient hand. No birds sang. No animals stirred. The forest was lifeless—eerily so.

As they ventured deeper, the ground grew uneven and treacherous. Gnarled roots clawed out of the earth like skeletal fingers, threatening to trip the unwary. The air grew heavier, and the light dimmed unnaturally, as though even the sun dared not look upon this place.

Liora tightened her grip on the reins. Her heart pounded softly in her chest—a steady, growing drumbeat that matched the one she had heard on the wind the night before. The Codex seemed heavier at her side, and though she did not open it, she felt its power humming faintly through the leather binding.

Alaric's voice was low and steady. "Stay alert," he warned. "The Withered Woods are not merely haunted by old ghosts. The wards that once kept the forest at bay have long since faded. The creatures here—if they remain—will not be bound by reason."

Ahead, the forest path narrowed into a broken stone archway—the fractured remnants of some forgotten shrine. Ivy and brambles clung to the stone like strangling hands, and jagged black moss crawled along the edges, seeping over the weathered runes.

Selene dismounted and knelt by the entrance, her fingers brushing over the moss-covered symbols. "These runes…" she muttered softly, "they're necromantic. Old magic. Protective once, but now…" Her voice trailed off, her lips tightening.

Liora dismounted and approached the runes, a familiar pull vibrating faintly in her chest. She pressed her hand to the cold stone. The touch sent a surge of dark energy through her palm, and she recognized it instantly—the same resonance as her own magic. She closed her eyes and allowed the connection to flow into her, feeling the remnants of the spell's purpose. It had once been a ward of protection, but the magic had long since been corrupted. Now, it was a lure.

"It's a beacon," she murmured, pulling her hand away. "Whatever is in these woods—it wants us to come deeper."

Selene's knuckles whitened around the hilts of her daggers. "Then we're walking into a trap."

Alaric's expression was grim. "We knew we would be. There's no turning back now."

They pressed onward, moving single file through the archway and into the darker reaches of the Withered Woods. The trees seemed to lean in closer, their twisted branches reaching toward the intruders like skeletal claws.

As they advanced, the shadows thickened unnaturally, pooling in the spaces between the trees. The ground became slick with damp, black soil, and the forest floor was littered with fragments of broken bones—scattered and half-buried in the loam. Liora tried to ignore them at first, but with every step, the bones grew thicker, their hollow eyesockets seeming to watch her.

And then she felt it—the unmistakable chill of necromantic energy slithering through the soil. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

"Wait," she whispered, holding out her hand. The Veilbound halted.

Liora knelt and pressed her fingers into the earth. Her violet eyes flickered with dark power as she opened herself to the deathly energy in the soil. It slithered into her veins, cold and familiar, and in that moment, she felt the unmistakable pulse of undeath.

"They're here," she said quietly. "Beneath us."

Before she could speak another word, the earth trembled. The bones that littered the forest floor began to stir. A low groan reverberated through the ground as skeletal hands burst from the soil, grasping hungrily for the living. Hollowed eyesockets filled with pale, flickering light.

"Undead!" Selene hissed, drawing her daggers.

The Veilbound fell into formation, drawing swords and chanting spells, but the undead were many. The skeletal forms clawed their way free from the soil, some missing limbs, others with their skulls half-crushed, but all driven by the same unyielding hunger.

Liora's eyes flashed with violet light. She thrust her hand forward, calling upon her necromancy. The bones around her trembled for an instant—then responded to her power. With a single gesture, she seized control of a cluster of risen skeletons, twisting them to her will.

"Turn," she commanded, her voice cold and resolute.

The skeletons jerked violently, their movements stuttering as her power bent them to her will. They turned on their fellow undead with hollow fury, hacking and clawing at their former brethren.

Selene danced between the remaining skeletons with lethal grace, her daggers flashing as she sliced through brittle bones. Alaric, his hands blazing with pale silver light, unleashed a wave of radiant energy, sending several skeletons crumbling into dust.

But more kept coming. The ground rippled as the forest itself seemed to give birth to the dead. A massive, decayed creature—a skeletal monstrosity with jagged bone claws and antlers twisted from old wood—emerged from the soil. Its jaw split wide in a soundless snarl.

Liora's eyes narrowed. She slammed her hand to the ground and unleashed a pulse of necromantic energy. The skeletal monstrosity staggered, but it did not fall. With a thunderous lunge, it hurtled toward her.

Without thinking, Liora raised both hands. Shadows curled around her fingers as she channeled her power. With a guttural cry, she drove her hands forward.

"Bone Spear!"

The forest floor shuddered. A jagged spike of bone erupted from the earth, driving through the skeletal beast's chest and pinning it to a dead tree. Its limbs thrashed violently for a moment before falling still.

The forest fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the Veilbound. The bones at their feet were still. The magic that had animated them was gone.

Alaric lowered his blade, his eyes moving to Liora. "You're learning to control it," he said softly, his voice edged with both admiration and warning.

Liora met his gaze, her eyes still burning with faint violet light. She could feel the dark power lingering in her veins—a heavy, comforting presence that was beginning to feel less and less foreign.

But as her gaze drifted toward the path ahead, her stomach twisted. The trees had opened into a clearing, and in its center stood a crumbling temple, its stones cracked with age and wreathed in crawling shadows.

The Temple of Lament.

And though no drums beat in the distance, she felt it again—a low, insistent whisper on the wind.

"The hour is nigh…"