I didn't know how many days had passed anymore.
Three? Four?
The sunlight never truly reached this place—it seeped. Slow and golden, bleeding through the fog like syrup through gauze. Everything felt thick. Stuck. The air, the sky, the water… everything stretched like it was holding its breath.
I had spent the last few days surviving—if that's even what you could call it. After the second day, a heavy fog descended and never left, wrapping the wetlands in an eerie, suffocating stillness.
And maybe it wrapped me too.
I hadn't eaten since the containment cell. My stomach had long since given up on hunger. Now it was just a pit. Cold and tight. My legs trembled whenever I walked too fast, and my head throbbed in pulses behind my eyes. I had started flickering again—those uncontrolled jumps, like my body was trying to escape even when I wasn't ready to go.
Sometimes I blinked and ended up six feet to the right. Or turned around. Once, I reappeared on a branch five meters above the ground and fell hard, scraping my arm open on the bark. It still ached.
One thing was certain—this place was sinking into my skin.
But oddly enough, I didn't have time to spiral. The constant need to move, hide, and dodge things that shouldn't exist gave me a strange, awful peace. When you're too busy avoiding monsters, you don't have room to unravel.
Currently, I was pushing through a wall of reeds, their edges scratched against my arms, irritating my skin. Every step was a slow battle against mud that wanted to keep me here.
I was making my way toward a narrow, sluggish river. It oozed between moss-covered roots, seeping through the land.
The marshland was beautiful in a way that made my teeth grit. That's what kept messing with me. The place looked like a dream. Like it had been painted by something that never meant to be understood—haunting and slow, still and alive all at once. Giant trees floated above the water on exposed roots, their bark glistening faintly with streaks of blue bioluminescence, like veins in an open wound. Strange flowers, big as plates, drifted lazily on the surface—lilies with petals so white they glowed.
I stepped out of the reeds, my feet sinking into the cold muck. My knees gave out, and I dropped beside the riverbank. I cupped my hands and drank greedily from the water.
It wasn't clean. It tasted like copper and bark. I knew I shouldn't drink it. But thirst was louder than fear. I drank anyway.
Low distant abhorrent buzzing entered my ear.
What the hell..
Louder, louder, louder still, it was rising like a swarm of tiny engines spinning to life. I froze. My heart pounded. I slid down into the mud and held my breath as a dark cloud emerged from the fog.
They were like hornets—if hornets were the size of dinner plates and had glass wings laced with red veins. Their antennae curved like hooks, and black horns jutted from their heads like miniature lances. They passed just overhead, a humming mass of glistening bodies.
I didn't breathe until the sound faded.
When I sat up again, my whole body was shaking. The mud clung to me like it wanted to pull me under and keep me, it was cold without sunlight and it was starting to become a problem.
Guess it's time to get a move on.
I pushed deeper into the wetlands, following the curve of the river as it snaked between clusters of tangled trees. I flickered again—just a quick jump, from one patch of moss to another. The jumps weren't just disorienting—they hurt. Each one left a ringing in my skull like I'd headbutted the world.
I leaned on the trunk of a low tree, steadying myself. My hands were bloodied and caked in dirt. My nails were black with grime.
There was no telling how far I had traveled—no sun to guide me, no horizon to chase. Just fog and roots and silence.
Then I heard something new.
Not loud. Not close.
But deliberate.
Something moving.
I crouched behind the trunk, trying to steady my breath. I listened. Something was stepping through the water—not stomping, but gliding. Each movement came slow and careful, like it didn't need to rush.
I peeked out from behind the tree.
At first, I couldn't see anything.
Then the fog shifted.
It emerged between the reeds, nearly silent.
Massive. The size of a cart, just more narrow, sleek. It moved like it had always belonged here.
Its fur was a mess of textures—patches of dark moss sprouting across its back and shoulders, layered between plates of black and greenish scales. The fur in some areas looked like it had grown over the armor, soft and rotting at the same time. Each step it took left small ripples in the mud, but no sound.
And the plants around it…
They moved with it.
This place is crazy…
Vines curled in its wake, slowly swaying as if to greet it. Ferns turned to face it, their fronds fluttering. As it walked, the undergrowth parted—welcoming.
I didn't breathe. I didn't move.
It didn't see me. Not yet.
I slowly backed away, not daring to make a noise. If I jumped now and landed in the wrong place…
I turned and crept through the mire, each footstep measured and painful. My whole body screamed to run.
Then—
A root wrapped around my foot, moving like a tentacle, it was trying to ensnare me.
I froze.
Why are they moving…
Behind me, the sound of movement stopped.
I didn't look back.
I pulled my foot out, breaking the root, and ran.
My body tore through the reeds, feet splashing, thorns ripping at my arms. I could feel it behind me, the sound of parting vegetation and roots.
The plants ahead of me didn't part—they reached. Vines lashed down from the trees like whips, not fast but purposeful. I ducked, stumbled, fell.
SNAP.
The world folded.
I landed hard on my shoulder in a shallow pool, how far had I teleported? the wind knocked out of me. I rolled over, coughing, and forced myself up. I ran again, slipping in the muck.
I burst into a small clearing—just a raised patch of dry roots and mud surrounded by still water.
I need to get out of this fucking place.
Then I heard the vines moving again.
Not rustling.
Slithering.
I turned.
It stood at the edge of the clearing.
Its mossy fur hung like a living cloak, its scaled face turned toward me with eyes that didn't glow but reflected the faint blue light from the trees. Not eyes that hunted out of need.
Eyes that watched out of choice.
And the vines around it danced.