Lindell lay slouched across a rocky tor, built atop the jagged stone of the southern highlands where steep cliffs met the bay and other towns in the surrounding area, granting them a beautiful view of distinctive rock formations, a fiery sunset, and wandering beasts. A sprawling network of wooden walkways and rope bridges connected, placed right over crevices where rivers roared into the sea.

It was an appealing area, one that Fiona could see herself visiting again—until she remembered Lindell was what many considered a backwater. Underdeveloped and rough around the edges, it lacked the polish most common at the capital. Most nobles wouldn't even set foot here as a destination spot unless forced to.

The carriage rolled up the serpentine path, reaching the top where the curving stopped. Leaf-green crops stood firm behind a fence, being maintained by farmers wearing wide-brimmed hats, sickles in hand. They stopped what they were doing when the two carriages came into view, their gazes turning curiously at the haethas that pulled them.

Not long after, they crossed the bridge spanning over a running river. It was old, worn down from the constant winds that battered against its structure. They passed through the city gates, greeted by a narrow road of cramped, wooden houses built upon all types of inclines.

It was mostly stone steps from there—uneven and winding, carved directly into the hillside, bordered by flickering lanterns affixed to rusted iron posts. The haethas clacked their talons against the cobblestone, their breath steaming in the growing cold as dusk settled in full. The scent of brine and woodsmoke filled the air, carried on the sea breeze that never seemed to stop.

Fiona watched from her seat as Lindell unfolded around them—children playing with carved driftwood toys in narrow alleys, elderly folks perched on stoops trading news and bread, and fisherfolk hauling the last of the day's catch up from the lower piers. A stray beast—low-slung and bristled, like a cross between a badger and a lesser hound—sniffed at the carriage wheels before darting off to a kneeling man.

Fiona wrapped her arms around her torso and sighed, blowing mist into the air. "It's quite cold out here. Nighttime and us being in higher elevations is never a good combination. Wyford, where exactly is Bonrith heading?"

Wyford, who had barely spoken since the last stretch of road, answered without looking back. "His own dwelling, I suppose. Bonrith is a traveling merchant, so he has his own place at the south gate, just far enough from the market square to keep to himself when he wants. Nothing fancy. Wood and stone, like the rest of Lindell. He owns homes all over the land from what I know."

"Just how wealthy is Bonrith for him to afford this many houses?" Tyrus asked.

"Probably more than we can imagine," Wyford said with a shrug. "Apparently he holds some important position in the Shaire Kingdom that requires him to travel around different parts of Dharmere. You'll have to ask the guy himself if you're curious."

Fiona narrowed her eyes. "If he holds an important position, then how come he was traveling with you? I would imagine he'd come prepared with his own guards."

"Believe me, I asked the same thing. Bonrith's the type who doesn't like drawing attention unless he has to. Said something about keeping a low profile and not wanting to 'spook the locals' more than needed."

The carriage creaked as it rolled over a particularly rough patch of stone and took a sharp left. Fiona didn't respond immediately; she didn't trust easily—and certainly not men who traveled under false modesty. If Bonrith was tied to the Shaire Kingdom and had enough coin to own homes across Dharmere and held an important position while behind a traveling merchant, he was playing at something. What, she didn't know yet.

"But he's no fool," Wyford continued. "He hired me for a reason. I know this area, and I don't ask questions that make people nervous."

Tyrus leaned forward slightly. "So why bring us along?"

"The more protection and subtlety, the better. Told me to keep the group small. Said it was safer that way." Wyford flicked the reins, guiding the haethas through the narrowing road.

The houses grew sparser the closer they drew to the south gate. They passed by more fields of crops and windmills that pumped water from a nearby river. A few short moments later, the carriage came to a crawl at their destination, which was an abode similar to the rest, except there was a stable connected to the side wall. The place looked quiet, lived-in, and functional—no ornamentation, no extravagance. Down the path was a gate connected between two walls of stone that seemed to arch overhead, almost like a gigantic beast's ribcage.

"We're here," Wyford said.

In no time, the two carriages were stopped inside the stable. Tyrus climbed out while Fiona followed along. When her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled from the hours spent sitting still. She caught herself on the carriage door, hissing softly as the cold wind scraped against her skin. Her legs ached from disuse, and the chill didn't help.

Tyrus was already stretching his arms, glancing around the area like a restless hound sniffing out trouble. Everyone else jumped out as well, with Reo arching his back and yawning while Grant rotated his shoulders.

Bonrith was already leading the chirping haethas into their stalls, their curved talons clacking over the packed dirt. The creatures went without protest, heads dipping into troughs already filled with grain and water.

Wyford climbed down from the driver's seat with a bounce in his step, brushing dust from his coat like the long ride had barely fazed him. While the others moved stiffly or cracked joints, he seemed untouched by fatigue.

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Fiona gave him a sidelong glance. Not sore at all? I will say—that's impressive for an unblessed.

Tyrus had told her Wyford was skilled with the sword. That meant training. Maybe even formal. Perhaps he used to be a guard, she mused, watching him casually inspect the stable. Or maybe he's just built tougher than he looks. Either way, our task here is done.

"I thank you for your services," Bonrith said as he closed up the last of the stalls. "Because of you six, bandits and beasts steered clear of my wagon, allowing me to reach Lindell without incident. My wares should be able to enter the Shaire Kingdom without delay by my designated time."

The Askelian approached them with a nod of thanks and two pouches that jingled softly in his hand. "For your service," he said, offering it to Fiona.

She eyed the bags greedily, already guessing at their weight. Ooh, yes—finally, something that makes the back pain worth it. She took them both without hesitation, the leather warm from Bonrith's hand. She tucked them away, expression all business.

"Pleasure doing business," Fiona said with a short bow of his head. "If you ever need the services of Blue Dawn, don't be afraid to ask for us at the Explorer Guild. We'll drop anything to help."

Bonrith smiled, his white teeth flashing. "I appreciate the offer. And while I will keep that in mind, I must also ask that you do not throw my name around lightly. Many here know who I am, and I'd rather not draw too much attention to myself."

"No need for that. We won't tell anyone anything about you. Wyford, lead us to the Whispering Forest, if you will."

The merchant offered a final wave before returning to tend to his haethas, muttering under his breath as one of them tried to nibble at his sleeve.

With that, the group turned toward the gates being patrolled by one of Lindell's guards, bundled in a thick coat. He barely spared them a glance as Wyford gave a casual wave and guided them through by pushing open the creaking gate.

The wind nipped harder outside the village walls. Fiona ducked her chin into her collar, boots crunching through a patch of gravel. Her eyes flicked up to the crossroads just ahead—one arm of the signpost pointed southwest, toward the Shaire Kingdom. The other, crooked and fading, beckoned them westward toward the Whispering Forest. It was a rocky path that sloped downward, as if they were descending into a forgotten hollow.

"The Whispering Forest lies beyond the path. It's about a quarter of the size of the Wasteful Wetlands, only separated by hills. It's the only patch of land that's still not dominated by the beasts that roam these lands," Wyford explained as they walked, pointing a finger at the winding trail that led off into a suspicious looking fog.

"I can't be the only one that sees entering the fog as a terrible idea," Reo muttered, squinting at the mist that clung low over the trees like a curtain no one had bothered to pull back.

"Afraid of a little fog?" Grant Fiona.

"Not afraid," Reo shot back. "Just cautious. There's a difference."

"Cautious or not, Mitha needs to be rescued," Tyrus said. "Mitha saved me from beasts while in the Wasteful Wetlands. I can't just turn my back on that."

Even Reo's protests faded under the weight of it. She hadn't known the lady—Mitha—but she knew that tone. The kind of voice that wouldn't waver, not even if the trees themselves tried to turn him around.

"Well spoken, Tyrus," Grant said, falling into step behind him. "It is our duty as explorers to help those in need. Your heart is pure for your age. Have you ever thought of becoming a royal knight in the future alongside Reo and I?"

"I never agreed to that, by the way!" Reo grumbled. "You and your father keep bringing it up like I signed a contract or something. I'd rather not spend my life marching in armor and bowing to nobles."

"You'd be surprised how much freedom knights have," Grant replied, undeterred.

Fiona rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers, alerting everyone. "Alright ladies, save the banter for another time. I don't want to travel some foggy forest at night as well, but we're on a time limit here. How about we stop stalling and find Mitha as quickly as possible? We have five capable sorcerers—and Wyford—on this team. This should be a piece of cake. Now huddle up and let's think of a plan to find her."

The group gathered close as instructed, the fog curling tighter around their boots like it was listening in.

"I'll conjure light with Illumination if need be," Tyrus offered, raising two fingers. "But not too bright. We don't want to blind ourselves."

"I'll keep a second one hovering behind us while marking out trail," Fiona added. "We'll be using the torches we brought along"

Grant unsheathed his sword, resting the flat against his shoulder. "We should form a loose perimeter. Reo and I in front. Igneal, take the left flank. Fiona and Tyrus cover the middle. Wyford in the rear. Watch our backs."

"Understood," Wyford said smoothly, bowing with that ever-pleasant smile. "Wouldn't want anything to sneak up on us."

The plan was set. Positions assigned. They had packed with caution: torches, chalk to mark their path on stones and bark, a bundle of rope, steel stakes, a compass that hopefully wouldn't be turned around by magic, and dried herbs for warding off minor spirits. Reo had even managed to bargain for a voilaf salve—expensive and pungent, but helpful for resisting enchantments if applied under the nose. It smelled like spoiled mint and sweat.

"I still don't know why this stuff had to smell like an alchemist's garbage bin," he muttered, rubbing the green paste all around his face. "If this is what keeps ghosts away, maybe they just die of the stench."

"Better to smell like burnt rat than become one," Fiona said without glancing back. She dabbed it over her face as well, gagged lightly, and passed the tin to Tyrus, who took it without complaint. Igneal grumbled when it was his turn. The boy then passed it to Wyford, who stepped away and shook his head.

"No can do. My skin reacts poorly to enchanted herbs. Rash the size of a dinner plate, I swear. I'll take my chances out there."

"That sounds like the kind of excuse someone makes right before they get possessed," Reo muttered, wiping the last of the paste from his fingers onto his gloves.

The rocky path sloped ever downward, cut between steep outcroppings that looked like jagged teeth gnawing at the edge of the mountain. The mist thickened as they descended, clinging to their cloaks, their breath, their skin. Though they couldn't yet see the Whispering Forest below, they felt it, like a slow current pulling them closer.

"Never realized we were this high up," she said, casting a glance to the drop on their left. Beyond the gray, she could make out faint glimmers of moonlight glancing off what looked like the distant sea. "Forest must be nestled right near the coast."

"That explains the cold," Tyrus murmured, his voice low. "And the salt in the fog. It's not just forest air."

Reo peered over the edge, frowning. "It's like it was built in a hollow just to trap this stuff."

"I imagine it was," Wyford said. "Natural formations like this are rare. A forest this low, this cut off by cliffs and sea, was practically designed to isolate. Makes it easier for old things to hide."

The path narrowed soon after, forcing them into a single line. At times, rocks would tumble loose beneath their feet, skittering down into the fog-choked ravine. Grant led the group, lit-torch in hand that scattered the darkness.

The ground slowly transitioned from rocky trail to wet soil. Moss thickened beneath their boots. The trees grew clearer now, the opposite of the skeleton trees that occupied the Wasteful Wetlands. Moonlight basked the forest floor in it's silver radiance, piercing even through the light fog. The forest had arrived.

And the whispers appeared in a heartbeat.

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