The Septet paused at the edge of the narrow path, the fog curling around their ankles and drifting through the hanging branches like ghostly fingers. The bog had grown unnaturally quiet — no rustle of leaves, no splash of water, only the low, steady hum of tension pressing against their senses.
Even before they saw it, they felt it. A weight, immense and undeniable, settled over the swamp, pressing on them like a physical force. It radiated power, a presence so strong that their hearts quickened instinctively. The ground beneath their boots seemed heavier, the mist thicker, as if the swamp itself was holding its breath.
David’s grip tightened on his hammer. “Whatever’s here… it’s huge,” he muttered, eyes narrowing through the fog.
Ragna’s twin-blade glaive flickered with faint flames, h
