The Mirewraith glided closer, its form flickering in and out of the mist. The faint whispers that clung to it grew louder, curling around their ears like a chorus of sighs. The cold that radiated from its presence made the bog feel even heavier, and each step forward was met with an almost imperceptible ripple in the water around it.
Scylla tightened her grip on her weapon and stepped closer to Remiel. Mildred’s staff trembled slightly in her hands, the damp air making it slick. Elynora’s whip-blades hummed faintly, ready, but she kept her stance low, cautious.
“Watch the water,” Seran warned, voice steady. “It can reach through the pools, through the mud… it doesn’t need to touch the ground to strike.”
A ripple ran across the bog near David's boots. He froze, eyes wide. A pale, clawed
