The tavern's raucous energy shifted as a grizzled mercenary slammed his tankard, froth sloshing onto the scarred oak table. "Heard the latest? City Lord's offering his daughter's hand to whoever bags the Goldenhorn Lion King in Mistveil Forest!"
His companion snorted. "Old news. Half the continent's young hotheads are already sharpening blades for that suicide mission."
Finn perked up like a hound catching scent. "The Lion Princess Joanna? They say her beauty melts steel plate armor!"
Kael's disguised scholar persona raised an eyebrow. "That 'princess' comes guarded by a seventh-tier beast. We'd be gnats to its claws."
Amelia traced condensation patterns on her mug—a tactical analyst's tell. "Mistveil's no ordinary forest. Battlefield of the Cataclysm. Relics still surface in its fog."
"Exactly!" Finn leaned forward, ale sloshing. "Chaos creates opportunity. We slip in with the stampede, snatch treasures while the fools play hero!"
Dawn found them at Mistveil's threshold, where desperate hope hung thicker than the perpetual fog. Mercenary bands clustered like armored beetles, their recruitment cries blending into dissonant chorus:
"Steelblood Company needs healers!"
"Silver Talon scouts pay double for archers!"
A pockmarked recruiter eyed Amelia's concealed blade harness. "You lot hunting the Lion King or looting corpses?"
"Birdwatching," Kael deadpanned, adjusting his glamoured spectacles. "Heard Mistveil ravens have unique plumage."
As they vanished into the swirling mists, the Frostvein core in Kael's pack hummed in resonance with something ancient below the forest floor. The Dusk Shard's whispers crescendoed—not warnings, but hungry anticipation.
The mist coiled around them like a living entity as Kael, Finn, and Amelia crossed into the forest's embrace. The air tasted metallic, laced with ancient rot and something colder—a presence that slithered between the gnarled oaks.
"Easy to lose our way here," Amelia murmured, her breath frosting visibly.
Kael crouched, brushing fingers over a cluster of arrowhead-shaped leaves. "Needleleaf grass. Their tips always point south."
Finn squinted. "You're telling me weeds can outsmart this cursed fog?"
"Not weeds. Survivalists." Kael plucked a blade, its edge glinting unnaturally. "The Cataclysm altered everything here—even the flora remembers."
They pressed deeper, boots crunching on brittle undergrowth. The cold seeped through layers of wool and leather, gnawing at joints. Kael produced a flask of Dragon's Breath brandy—a fiery concoction brewed from volcanic peppers.
"To warmth," Finn declared, gulping a mouthful before coughing violently. "By the Flame Tyrant's forge—that's molten lava!"
Amelia sipped cautiously, her glamoured disguise hiding the flush creeping up her neck. "Efficient."
The forest resisted intrusion. Roots snaked across their path, thorns snagged cloaks, and distant howls twisted into human-like wails. Yet the needleleaf guides held true, their southern orientation unshaken even when the canopy blotted the sun.
At dusk, they stumbled upon the first casualty—a scout pinned to a mossy boulder by his own dagger. Frost veined his bulging eyes, lips blue around a silent scream.
"Not the Lion King's work," Amelia observed, prying the frozen blade free. "This blade reversed trajectory mid-throw. Spatial distortion."
Kael's Frostvein core hummed in response. The Dusk Shard's whispers sharpened: Deeper.
The trio pressed deeper into Mistveil's suffocating fog, their boots crunching over frost-laced ferns. A sudden scream pierced the silence—human, raw with terror.
Finn moved before reason intervened. His Stellar Shuffle-steps blurred as he vaulted over a moss-crusted log, daggers drawn. Kael cursed under his breath, staff already weaving a Deceleration Hex. Amelia's blade hissed free, its edge humming with suppressed knightly aura.
They burst into a clearing where a Shadowstalker Panther circled its prey—a dozen mercenaries in tattered guild colors. The beast's obsidian fur rippled as it split into twin afterimages, claws raking a bearded axeman's shoulder. Blood sprayed, steaming where it met the frozen ground.
"Flank left!" Finn barked, though none of the panicking sellswords registered his command. His dagger flickered, scoring a shallow gash across the panther's flank. The real one.
Kael's hex struck true. The beast's fluid motions turned syrupy, its phantom duplicate flickering out of existence. Amelia exploited the opening with surgical precision, her blade tracing a silver arc toward its spine.
The panther twisted impossibly, jaws snapping at her throat. A mercenary's ill-timed axe swing saved her—the blade buried itself in the creature's shoulder instead.
"Fools! Hold formation!" A crimson-clad woman—their captain by the insignia—bellowed. Too late. The wounded beast's tail lashed, sending two men crashing into frostbitten undergrowth.
Kael's second hex coalesced—Gravity Anchor. The panther's paws sank into frozen earth, buying Amelia the heartbeat needed for a killing thrust. Her blade pierced its skull with a crackle of shattered ice magic.
The mercenaries gaped at their saviors—three strangers materializing from the mist like vengeful spirits. The captain stepped forward, her gratitude laced with wariness. "Name your price."
Finn grinned beneath his glamour. "Directions to the Lion King's lair. And whatever's causing these unnatural frost patterns."
As the woman hesitated, Kael's Frostvein core pulsed in unison with distant tremors. The Dusk Shard's whispers sharpened—not guidance, but warning.