The morning air was fresh, the mist still lingering along the waterways as the three made their way toward the pools.


    Sedgemount was waking up—fishermen loading up their boats, shopkeepers setting out their wares, and the ever-present hum of city life picking up its pace. But here, in this quieter corner of the city, things moved slower. The Healing Pools were some sort of sanctuary, here.


    The path leading to the pools was lined with thick, twisting vines, their leaves heavy with morning dew. Beyond them, the pools stretched out in serene, glassy basins, their surfaces undisturbed. Druid healers moved gracefully among the pools, their robes whispering against the ground as they tended to those resting by the water’s edge. It was a place that felt almost separate from the city, a hidden pocket of calm nestled in the city''s edge.


    Near the entrance, waiting with his arms crossed, stood Arlen. He straightened as he spotted them, offering a small, polite nod.


    “You’re early,” he remarked.


    Finlay smirked. “Aye, we’re professionals now, are we no’?”


    Arlen chuckled at that but didn’t argue.


    Before the conversation could go any further, Earl took a step forward, eyes locked onto the shimmering pools beyond them. “Wait—can we go in?”


    Arlen blinked, caught off guard. “Well, yes. If you want, we can discuss things in the water—”


    “Hell yeah!” Earl was already moving toward the nearest pool, hands poised to yank off his coat. “I wanna splash around a bit first.”


    Before he could get any further, a firm hand clamped onto his shoulder. Leoparin, ever unimpressed, shook his head.


    “We are not splashing around, Earl.”


    Finlay folded his arms, nodding in agreement. “Aye, we came here for work, no’ a bath.”


    Earl groaned but relented, kicking at the ground as he stepped back. “You guys are no fun.”


    Arlen, still looking vaguely amused, gestured for them to follow. “Come on. I have a room set aside for us.”


    They trailed after him down a narrow path that wound alongside the pools, eventually stopping at a modest stone room built into the landscape. Inside, it was simple—wooden chairs, a sturdy table, and the faint scent of dried herbs lingering in the air.


    Arlen settled down at the table, pulling a rolled-up map from his satchel. As he spread it out, the parchment crinkled, revealing the familiar shape of the Sunken Forest, its sections marked with distinct, looping ink.


    “The Sunken Forest,” he began, fingers trailing over the map, “is divided into three sections. It was once watched over by a guardian—a Treant. A powerful one. It kept the balance, ensured that the deeper parts of the woods didn’t grow… well, beyond control.”


    Leoparin arched a brow. “And now it’s gone.”


    Arlen nodded. “It hasn’t been seen in months. And in its absence, things have started to shift. Faster than we ever thought possible.”


    There was a pause as that settled in.


    Earl leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “You think something happened to it?”


    “I know something happened to it,” Arlen replied. “The corruption spreading through the deeper woods is not natural. The druids have tried everything, but whatever this is, it’s beyond our magic.”


    Finlay exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, we’re tae go in there an’ figure out what’s what, aye?”


    “Yes. And if we’re lucky, we’ll find the Treant before it’s too late.”


    Arlen’s finger moved across the map, tapping three separate points. Each was marked with a faint symbol—three spreading stains against the parchment.


    “We’ve managed to trace the corruption back to three cores,” he explained. “The further in you go, the worse it gets, which means whatever is fueling this is strongest at these locations.” He sat back slightly. “If we can even reach the center of just one, we might be able to understand how this works, what’s causing it, how it spreads.”


    Leoparin’s eyes narrowed. “How far has the Circle managed to go into the forest?”


    Arlen’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, his calm exterior wavered. “Not far at all. The scouts never came back, and neither did the druids that went after them.”


    That set a quiet over the room. The weight of it pressed down on the air between them, but Arlen didn’t let it sit long. He straightened, drawing a slow breath before continuing.


    “The three affected areas are distinct. The corruption has taken hold in different ways, but all of them are unnatural.”


    Arlen gestured to the first marked area.


    “The boglands. This section of the Sunken Forest has always been the wettest... lowland terrain, heavy with mist and marshes. You can guess how still waters might be bad for us. Those who step in for too long have reported seeing things turn before their eyes. Living things—frogs, fish, even plants, twisting as though reshaped by...well, magic.”


    Earl wrinkled his nose. “Sounds pleasant.”


    Arlen ignored the comment, pointing to the next mark.


    “Then there’s the thicket. The undergrowth has always been dense, but the plants are now far more hostile than before. Thorns have spread in unnatural patterns, growing against the vines, against the trees, as if something is forcing them into knots. The deeper you go, the more tangled it becomes. The first scouts were lost there, probably caught by the thorns and ambushed by...whatever else is roaming now.”


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Finlay frowned. “Sounds like a feckin’ nightmare tae navigate.”


    “It is,” Arlen admitted, before moving to the last marked section.


    “The sporewood.” He exhaled. “This area was once home to a thriving ecosystem of fungi—Mushrooms, thick carpets of moss. Now, it’s completely overtaken. Spores hang in the air so thick you can barely see. We’ve seen plants—some animals too—grow strange limbs, take on new shapes...”


    Leoparin drummed his fingers against the table, brows furrowed. “And you want us to walk into one of these places blind?”


    Arlen shook his head. “Not blind. I’ll guide you as best I can. But yes, this will be dangerous. Even still, if we reach the heart of one of these zones, we might be able to disrupt whatever’s causing this. Or at least understand how it spreads.”


    A silence fell over the table. Each of them weighing the risks, turning over the possibilities.


    Earl leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. “Well, none of those sound fun. But if we gotta pick…”


    Leoparin tapped the boglands on the map. “The water’s dangerous, but it won’t choke us like the spores. And it won’t box us in like the thorns.”


    Finlay gave a slow nod. “Aye. The bog seems the best choice.”


    Arlen studied them for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. The boglands it is.”


    He rolled the map back up, standing. “We leave at midday. Use the early hours to prepare—get supplies, weapons, anything you might need. I’ll be waiting at the eastern gate.”


    He paused, then added with a small, earnest smile, “And… thank you.”


    A few hours to kill before midday. Might as well prepare.


    Finlay strode through Sedgemount’s morning bustle, boots scuffing against the stone streets. He made a stop at the market first, securing dried meats, hardtack, and a small pouch of herbs for brewing tea—necessities for the road ahead. But his real destination lay further in.


    The shop was small but well-kept, the scent of polished wood and resin filling the air. Bows of varying sizes lined the walls, while bundles of arrows stood in neat rows above. Behind the counter stood Syl, the shop’s owner and artisan.


    Syl looked up from fletching a fresh arrow, his long blond hair tucked behind one pointed ear. He gave Finlay a smile. Easygoing, yet professional.


    “Ah, Finlay. Not often I see you in here.”


    Finlay gave a nod. “Aye, well, I figured I’d take a look. Got a bit of a venture ahead.”


    Syl set the arrow down, resting his arms on the counter.


    “A venture, huh? You thinking of trading in that old thing?” His gaze flicked to Finlay’s bow, slung over his shoulder.


    Finlay huffed. “She’s still got life in her yet. Jus’ thought I’d see if ye had anythin’ useful fer the road.”


    Syl chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Your bow’s got character, I’ll give it that.”


    He turned, grabbing a quiver from a nearby rack. “If you’re heading somewhere rough, barbed arrows might serve you well. Good for anything that doesn’t want to stay down.”


    Finlay examined one, running his fingers over the hooked tip.


    “Aye, these’ll do nicely.” He counted out the coin, wincing slightly as he handed it over.


    Syl gave him an amused look but took it without comment. “Try not to lose too many in the mud.”


    “No promises.”


    With a nod of thanks, Finlay slung the quiver over his back and stepped out, heading toward the next errand.


    <hr>


    Leoparin walked through the streets, weaving past merchants hawking their wares and townsfolk starting their daily routines. His coin purse felt lighter than he’d like after buying rations, but he had one last thing to take care of before they set off.


    The Looming Reed stood proudly at a bustling corner, its sign carved with elegant, twisting vines. The shop’s exterior was decorated with fine fabrics draped over wooden beams,  catching the light to show their patterns. Leoparin stepped inside, immediately greeted by the scent of fresh linen and...lavender? Or was it something else? Who knew.


    “Taryn!” he called.


    From behind a curtain, a figure emerged—Taryn Goldthread, the tailor himself. He moved in a theatrical stride, dressed in a tunic of deep violet and embroidered gold. His blond hair, streaked with purple, was adorned with silver chains and small charms that jingled lightly as he moved.


    “Ah, mon ami ! What a sight for sore eyes,” Taryn exclaimed, clapping his hands. “And what brings you to my humble shop?” His sharp eyes gleamed with excitement as he took in Leoparin’s worn cloak. “Wait—don''t tell me. You’re finally ready to shed that drab thing you call outerwear?”


    Leoparin smirked. “I’d call it practical.”


    Taryn gasped dramatically. “Practical? Practical is a butcher’s apron, dear. You, my friend, deserve grandeur.” He motioned for Leoparin to follow, gliding over to a row of fine cloaks displayed along a curved rack. “Now, let me see… You need something that speaks of mystery, of adventure, of...Leoparin.”


    He sifted through the collection, his fingers dancing over fabrics until finally he stopped, eyes lighting up.


    “Ah! This.” He pulled forth a hooded cloak, light in weight but with a fine texture.


    It shimmered slightly in the light, woven in forest green and midnight blue. Spider silk, it seemed.


    Leoparin reached out, letting the fabric slide between his fingers. It was smooth, really soft, and yet...surpisingly strong. He swung it over his shoulders, the fit near perfect (as to be expected of Taryn''s work), and when he pulled the hood up, it settled comfortably, without covering his eyes.


    Taryn beamed. “C’est magnifique. This one, I think, was made for you.”


    Leoparin chuckled, already pulling out his coin pouch. “You flatter me, but you’re right.” He handed over the required gold, feeling the weight of his purse dwindle even further.


    Taryn winked. “All part of my expertise, friend. Now, wear it well, and do visit again. You must tell me all about your next great adventure—I insist.”


    Leoparin gave a nod, adjusting the cloak one last time before stepping out. It felt good, comfortable. Fitting.


    Now, he just had to see if Earl had bankrupted himself on nonsense before they left.


    <hr>


    Earl wandered through the Bountiful Reed, the ever-busy marketplace of Sedgemount. Of course, there was that...caracteristic, distinct smell. The scent of fresh bread, roasting nuts, and sweet herbs, mingling with the smoke of a blacksmith’s forge. Lovely. Vibrant stalls lined the stone paths, merchants calling out their wares—exotic spices, fine textiles, enchanted trinkets that probably weren’t actually enchanted.


    He glanced down at what little he carried. His old dagger, tucked securely at his belt. The rations he’d bought earlier. The small pouch of tea that had been given to him—a thoughtful gift for sure, but not exactly adventuring gear. He frowned slightly, tapping his fingers on his coin pouch. Not much left to spend… but he could at least get something before they left.


    His eyes scanned the stalls, skipping over weaponry and armor—he had what he needed there. No need for extra supplies, either. But then, something caught his attention—a stout wooden sign etched with barley and berries, standing over a cart stacked with bottles of deep amber and rich red liquid. A small gnome stood behind it, adjusting his oversized goggles while humming a tune. The gnome did not know how to sing.


    Earl grinned and made his way over. “Well now, what’s this?”


    The gnome looked up, his eyes magnified large behind the lenses. “Eh? Oh-ho! A man of taste, I see!” He whipped off his goggles, revealing a scruffy face framed by tufts of curly hair. “You’ve stumbled upon Dalan’s Fine Ales and Elixirs! Strong enough to put hair on your chest, smooth enough to make you forget why you needed it in the first place!”


    Earl chuckled. “That so? And what’s this one?” He motioned toward a set of bottles with dark, bramble-colored liquid inside.


    “Ah, Berry Bramble Ale! Brewed with the finest wild berries, hand-plucked by only the most reckless of foragers, because the best berries grow where the wolves really don’t wantcha!” Dalan waggled his eyebrows. “No but seriously, this is great stuff.”


    Earl raised an eyebrow. “You always talk like that?”


    Dalan grinned. “Only when I’m awake!”


    That was good enough for Earl. He pulled out what coin he could spare and placed it on the counter. “I’ll take a few bottles.”


    Dalan scooped up the coins with surprising speed, then passed over the bottles, giving a wink. “Nothing brings people together like a good drink.”


    Earl nodded, tucking the bottles away. “Ain’t that the truth.”


    With that, he made his way out of the market, satisfied. He might not have gotten himself any fancy new gear, but he had food, a blade, and now, booze.


    That was plenty.