"You say you heard something scratching at your walls last night?" I asked, examining the door, where claw marks were clearly visible. But the scratches looked... strange. I couldn't figure out what creature could have left them. They didn't resemble the claws of a bear or a wolf.
"Yes. We barricaded the doors and windows with everything we could find... but still, something knocked. It was like it was throwing itself against the door, like in a fit of madness," the woman said, barely managing to suppress the tremble in her voice.
"Your husband is dead?" I clarified.
"Yes. It happened four years ago, during the war," she replied, lowering her gaze.
I placed my palm against the claw marks. They matched perfectly with the tips of my fingers.
I left her house with a strange, murky feeling. Those scratches deep as half a finger couldn't have come from an animal. They looked more like the marks of human fingers. Lately, rumors have been spreading. People say they've seen human-like silhouettes wandering in the night... but they don't move like humans.
The unit I joined was formed specifically to hunt such monsters. That is our duty: to uncover the nature of the shadow creeping across these lands.
It's been four years since the war ended. When I turned twenty, I finally made the decision to enlist in the unit. I haven't regretted it so far. Life has become more dangerous, yes but it also has purpose now. Something greater than mere survival in the endless cycle of days.
Veterans of the unit shared stories of the creatures they'd encountered their habits, their weaknesses, and what one should fear most. But the past matters less than what is happening now.
The places struck by the blight were once fierce battlefields. That's how it began. About a month ago, the first reports came in strange happenings on the roads, near settlements. The thoughts that crept into my mind were troubling: perhaps these were souls who couldn't find their way to the realm of the dead... now wandering the earth.
But Thanatos was supposed to guide them all, to bring them to the Styx. If I recall correctly, during burial rites, a coin was placed under the tongue of the dead payment for passage to the realm of Hades. Those buried without it were often left outside the borders of the Underworld, unable to enter.
The great fire that consumed thousands of warriors in its flames destroyed much. The cycle was broken. Many bodies were never given proper burial. Years passed, and with no path forward, their souls may now be searching for a way back home.
The woman I spoke with said her husband died in the war. Perhaps, driven by some faint memory, he returned to the house he once lived in. That was my suspicion.
In a situation like this, only one question arises: what can be done? We are not priests. Most temples in Sparta are devoted only to the gods of war. Appealing directly to Olympus? Nearly impossible. Something had to be done to rid us of this scourge.
Thinking logically, we would need to find the remains of the fallen and place a coin beneath their tongues to give the souls a chance to pay for their passage to the land of the dead. But the trouble is, there's almost nothing left of the bodies. Many were incinerated in that terrible fire, vanishing without a trace.
*Caw*
A black crow perched on a branch, staring at me with an unblinking eye.
"Harbinger of misfortune," I whispered.
And then the thought came to me. Crows sense death better than anyone. They always gather where the fallen lie. But here, their presence meant something more something sacred. As if they were servants of the Underworld, living among us, pointing the way to death.
Quickening my pace, I hurried back to camp. There were few of us a band of thirty-six warriors, united and battle-hardened. Our enomotia was led by Geron a grim, silent enomotarch. Nearly the whole unit was already gathered. We were not part of the regular army. We were assembled solely to deal with monsters. Usually, we spent weeks on the road, following rumors that trickled in from villages and towns.
First sightings usually came from the patrols. Only after that were we sent in. Though, the news often arrived too late.
"Enomotarch," I addressed him as I approached.
He was sitting by the fire. One of his arms was missing a bear had torn it off years ago. In that same fight, he received a scar that crossed his entire face, leaving him with only one eye. In return, he had driven a sword into the beast's skull, killing it.
"Damocles, sit. Rest a while. Tell me what you've learned. You've been gone longer than the others," he said without looking away from the flames.
"It was a restless dead. Possibly one of the fallen from that fire. Returned home. Or what's left of him," I replied.
"So it's true, then," Geron murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "The souls of the dead are trapped between life and death. You have something in mind?"
"Perhaps if we give each of them a coin, as the rite demands, they'll be able to pass on," I said.
"Ha! If only it were that simple we'd have done it long ago. So, what exactly are you planning?" Geron asked, fixing me with his lone, piercing eye.
"We need to speak to the nymphs," I explained. "They can commune with other creatures of nature, including ravens. If they agree to help, the birds will quickly lead us to the souls and remains."
Heron paused, lost in thought. A gentle wind stirred the ash, lifting it into the air, and the flame in the firepit bent toward the breeze.
"Hm. That might work," he said, scratching his chin. "But nymphs are skittish beings. And the ones who aren't... will likely try to kill us. We'll need to show respect. Tell them why we came. I'm sure they won't object if we offer to cleanse the forests of the dead. That's in their interest, too."
"We could head to the coastal town of Skala," I suggested. "I've heard exotic fruits often arrive there from across the sea. Perhaps some of them might please the nymphs."
"Yes, a good idea," Heron nodded. "I know of a nymph who might be willing to speak with us."
He turned to one of the warriors.
"Teleuth! Head to Skala. Bring back the rarest, finest fruits you can find. Before that, ride to Sparta. Take the fastest horse they have. Tell them I sent you personally. Your task is to get those fruits and make for the village of Chrysapa without delay."
"Understood!" Teleuth nodded and sprang into action.
"We'll head that way in the meantime," Heron continued. "Scout the area, try to locate where she might dwell. Nymphs choose their homes carefull there must be pure water, fruit-bearing trees though they often tend the groves themselves. A gentle breeze, dense foliage... all of it matters."
We had a plan. But we decided not to leave the camp before dawn.
That night, I took the first watch. Someone else would relieve me later.
When you're near the otherworldly, your senses sharpen. The forest seems to breathe with its own life. Shadows that look like mere branches twist into monstrous forms.
And sometimes... they really are.