The Edge of Dreadgrove.
The evening sky bled into darkness as the brothers stood before the forest's threshold. The trees beyond loomed like titans, crooked and dead-eyed, their branches twisting into claws against the dying sun.
Thick fog slithered out between their roots like something exhaling from the depths of hell. The ground pulsed beneath their feet—not like earth, but like flesh.
Kelvin hesitated. "Brother… it's already almost night. Can't we wait till morning?"
Raven slipped on his cloak and tightened his boots, eyes fixed forward. "Yeah, sure. Let's wait till morning so we can die with better lighting."
Kelvin grimaced.
Raven turned to him and tossed a bundle into his arms. "Put that on. Light-mesh armor, rune-lined. Absorbs low-tier curses and mana surges."
He tossed a second item—another reeking bottle.
Kelvin caught it and immediately regretted breathing. "Ugh. What the hell is this, goblin piss?"
"Close. It's anti-scent spray," Raven said, already misting himself. "It masks our soul signature. Should keep the beasts and cursed things from sniffing us out too fast."
"Keyword: too fast," Kelvin muttered, reluctantly coating himself.
Once suited up, Raven crouched and placed a hand to the dirt. Mana pulsed faintly through the ground as he activated his movement technique. A dark shimmer enveloped him, and his entire body seemed to blur—his steps light, fast, and soundless.
Phantom strind. A advance-class movement spell that amplified speed while nullifying noise completely.That he developed through his countless thefts and experience.
Kelvin mirrored the motion, slower and a little shaky. A pale shimmer flickered around him. His was a toned-down version, less range and more mana-draining—Whisper Sprint—but it would work.
They took a breath.
And entered.
---
The instant their boots touched the soil, the forest noticed.
The air grew colder. The trees groaned, not in the wind—but like they were breathing. Bark split with slow cracking noises, oozing black sap.
No birds. No wind. No sky. Just fog. And silence.
Except... no. Not silence.
Whispers.
Faint at first. Dozens of them. Chanting, crying, muttering incoherent things just out of reach.
Kelvin's breathing quickened.
"I don't like this," he said, scanning the twisted trees. "It's like the whole forest is watching us."
Raven, moving ahead like a ghost, replied calmly, "That's because it is."
Kelvin's eye twitched. "Fantastic."
As they ran deeper, the mental pressure increased—thick and suffocating. It felt like something heavy was sitting on their chests. Their mana resisted the very air around them.
The fog thickened, curling like fingers around their ankles. Time felt slower here. Each step like wading through dreams.
"Listen to me," Raven said suddenly, voice low but firm. "Once we're deep enough, don't look back. No matter what. If someone screams, cries, begs—you run. Forward only."
Kelvin frowned. "Why?"
Raven's eyes narrowed, scanning the dark. "Haven't you felt it yet? This place is steeped in cursed mana. There's something down there—old and hungry. You look back, you invite it in."
Just then, the forest screamed.
Not a sound from one thing—but from everywhere. Trees wailed. Roots cracked. Human voices—hundreds—howled in pain, rage, sorrow. They came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Kelvin's heartbeat went wild. "What the hell was that!?"
"A Tuesday in Dreadgrove," Raven muttered. "Keep up."
But even Raven's tone was different now. There was tension beneath it.
The mental pressure spiked. Kelvin's vision blurred. His steps grew unsteady. Whispers slithered directly into his ears.
"Help me..."
"Kelvin…"
"It's us… it's Mom… and Dad…"
He froze.
His parents' voices.
Warm. Familiar. Real.
He turned—just a little.
A silhouette stood in the fog, smiling softly.
Raven saw it instantly. "No! Don't look—"
But Kelvin turned fully.
And everything went black.
The trees vanished. The fog consumed the world. The screams stopped.
Even Raven's voice was swallowed by the dark.