Morning in the guild smelled of bread, sweat, ink, and someone's socks.
Ellie stood at the quest board, holding a mug with something black inside. Maybe it was tea. Maybe, dusty magic. She stood at the quest board, thoughtfully chewing on a piece of yesterday's bun. It was early; she still felt echoes of the fight with the Nereid in her body. Especially her ribs ached, reminding her that it was better not to play the hero for a while. But money was running out faster than the wounds were healing, so she had to pretend everything was fine.
Standard notices were hanging on the board. Escort a caravan, find a lost goat, deal with minor evil spirits in a village. Ellie thoughtfully rubbed her chin. Didn't want the goat. Or caravans. But the village…
– You're here before sunrise again, – grumbled the scribe, walking by. – Sleep in at least once.
– And you're alive again, – she tossed over her shoulder. – Stability.
She flicked her gaze down the quest listings.
"Lost equipment." Boring.
"Help with caravan." Nope.
"Ruins clearing in the north." Hmm.
"Anomaly near the village of Lort." Again? Third this month already.
Someone stood next to her. Tall, smelling of onions and cheap leather.
– You taking something? Or just want the parchment to tell you what it knows?
Ellie didn't turn around.
– If it could answer, it'd be more pleasant than talking to you.
– Good morning, as always, – he snorted. – Hey, you're the one from the east, right?
– No.
– Smart. Means you'll manage. Looks like they're putting us in one group.
Ellie slowly turned.
– What?
The guildmaster was sitting at the table, eating porridge, looking as if he'd been woken up by a third bang to the head. Ellie immediately felt uneasy: she'd long forgotten what it was like when a quest meant "a group walk." The guildmaster nodded at her, indicating she should sit. He looked at her.
– Are you all right?
She nodded, even though her ribs reminded her again unpleasantly.
– Quite.
– Good. Ellie, meet your team. – He gestured with his spoon at those sitting at the other table. – Here's your joy for today.
There were four sitting nearby. Ellie looked them over.
The first, the one who smelled of onions. Grin across half his face, hair like a pile of hay.
– Yaren. Recon, traps, bad jokes.
Second, a woman about thirty, short light hair, stern look, but a kind smile and a medal at her neck. A priest?
– Sala. Support. I'll help if it gets rough.
Third, a tall, silent man with broad shoulders.
– Henn. If there's trouble, I fight.
Last, very young, with eyes burning with "I want adventure," and hair tied any which way.
– Lydia. Just Lydia. I read. Sometimes I heal.
Ellie smiled easily in response to her greeting.
– Ellie. Researcher, cartographer. I write more than I fight.
– Did you really see a river spirit?
– I've seen a lot of things. Most often—foolishness. What's the name of the quest?
The guildmaster pulled out a sheet.
– Right, – he began wearily, clearly short on sleep. – Simple clearing of an old estate near the village of Uttar. The elder says the dead are getting active. Locals are scared, not harvesting crops, not milking cows. Basically, needs sorting out. – He chewed. – Yeah, sounds like a drunk's tale. But it pays well. Flat country. Three days' walk to the village.
– Who requested it?
– The elders' council. And a priest who was there and came back with white hair.
He fell silent.
– By the way, he doesn't talk anymore. To anyone.
Silence fell.
– So, – Ellie exhaled. – "Simple clearing," you say?
– Well… – Yaren started. – For five, yes.
– I can already see someone will "accidentally" forget oil against the undead.
– Will you bring it? – Sala raised a brow.
– I've got it. And salt. And charcoal. And brains.
– Great, – nodded the guildmaster. – Then get ready. Three days there, solve the problem quickly, and back. And don't do anything stupid, all right?
They nodded in unison. Ellie stood, feeling like the quest seemed almost too easy. Something inside whispered: be careful. But she brushed it off. Probably just tired.
An hour later, everyone was ready and standing at the guild gates. Ellie adjusted her backpack, checked her journal, and looked back at the team. Lydia caught her gaze and smiled.
– They say you just came back from a really tough quest. Not tired?
Ellie gave a gentle shrug.
– A little. But this one seems easier.
Yaren snorted, nodding toward the gates.
– Right, just a couple of slow zombies.
Sala sighed quietly.
– Yeah. Except they're never really that slow.
Henn nodded silently. He clearly had dealt with this sort of thing before.
Ellie adjusted her bag strap and smiled lightly.
– Well, let's hope everything goes according to plan.
Lydia smiled wider, fixing her hair.
– Do things ever go according to plan for us?
They laughed, and the tension finally eased.
– All right, – said Ellie, stepping toward the exit. – Let's go. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.
The gates were behind them, ahead was the simple road to Uttar. Ellie, breathing in the fresh air, thought that maybe, for once, it wouldn't hurt to not go alone.
Though inside, something still stubbornly whispered: "Careful. This quest isn't as simple as it seems."
She brushed the thought away again. What, after all, could go wrong?
First Day
The road was soft, well-trodden, but in the silence there was a hidden wariness, as if the forest knew where we were going, and kept silent on purpose. The first morning we barely spoke. Everyone checked their gear, measured their pace and step. Only Yaren couldn't take the silence.
– Anyone know how old this route is?
– Old enough for moss to have grown on it, – muttered Sala without looking up.
– I'm serious. They say these roads used to lead to old temples, before… well, before everything.
– Before everything, – repeated Lydia, as if tasting the word. – Sounds pretty.
After about an hour, we turned off toward a spring. And there I saw it. An altar.
Covered in moss, almost merged with the ground. The stone was ancient, the shape blurred, but in the very center was a carving. A symbol—a triangle entwined with a spiral. I sketched it in my journal. My handwriting was shaky: not from fear, from respect. It felt like we'd disturbed someone's eternal sleep.
Yaren, of course, couldn't pass by:
– Maybe it's for sacrifices. Or for kisses. Doesn't say.
Henn silently helped the villagers tow a cart, one wheel had fallen off right at the turn. He didn't even respond to thanks. Just shrugged and returned.
They stopped by a stream, the shade of the trees gave coolness, the water gurgled lazily, crickets chirped in the grass. Ellie took off her backpack carefully: her side still ached, but she said nothing.
Sala by the stream performed a small rite: sprinkled a drop of oil, whispered a prayer.
– Just in case the local spirits don't like it when people drink their water without permission.
Henn laid out some thin sticks and hung a pot. Yaren pulled dried meat and two carrots from his bag, Lydia sliced flatbread, Sala added a couple of dried herbs to the boiling water—a sharp, rich smell came off them.
– Bay with a touch of soot, – she explained. – Better than just water.
They ate in silence, as if not yet used to the shared quiet. Ellie watched Lydia carelessly crumble bread, Yaren picking a pebble from his boot with a stick. And only Sala said, without looking up:
– First meal on the road is like the first day in a foreign temple. You have to be careful. After that, everything gets easier.
Wrote in the evening:
"Camped by the spring. Quiet. Food simple but filling. Herbal brew—bitter, but brings warmth back to your belly. We're all still a bit like strangers. But they look not through you, but beside you.
Henn doesn't say much, but gets things done.
Yaren tells stories, like he's afraid of silence.
Sala knows where to step so as not to disturb the grass.
Lydia asks questions no one knows the answers to and smiles.
Me… for now it's just comfortable. For now."
Second Day
Morning was bright, the air tasting of leaves and dew. Lydia walked ahead, her eyes darting among the crowns. Suddenly she stopped, pointed up.
– There! Look!
On a branch sat a bird with double wings—two layers of feathers, one on top of the other, as if it had learned to hold itself in the air twice as hard.
– A svetozvon, – Lydia said quietly. – They're rare. They say if you see one, you'll soon hear something important.
– Hope it's not a scream of pain, – added Yaren. – I'd prefer not to hear that.
I fell back a couple of steps and wrote it all down. The bird's outline, the colors of its wings, its habits. Lydia helped, pointed out where the feather was longer, where it bent. Then she came closer.
– Do you really reread all this later?
– Sometimes, – I replied. – When I feel like I don't understand anything, the journal reminds me: I saw all this.
By evening a light rain started. They turned to a slope, found a niche among roots. The trees whispered overhead, but underfoot it was dry.
Sala lit a fire, Henn stretched a tarp, Lydia deftly laid out some food packets. This time it was stewed chickpeas with spices and mushrooms, which someone had gathered an hour before—the smell gently reminded her of something homey. Ellie chewed slowly, listening to the crackling branches.
And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Yaren asked:
– Have you ever wondered why you keep doing this? You know, wandering forests, fights, fear, mud… all of it.
Silence. Then Sala put her bowl down.
– There was a time. Long ago. I wasn't a priest yet. Just ran from one village to another, with a group, twelve people. We were caught in fog on the swamp… and something else. We lost three the first day. Then another. At night, we started shaking at every rustle. And then a guy, just a regular, frail, an apothecary, pulled two spoons from his bag. Real, wooden, carved. He said, "I always carry a spare. In case I meet someone."
Sala fell silent. A twig crackled in the fire.
– There we were, six of us. Tired. Cold. Eating plain stew. And he had two spoons. He handed me one. And I realized you can't give up. As long as there's even one spare spoon.
They were silent for a long time. Lydia stared into the fire. Ellie watched Sala.
And for the first time thought: these people aren't just random companions. We sat by the fire. Yaren told a story about a necromancer falling for him. Everyone laughed. Even Henn grunted. I didn't laugh, but I listened.
"Fire. Food with smoke. A story. The words about the spoon stayed inside. For everyone. Even Henn listened. Even Yaren didn't giggle. Today I didn't think about being the first to leave.
I just went.
And suddenly it was easier. Like maybe, being alone isn't required."
Third Day
The terrain started to change. Sparse grass, crooked trees, the ground a little loose. Birds didn't sing. Even the wind seemed sluggish. We started speaking quieter.
At lunch we found tracks. Large, pressed in, as if stone had walked the earth.
– Doesn't look like a zombie, – Yaren muttered.
– Could be an ancient predator, – I said. – Or a clay beast. Sheep-sized.
– Thanks, Ellie. Now I'm sure I won't sleep.
We spent the last night in an abandoned watch post made of gray stone; it smelled of damp ash.
The post looked half-ruined, but sturdy. The roof was partly intact, walls thick. We lit a fire inside, in the old hearth. After clearing away dust and cobwebs, settled in cramped but comfortably.
Dinner was simpler: rice, dried apples, some pork fat. Lydia dumped it all into the pot, poured in water, and added "one secret herb."
– Secret?
– Yes. I stole it from an old granny.
– Joke?
– Maybe.
Everyone laughed softly. Not forced, just genuine, like relief. Ellie was silent, then took out her journal. Not to write, just to hold it. She couldn't explain it, but something inside told her: this night would be the last for someone.
Not because of evil. Not because of premonition. Just a sense of closure.
I found in the corner a charred sheet, another seeker's journal. You couldn't make out the words, just a date: five years ago.
Wrote:
"Sitting as if this is not a road anymore, but home. And if someone said, 'stay,' maybe I would. But you can't. We're not there yet. And ahead, it feels like cold awaits us.
Someone was here before us. Now we are five. But it feels like less already.
Sala asked if I know how to kill the dead.
I said: yes.
But something pinched inside. Because I'm not sure I'm ready to look into empty eyes again. I feel calm next to them. And that makes me uneasy."