Shadow of the forest

The air grew heavier as Zeke and Arina trudged deeper into the forest. Arina walked ahead, his eyes scanning the path, his left hand gripping his arm where the strange marks throbbed faintly. The ache was dull for now, but he couldn't shake the memory of the searing pain from earlier.

Zeke's gaze kept flicking to him, his brows knitted together in something that might have been worry. His usual sharp, cold demeanor was overshadowed by an unspoken tension. "Hey," Zeke finally snapped, breaking the silence. "Keep moving, Arina. If you stop, I'll carry you like a damn sack of potatoes. Got it?"

Arina rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure you are," Zeke muttered under his breath, his tone laced with doubt.

They pressed forward until Arina came to an abrupt halt, his eyes locking onto a patch of vibrant color amidst the grayish-brown foliage. It was a flower—strange and otherworldly. Its petals shimmered faintly, shifting between hues of blue and silver, defying the decay around it. Arina couldn't help himself.

Before Zeke could say anything, Arina dropped to a crouch, yanking his notebook and pencil from his bag. His hands moved swiftly, sketching the flower's delicate structure with precision.

"What the hell are you doing?" Zeke barked, spinning around when he realized Arina wasn't behind him.

"Just a minute," Arina said absently, his focus on the intricate details of the flower.

Zeke marched over, scowling. "You've got to be kidding me. We don't have time for this crap!" He grabbed Arina by the collar and hauled him to his feet, practically dragging him along the path.

"Hey, let go!" Arina protested, but Zeke's grip was like iron.

"Stupid kid," Zeke muttered, shaking his head. "Drawing flowers in the middle of a damn nightmare. What's next? A tea party with the shadows?"

Arina sighed but didn't argue. He shoved his notebook back into his bag, giving the flower one last regretful glance before following Zeke.

The path eventually opened up to a clearing where a lake stretched out before them. The sight stopped them both in their tracks.

The water was black, thick, and stagnant. It reeked of decay, and the once-pristine surface was marred with oily swirls. Dead trees leaned toward the lake like mourners, their twisted branches reflected in the lifeless water.

Zeke frowned deeply, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. "This was supposed to be one of the pure lakes," he muttered. "These waters could heal anything. Now it's just… dead."

Arina took a hesitant step closer, his curiosity outweighing his unease. "What happened to it?"

Zeke shook his head. "The shadows. They're killing everything, one piece at a time. If the lakes are gone…" His voice trailed off, the implications too grim to voice.

A faint sound broke the oppressive silence—a soft, mournful sobbing.

They turned in unison, their eyes falling on a figure crouched near the edge of the lake. It was a winged person, his pure white feathers streaked with grime and ash. His shoulders shook as he cradled something close to his chest.

Arina and Zeke exchanged a glance before Arina cautiously approached. "Excuse me…" he called softly.

The winged man's head snapped up, his tear-streaked face twisting into a snarl. He clutched the bundle in his arms protectively, letting out a sharp, birdlike cry of warning.

Arina stopped in his tracks, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "We're not here to hurt you," he said gently.

Zeke stayed back, his hand still on his sword. His sharp eyes studied the winged man, noting the desperation in his movements. "Careful, Arina," he muttered.

The winged man's eyes glowed suddenly, a brilliant green light that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. Arina felt his mind fogging, his limbs growing heavy. He couldn't look away from those eyes—they were too beautiful, too consuming.

"Arina, damn it!" Zeke yelled, darting forward. He clamped a hand over Arina's eyes, breaking the spell. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped at the winged man. "Stop using your magic! We're trying to help!"

The green glow faded, and the winged man's expression shifted from hostility to despair. "Help…" he croaked, his voice thick with an unfamiliar accent. "Help… my child."

Zeke's brow furrowed as he switched to the winged language, his tone firm but not unkind. "Calm down. Let us see."

The winged man hesitated, then slowly extended the bundle in his arms. It was a child—a winged boy no older than five. But half of his small body was covered in black, as if the shadows had consumed him from the inside out.

Arina's breath caught in his throat. "Is he…?"

Zeke's face was grim as he knelt beside the winged man. He placed a hand over the boy's chest, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were filled with regret.

"I'm sorry...." he said quietly, still speaking in the winged language. "...He's already gone."

The winged man's eyes widened in shock. His grip tightened on the boy's lifeless body as he let out a heart-wrenching wail. He rocked back and forth, his tears falling onto the boy's blackened feathers.

Arina knelt beside him, unsure of what to say. "I… I'm so sorry," he whispered, even though he knew the winged man likely couldn't understand him.

Zeke stood, his jaw clenched tightly. He looked away, his fists balled at his sides. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "This is what the shadows do. They take everything."

The winged man continued to weep, his cries echoing across the dead lake. Arina placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort he could.

"We'll make it right," Arina said softly, more to himself than anyone else. His marks tingled faintly, a reminder of the task ahead.

Zeke finally turned back to them, his expression hard but his voice steady. "We need to move. The shadows won't stop, and neither can we."

The winged man looked up at Zeke, his tear-streaked face filled with desperation. "Shadows… kill… all," he said haltingly, his voice broken.

Zeke nodded grimly. "Not if we kill them first."

Arina helped the winged man to his feet, though the child's body remained clutched in his arms. The sorrow in his eyes was unbearable, but there was a flicker of something else—a faint glimmer of hope.

As they left the polluted lake behind, Arina glanced back one last time. The reflection of the black water seemed to ripple, almost as if the shadows were watching them.

"We'll stop them," Arina murmured, his hand brushing over the marks on his arm. "No matter what it takes."

And with that, they pressed on, the weight of their mission heavier than ever.