The land is drained of vitality, home only to starving animals, withering trees, and dispirited grass. Still waters surround the desolate expanse, amplifying its isolation.

  The night is eerily quiet. Then a faint human sound breaks the silence, digging in the mud and seeping up from the ground. Something more than earth is stirring below.

  The mud moves as fingers break through the surface. A wrist follows, then an arm, another hand, and finally a head appears after a few minutes.

  “Whoo... whoo... I... I’ve finally made it!” The man gasps for air, his voice hoarse, as he pulls himself free from the earth.

  His dark brown hair is caked with dirt, his clothes are drenched in mud. Looking around cautiously, he tries in vain to brush off the grime clinging to his body. “This is hopeless. It’ll take years to clean myself properly. I need water—anything will do for now.”

  Spotting a small pool nearby, he crouches beside it and casts a spell to check its purity. A faint glow shimmers over the surface, confirming its safety.

  He thinks, “At least the water is cleaner than me,” as he scoops some up to wash his hands and face.

  As he wipes away the mud, his features come into view: droopy green eyes, a small nose, and a harmless, friendly face. His build remains largely hidden under his dirt-streaked clothes, but he has a lean frame.

  After he finishes his drink, he takes a deep breath, calculates which and how many spells he can use, and organizes his thoughts.

  Rising to his feet, he pulls a strange device from his pocket. Resembling a compass, it bears intricate markings and trembling needles that refuse to settle.

  “Is the interference here messing with the locator?” he wonders, pacing as he tries to stabilise the device. His efforts prove futile.

  It looks like he’ll have to leave this place first. He sighs, slipping the gadget back into his pocket.

  Racing against the clock, he lifts his eyes to a night sky lit by a solitary moon, letting the old constellations steer his path. They shine unchanged, just as they did years before. He wonders how many seasons have quietly drifted past since he last wandered these lands. Will he find a village ahead, or perhaps a single soul waiting on the horizon?

  As he trudges through the woods, he takes in his surroundings. Once a deadly wasteland, the area has begun to show signs of renewal—though danger still lingers.

  “This place isn’t as terrifying as it used to be,” he whispers. Still, he must hurry. Predators prowl these shadows, and in his weakened state, crossing their path could be fatal.

  He waves a hand, casting spells to mask his scent and render himself invisible to potential threats.

  The trek is exhausting, and he stops occasionally to rest. By the time the first rays of sunlight pierce the horizon, painting the land in warm hues, the silhouette of a village emerges at the edge of the woods.

  “Ha... ha... finally,” he pants, his legs heavy and his stomach growling in protest.

  The village comes into focus: modest, with scattered one- and two-storey buildings. A simple archway at the entrance bears the name “Mistwood,” carved in weathered letters that perfectly describe the misty surroundings.

  “Finally, a proper roof over my head,” he murmurs, relief washing over him.

  As he passes under the arch, he spots a young woman cradling a child. He approaches her cautiously.

  “Good morning, madam,” he says, bowing slightly. “Might I trouble you for a moment?”

  Startled by the stranger’s presence, the woman holds her child closer and grips tighten, her eyes wary.

  “I mean no harm,” he assures her. “My name is Finn.” He bows again, adding, “Do you know if there’s an inn where I might stay the night?”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Her grip on the child loosens slightly, though her eyes remain cautious. “Y-yes, we have an inn. But... where are you from?”

  “I come from Dewhill,” Finn replies smoothly, conjuring a village name on the spot. “I’m a magician’s disciple, passing through to visit relatives but got lost with my friends.”

  The woman’s gaze drops to his mud-streaked clothes.

  “And I, er, had an unfortunate fall into a pool of mud on my way here,” he adds with an awkward grin. “Still working on my cleaning spells, I’m afraid.”

  His lighthearted tone finally eases her tension. A faint smile touches her lips.

  “I see. That explains how you made it through the woods alone,” she says. “I’m Anna. I apologise for my caution because it’s rare that we see a new face here.”

  “No apology needed, madam,” Finn says with a polite nod.

  Anna gestures down the road. “Follow this path and turn right at the end. You’ll see the inn on your left.”

  “Thank you, Anna,” he says with a warm smile. “I hope you and your little one have a lovely day.”

  With that, she scurries off, and Finn sets his sights on the inn, eager to throw himself into a cosy bed.

  Following her directions, Finn makes his way down the path towards the inn. Along the way, he notices women either cradling babies in their arms or holding children by their sides. Only a handful of grown men are out, drifting down the street with intent in their stride. At the far end of the road, Finn spots a small inn tucked neatly into the corner. The place looks old but solid—wooden beams weathered by time, metal fittings browned with rust creeping along their edges.

  He pushes open the door. It creaks, of course. Inside, it smells like old timber and floors recently swept. Aged, sure—but kept with care.

  Finn steps up to the counter. “Evening. Got a room for the night?”

  The innkeeper, a round-faced woman with rosy cheeks and a cheery grin, lights up the moment she sees him. “Well now, it’s not every day we get new faces ‘round here!”

  “You can call me Finn,” he says with a polite nod. “Any chance you’ve got a vacancy?”

  “Plenty. Fifty coins a night,” she replies, still smiling.

  “Fifty?” His brows shoot up. “What happened—did the beds start serving wine in your sleep?”

  She crosses her arms, eyes glinting with pride and challenge. “It’s been the same price since I opened this place. You’re welcome to walk around and check—but I’ll tell you right now, this is the only inn you’ll find for miles.”

  Finn hesitates, patting his wallet with a faint disapproval.

  The innkeeper’s expression softens. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Mirabelle, by the way. What brings you to Mistwood this time of year? Most of the men are out hunting predators and won’t be back until the end of autumn.”

  “That explains why I barely saw anyone on the way in,” Finn says, keeping his tone easy. “Came from across the woods—just passing through on my way to visit some relatives.”

  Mirabelle nods, her curiosity seemingly satisfied. She gestures to a stool by the counter. “Have a seat, won’t you? Hungry? We can get some breakfast going while you wait.”

  At the mention of food, Finn’s stomach grumbles loud enough to answer for him. He smiles. “Wouldn’t say no to that.”

  Mirabelle calls out to the kitchen, ordering a meal, before returning to chat with him. Over the course of their conversation, Finn learns about the town’s way of life. The men venture into the wilds every autumn to hunt predators, bringing back carcasses to sell to merchants.

  It gives the townspeople just enough to get through the brutal winter months. Predator corpses are worth a lot—they’re used to make magic vaults that can generate and store magic. The stronger the beast, the better the vault… but high-ranked predators are also far more deadly.

  Predators are classified into five ranks: C, B, A, S, and M. Rank C predators are the most common, while an S-ranked predator alone possesses the power to obliterate five towns like this one. As for the M-ranked creatures, they are so exotic that they exist only in legends and mythology.

  “Do you know the way to the capital city from here?” Finn asks as his breakfast is served.

  Mirabelle retrieves a map from beneath the counter and spreads it out before him. “Your relatives are in Osemond, then? Here’s the best route to take.”

  Finn carefully sketches the directions onto a piece of paper she provides, adding the landmarks she points out. As she attends to other customers, he flips through a local newspaper to pass the time.

  After finishing his meal, Finn hands over the payment and Mirabelle leads him upstairs to his room.

  The room, like the lobby, is aged but immaculately kept. The bedding is clean, and the furniture, though simple, is sturdy. It’s clear Mirabelle takes pride in her inn.

  “Would it be possible to get a change of clothes sent up?” Finn asks before she leaves. “And… could you let me know the cost beforehand?”

  “Of course,” she replies with a wink.

  Once alone,Finn lingers over each stroke as he wipes away every stubborn patch of mud with a rag. He soaks in the bath until his fingers prune, then, wrapped in the comfort of fresh linen left at his door, he sinks onto the bed.

  Exhausted from the journey through the woods, he allows himself to drift off to sleep, knowing he’ll need all his strength for the search ahead.