When the Hunt Begins

Previously

…Mark nodded, his skepticism warring with his pragmatism. "Better than wandering blind." Robin clutched her locket, her eyes wide but resolute. "We stick together. No matter what." As we stepped back out into the suffocating embrace of the fog, the whispers seemed to recede, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence. The hunter’s lodge, with its disturbing carvings and its grim map, faded behind us, a dark monument to our growing fear. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with unknown dangers, but for the first time since the fog had descended, we had a direction. And in the suffocating quiet, that felt like a fragile, desperate kind of hope. The hunt, I suspected, was just beginning.