Luckborn

In hindsight, Otter realized firing blindly into the marsh may not have been the best idea. Although it might have startled whatever was pursuing them, it also signaled to the creature that he was aware of its presence. And from that point on, it had gotten quieter. Smarter. More deliberate. Their sense of unease had dulled, overtaken by exhaustion and heat, lulling them into a brittle, false sense of security.

That illusion shattered at the edge of a narrow water channel.

Jasper stepped forward to leap across the muddy gap, muscles bunching for the jump—when Otter's Luck's Whisper flared like a spark in his gut. Instinct overrode thought.

"Jasper—wait!"

The warning had barely left his mouth when the water erupted.

A massive shape burst from the muck with shocking speed, sending up a geyser of dark sludge. Clawed limbs flailed. Jaws snapped. It collided with Jasper mid-air, dragging him down in a blur of limbs and armor and teeth.

The creature was monstrous—reptilian and crustacean in equal measure. A thick, turtle-like shell covered its hunched body, glistening with swamp muck. One crab-like pincer clamped around Jasper's torso with bone-cracking force, while a second, smaller claw lashed out like a hook. Its face split into a beak lined with needle-thin spines, which latched onto Jasper's arm with a sickening crunch.

"Fenclaw!" Fridley shouted, already raising his hand.

Three searing bolts of orange energy lanced from his fingers and struck the beast's armored hide. Steam hissed off the creature's wet shell, the water around it bubbling where the magic struck home.

Milo didn't hesitate. He planted his feet and thrust a hand forward.

Mind Spike!

A psychic pulse slammed into the fenclaw's skull, but it merely hissed and jerked, its grip unyielding. Its mind was a furnace of instinct and fury—too wild to seize, too raw to break easily.

Sage stepped forward, her voice calm even in the chaos, and summoned Sacred Flame.

A column of radiant fire cascaded down from the sky, but the creature twisted unnaturally fast. The divine light scorched only water and air. Still, the movement wrenched its beak free of Jasper's arm with a sharp snap.

Jasper hit the mud, rolling onto his side with a grunt, clutching his bleeding forearm.

Erin moved with terrifying precision, bow already in hand. She loosed an arrow the moment her line of sight was clear. It punched through the air and slammed into the mirelurker's eye. The beast shrieked and thrashed, staggering back a step.

Otter raised his slingshot and fired—but the stone sailed wide, ricocheting harmlessly off a tree with a dull clack.

The fenclaw hissed again, blood and swamp water streaming from its eye socket. It snapped once more at the air—half threat, half retreat—then turned and dove into the water.

With a splash and a blur of motion, it vanished beneath the surface, leaving behind only ripples—and a dark stain of blood curling in the murk.

The silence afterward was immediate and deafening.

Otter stood frozen, breath held, eyes fixed on the rippling water. For a heartbeat, he thought the creature might re-emerge. That it had only feigned escape.

But nothing stirred.

Sage rushed to Jasper's side, hands already glowing with Divine light. The wound on his arm closed up as her magic coursed through him, but his torso still shone slick with blood around the tears in his leather armor. "That will have to do for now," she told him. "We'll bandage the rest, and I can tend to you more tomorrow."

"What the hell was that thing?" Otter asked, voice rising.

"A fenclaw," answered Fridley. "Nasty things. They're the apex predator around here. Even crocs won't mess with them."

"Wait, there's crocodiles, too?" Milo interjected.

"Probably not with that thing hanging around," Fridley assured him. "Just be glad it wasn't a mated pair. That might have been a problem."

Might have been a problem? Otter thought. Jasper had been nearly torn in half. How was that not already a problem? He shook his head in disgust, mostly at himself.

Sage had helped Jasper into a sitting position with his back against a mossy log. His face was pale, his breath shallow. Even after Sage's magic had sealed the worst of his wounds, blood still seeped slowly through the torn leather of his armor. She pressed a fresh bandage to his ribs and gave a grim nod.

"That'll hold for now," she said, "but you're going to be sore for days."

"I've had worse," Jasper muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

Otter crouched nearby, wiping sweat and muck from his hands. His pulse still raced. The whole encounter had lasted less than a minute—but the image of Jasper being dragged from the air was already etched deep in his memory.

Across from him, Milo sank to the ground and stared out over the rippling water. "If Fridley hadn't been here…" he started, then trailed off.

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"Yeah," Otter said. "I know."

Fridley gave a small shrug, but there was a flicker of pride behind his weary eyes. "It's what I'm trained for."

The group fell quiet for a beat, the weight of what nearly happened settling in. Even with two spellcasters, a divine healer, and a trained Scout, they'd been caught off guard. It was a sobering reminder: this wasn't the Academy. This was the field.

Real monsters. Real blood.

Otter looked around at the others, saw the shaken expressions, the set jaws. No one suggested turning back. No one needed to.

"We keep moving," he said. "We watch every step, every shadow. And we don't jump water until Erin gives the all-clear."

Jasper gave a faint snort of agreement, clutching his bandaged arm. "You'll get no argument from me."

They helped him to his feet and resumed their march, eyes scanning the reeds, weapons at the ready. The marsh closed in around them once more, hot and heavy and alive with hidden dangers.

***

After another hour, the marsh opened into a trampled clearing, sunless and soggy, where something violent had clearly taken place. Reeds were flattened in wide swaths, black mud churned up and splattered across low tree trunks. Flies buzzed where the mud had been stained a reddish tint. Deep bootprints and scorched brush marred the clearing, and the shattered haft of a spear jutted from the muck. But most telling was the body lying face down, half-submerged in the water.

Fridley pushed past the others and splashed forward, dropping to his knees beside the fallen figure. The chain vest it wore was rent in several places, its cloak tangled in reeds. Fridley reached out with both hands, gently turning the man over, heedless of the mud soaking into his sleeves. He pressed two fingers to the neck.

A long breath passed. Then Fridley looked up and shook his head, his expression tight, eyes shining with grief.

Sage moved to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. Fridley nodded once but didn't speak.

The rest of the group stood still for a moment. Otter's eyes drifted across the battlefield, taking in the scattered wreckage. The gouges in the mud. The charred ring of vegetation to the right—evidence of spellfire. Two shattered bucklers, their straps torn. And near the far edge of the clearing… another body, barely visible among the reeds.

Jasper was already moving toward it.

"Over here," he called softly.

Otter followed. The second corpse lay slumped against a tree trunk, slashed across the midsection. A wrisplay clung to the figure's limp arm, its light long since faded.

Erin was circling wide, her steps slow and measured, eyes fixed on the ground. She crouched, brushed a tuft of grass aside, and examined something in the mud. Then she moved again, following an invisible thread.

No one said much.

Milo stood a short distance off, gripping his staff tightly with both hands. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He didn't look away, but he didn't step closer, either.

"There were four of them," Fridley murmured.

Sage looked up from where she'd been cleaning blood from the dead man's face. "Only two here."

"Yeah." Erin was standing now, pointing to the treeline. "I found a blood trail. Headed that way. But…" She hesitated.

Otter joined her and followed her line of sight.

Deep impressions in the muck. Not human. Clawed. A lot of them.

"Kaosborn," he said softly.

Erin nodded. "Overlapping. It's hard to say exactly what happened… but I doubt they got far."

Otter glanced back at the scene. The broken gear. The silence. "We need to check."

"I'll be back," said Erin as she slipped away through the reeds, crouching low.

Otter didn't want her to go. Whatever had killed these men was powerful. Powerful enough that they could likely wipe out Otter and all his friends without breaking a sweat. And they were probably still out there. Close by.

But Erin was a Scout, skilled at moving unseen through this kind of environment. She had a much better chance of avoiding detection alone than she did if Otter went with her. Still, his insides twisted at the thought of her running into Kaosborn out there by herself.

He turned away, scanning the area once again. Movement caught his eye at the edge of the clearing. It was small and quick. Not a beast or monster, but something curious. He approached and found a small square of parchment—soggy with singed edges—stuck to the end of a burned reed. Otter eased it free and unfolded it carefully.

The remnant was scrawled in looping, deliberate handwriting. Most of it had bled into illegibility, but a few lines were still intact.

"…channeling complete. Bloom formation stable…"

"…ambient corruption sufficient for initial Chorus…"

"…must be sung awake."

At the bottom corner, a strange glyph had been inked—a stylized V, or maybe a clawed eye. He didn't recognize it. A piece of spellbook, maybe?

"Fridley, were there any other Spell Lords in your group?"

"No, just me."

"Do you recognize this?" Otter handed him the scrap.

Fridley studied it, then shook his head. "No."

Otter stared down at the paper again, brow furrowed. The ink was beginning to run, smudged at the corners. Whatever spell it had once belonged to, the arcane structure was incomplete now—fragile, like a moth's wing held too long in the rain. "This means they weren't working alone. A Spell Lord was helping them."

"Or directing them," said Sage. "We've been hearing how the Kaosborn are becoming more organized. Maybe this is why. Maybe someone has figured out how to control them."

Fridley scoffed, "Kaosborn can't be controlled. Their very nature prevents it."

"Does it?" asked Otter. "I mean, what if the System gave someone that ability when it unlocked the new Classes?"

Fridley looked confused. Apparently, he hadn't heard about that. How long had he been out here, anyway?

Milo cut in. "I don't think that's it. The coordinated attacks started before Binding Eve, remember? Let me see that." He indicated the scrap of paper. He perused it. "I don't think this is from a spell book. That word 'Chorus' feels more like a ritual than a spell."

Sage sucked in a breath.

Otter gave her a questioning look.

"We learned that there used to be cults that worshipped Kaos. Not a proper religion, but something capable of performing ritual magic."

Otter shuddered. He did not like that thought.

Just then, a rustle of reeds came from the opposite side of the clearing. Everyone reached for their weapons until they saw Erin emerge, her face pale but composed. She said nothing at first, just walked to Fridley and put a hand on his shoulder.

"They're gone," she said. "Both of them. I found what was left."

Fridley closed his eyes and nodded once, jaw clenched tight.

"I'm sorry," Erin added.

Fridley didn't respond. His gaze drifted to the bodies already recovered. "We can't leave them like this."

"No," Sage agreed gently. "But we can't stay either. Not here."

"I could build a pyre," Fridley said, more to himself than anyone else. "They deserve that."

"And light up the whole marsh in the process?" Jasper asked. "You want to guide every monster in a ten-mile radius straight to us?"

"He's right," Erin agreed. "It's too risky. But we can still bury them. Sort of. There's a deep pool nearby. Clear water. Still. We could give them to it."

It wasn't tradition. It wasn't proper.

But it was something.

Fridley hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

They worked together, wrapping the bodies in what was left of their cloaks, keeping their voices low and reverent. No one argued. No one rushed. When they were ready, they carried them to the pool. Erin was right—the water was clear here, tucked between two mossy rises, its surface glassy and untouched.

One by one, they eased the bodies in, their weight pulling them slowly beneath. No one spoke. Otter said a quiet prayer under his breath—not a formal one, just words that felt right.

When the last ripple faded, they stood in silence.

"I'll come back for them someday," Fridley said, voice rough. "We'll mark this place. We'll remember it."

And then, with heavy feet and heavier hearts, they turned back toward the outpost.