The Hanging Mother was a horror common in the Whispering Forest. The old travel journal had mentioned them—vague, hurried scrawl between blood-stained pages. It even spoke of their weakness. A cruel irony, really… knowing what to do didn't always mean you'd live long enough to do it. She was a monster that only reacted when observed. To that end, it was eerily similar to a horror from Lysithara known as the Weeping Angel. Once seen, it dropped from the trees. And once it touched the ground… it killed everyone. The only chance was to run before that happened. Unfortunately for Damon and his party… they wouldn't be so lucky this time. Perhaps their luck had run out. But Damon wasn't about to let that happen. He gripped the giant axe tightly, the hilt biting into his palms as the Hanging Mother began to fall—her hair like dried weeds, tangled and lifeless as she descended in silence. Then she screamed. A sound that carved through bone. That ran its cold fingers along his spine and curled around his soul. Even so—he didn't stop moving. "Run now…" The others didn't hesitate. They'd survived too much to falter now. They ran—not away from the Hanging Mother, but toward her falling form. Straight past her. Damon surged forward, his boots digging deep into the mossy earth as he activated the [5x] skill to speed—his body becoming a blur. His speed was now fivefold what it had been. He raised the massive axe—not to strike, but to anchor. He slammed it down with all his force, burying its head into the forest floor just as the rest of his party passed by him like a gust of wind. He closed his eyes. He felt her falling. The Hanging Mother's withered limbs swaying, her form descending directly above the anchored axe. And then—impact. She fell onto the axe. Her feet didn't touch the ground. The axe groaned. Its steel cracked. But it held. Damon clenched his teeth, arms locked, his muscles burning under her monstrous weight. The blade tilted… the metal shrieked. But he refused to let it fall over. Through the mist, his companions vanished, one by one. As soon as the last of his friends disappeared into the thick fog—the axe shattered. Perfect timing. Damon dived into the shadow of a tree, his body vanishing as if plunging into a pool of ink. [Shadow Movement] activated. He flowed through the darkness like liquid thought—through the interconnected web of shadows beneath the forest. The Hanging Mother shrieked, her kill stolen, her hunger unmet. Damon's body shot out of the shadows right beside a fleeing Evangeline—her armor shimmering faintly, its glow deepening the shadows around her, guiding his escape. He tumbled out from the darkness, heart pounding like a drum against his ribs. That had been too close. He turned to Xander with narrowed eyes. "You owe me a giant axe. For each day you don't pay… there's a 70% interest rate…" Xander smiled, relieved—clearly happy to see him alive. "That's daytime robbery…" Leona chuckled, lightning sparking softly along her armor as it cracked with residual static. "That's the usual rate I get. I thought you'd charge him more." Damon ran after them, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I was feeling generous…" They ran—through roots and fog, trees stretching like claws overhead. Six days they'd survived in this cursed forest. Six days of adapting. Of bleeding. Of escaping death by moments. Evangeline and Sylvia exchanged a glance, a faint smile passing between them. Once again, they had dodged death. As they continued, something shifted. The whispering—the constant, maddening whispering—began to fade. Low. Faint. Almost… quiet. Leona's beast-kin ears twitched first. "I smell water… The whispers are lower here…" Sylvia's elven ears flicked slightly as she reached for the map secured to her pack. "We… we're here… We made it. We made it to the Silent Marsh…" Matia took a long breath, her shoulders sagging with pain and exhaustion. "We are almost at Lysithara…" Evangeline's eyes fixed on the marsh—just beyond the mist. "This is the final obstacle…" Damon nodded slowly… but he knew better. More obstacles would come. This forest never gave anything easily. Yes—Lysithara was just beyond the marsh. Behind a wall of trees, concealed by mist and madness. But this place… this place might be worse than all that came before. He turned to the group, voice low. "We can't talk past this point… In this marsh, even a whisper can mean death." He narrowed his eyes at the silent fog ahead. "Make no noise… Or you'll become part of the silence." Damon gave all of them a small lecture on the dos and don'ts of the Silent Marsh. He had already covered it back in the Beldam's Nest, but he went over it again. They all listened solemnly—no one seemed eager to go in anyway. Damon nodded, activating Danger Sense as he approached the final part of the forest. The moment the skill kicked in, he felt it—a buzz just as intense as what he'd felt in the Whispering Forest. Danger was everywhere. He scowled, eyes narrowing as he shut the skill off. As he looked at the marsh ahead, it was… silent. The mist here wasn't as thick as the forest's, but that didn't make it safer. Large plants with broad, waxy leaves sprawled out across the ground, hiding the terrain. A few thin, skeletal trees jutted from the waters like broken spires. Stagnant pools stretched far into the distance, dark and slow-moving, choked with moss and reeds. Glowing patches of grass and wet moss clung to the land in uneven clusters, casting an eerie light that flickered like dying fireflies. The marsh was silent—deathly so. He couldn't tell which part was land, which part was shallow water… and he sure as hell couldn't tell what horrors might be hiding in between. All he had was the rule carved into his memory, passed down from those who'd barely escaped this place. Once you step onto the Silent Marsh… never make noise. And never… never, ever look back. No matter what you hear.