Cole and Jake had no choice—they had to get out of the Ironwood. It didn’t matter if the leader killed them for returning late—assuming they even managed to return at all. At least their deaths would come later rather than sooner.

  With that grim understanding, they ran.

  They didn’t head east—deeper into the Ironwood was suicide. Too many unseen dangers lurked beneath its canopy, threats such as the person hunting them now. The boglands were their only chance.

  Ahead, past the trees, the marshland stretched across the landscape, pools of stagnant water reflecting the lifeless grey sky. The air was thick with the smell of damp and decay. It would be hell to traverse, but it was safer than the alternative.

  Behind them, footsteps pounded the ground. Heavy. Relentless. Closer than they had been seconds ago.

  ‘Is this because I killed that blue-eyed soldier?’ Cole couldn’t help but wonder. However, that was not of importance as of now.

  Cole’s breath tore ragged from his throat, every step sending lances of pain through his battered ribs. Jake wasn’t faring much better—his hand clutched his side, dark blood seeping through his fingers.

  ‘Faster!’

  They pushed themselves past reason, lungs burning, legs screaming for relief.

  The ground softened beneath their feet, the solid ground giving way to the treacherous pull of the boglands. Mud clung to their boots with each step, dragging them down.

  They had seconds.

  No time to think.

  Cole grabbed Jake’s arm and yanked him toward the nearest pool. Without hesitation, they plunged beneath the murky surface.

  The cold hit like a hammer.

  The world above muffled into silence, the rush of water infiltrating their ears. Thick mud wrapped around them, clinging to their skin like grasping fingers. The stench of rotting vegetation filled their noses.

  Cole fought every instinct screaming at him to move, to thrash, to surface.

  Above, faintly distorted by the water, footsteps slowed. Stopped.

  Someone was there.

  Cole willed himself not to breathe, not to flinch.

  The silence stretched unbearably.

  Then—

  Something pierced the water.

  A sharp intrusion. Close. Too close.

  It sliced through the murk, skimming past Cole’s shoulder. He felt the shift of the water as it passed. His heart slammed against his ribs.

  Jake was slightly trembling beside him.

  The water settled again. The footsteps moved away.

  Gone? Or was this a trick? If he surfaced would the gasp of air betray him?

  Cole couldn’t risk it. But his body was at its limit.

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  His lungs spasmed. ‘Move or die.’

  He broke the surface with a gasp, sucking in the damp, rotten air. Beside him, Jake burst up, coughing violently.

  Cole blinked rapidly, his vision clearing—then froze.

  Floating in the pool next to them was a frog.

  Dissected clean in half, as it white, murky eyes looked upwards.

  Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft ripple of water, the quiet hum of insects.

  Cole let out a slow breath.

  "That could’ve been us."

  They hadn’t escaped. They had simply been spared.

  Jake exhaled, shaking his head. "Let’s move." He pushed himself up—and his legs buckled. He collapsed onto the damp ground with a grunt.

  For a moment, he just lay there. Then, breathless, he chuckled. "I really thought we were dead back there."

  Cole didn’t respond right away. He just watched him—saw the exhaustion in his face, the fear barely hidden behind that weak laughter.

  Then, silently, he extended a hand, which seemed to shake despite trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

  Jake hesitated before grasping it. Cole pulled him up, offering the faintest hint of a smile.

  "Come on," he said. "We need to keep moving."

  The marshlands swallowed their footsteps as they trudged forward, every step sinking into the wet, sucking ground. The air hung thick and humid, clinging to their skin like a second layer. Each breath tasted of damp rot.

  The further they walked, the quieter they became. Not out of caution, but exhaustion.

  Eventually, after a bit they had steered back to the sound of rushing water.

  Water’s Creek.

  The sight of clear, flowing water was almost enough to bring Cole to his knees.

  He dropped to the bank, cupping the cool water in his hands and splashing it over his face. The chill sent a shock through his system, burning away the haze of fatigue. Beside him, Jake rolled up his shirt, exposing the gash across his abdomen.

  "This is gonna suck," he muttered, cupping water over the wound.

  The moment the water hit, he hissed through clenched teeth, the pink-stained liquid dripping back into the stream.

  Cole hesitated, staring at his own wounds. The idea of that sting made his skin crawl. But they couldn’t risk infection.

  Gritting his teeth, he dipped his hands into the water and pressed them over his torn skin. He barely swallowed a groan as pain echoed through him.

  For a while, they worked in silence, washing away the filth and blood. But as the sting faded, so did the tension.

  Jake broke the quiet first.

  "Do you think we’ll survive the trial?"

  His voice was low, almost hesitant.

  Cole didn’t answer right away. He watched the water ripple around his hands, the endless current rushing forward.

  "I don’t know," he admitted. "But we’ve made it this far. That has to mean something."

  Jake let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Yeah. I guess it does."

  The conversation drifted, touching on memories of home—of warm beds, real food, the kind of safety they once took for granted. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a brief flicker of warmth in the cold grip of their reality.

  But it didn’t last.

  Nothing ever did.

  Eventually, they forced themselves up and kept moving, returning to the boglands.

  A couple more days blurred together, measured only by the slow rise and fall of the sun and the unyielding ache in their bones. Words became scarce, their energy reserved for survival. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind shared by those who had been through too much together to need conversation.

  Then, at long last, they saw it.

  Fort Blackridge.

  The fortress loomed in the distance, its blackened towers stabbing into the sky like jagged teeth. There seemed to be lookout towers surrounding the perimeter. Relief and dread mixed in his chest.

  They had made it.

  But their struggle was far from over.

  Standing at the edge of the bog, Cole felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach.

  ‘This is it.’

  Jake exhaled, steadying his breath. "You ready?"

  Cole kept his eyes fixed on the fortress. "Yeah."

  Without another word, they moved forward, the weight of their journey pressing down on them like an invisible burden. Yet, their backs remained straight, not out of defiance but determination. With every step, the subtle fear grew—but so did something else. A flicker of resolve, a quiet belief that no matter what waited ahead, they would face it together. And somehow, that was enough.