The oppressive silence of the forest had stretched long, the mist swirling lazily around Morro as he sat against the damp undergrowth, shifting restlessly. The distant shivers of unease in his chest lingered from the encounter with the shadow beast, but he tried to push them aside. He grumbled softly under his breath, willing El Silbón to hurry back with the promised blankets. The discomfort in his bound wrists and cramped legs was wearing his patience thin.
And then it happened—a scream, sharp and piercing, slicing through the heavy quiet like a blade. Morro jolted upright, his eyes wide as the sound echoed through the mist, chilling him to the core. His breath caught, panic lacing his thoughts as he recognized the voice.
"Silbón!" Morro shouted, his tone frantic as he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his stiff limbs. His bound wrists thudded against his chest as he staggered forward, the mist pressing heavily against his skin. The scream rang out again, twisted with pain and fear, urging him onward despite the resistance of the vines wrapped around him.
Morro stumbled through the forest, his steps clumsy but fueled by urgency. The bushes snagged at his clothes, the damp earth pulling at his feet as he crashed through the undergrowth, his breath ragged. The mist thickened as he moved, its ethereal tendrils clawing at him as though trying to slow him down.
"Hold on!" he yelled, his voice strained as he pushed forward. "I'm coming!" The scream had stopped, replaced by an eerie stillness that made his pulse pound harder in his ears. Morro gritted his teeth, his resolve sharpening. Whatever had happened—whatever had found El Silbón—he wasn't going to let the ghost boy face it alone.
The shadows twisted around him as he pressed deeper into the forest, his heart racing as the tension climbed higher and higher.
Morro burst through the thickets, panting hard, his bound wrists thudding uselessly against his chest as he stumbled into a small clearing. His eyes locked instantly onto the scene in front of him, and his heart lurched.
El Silbón was on the ground, his translucent form twisted in discomfort as he struggled against the skeletal grip of a grotesque hag. The creature was hunched and twisted, its bony fingers unnaturally long, its face veiled by strands of filthy, tangled hair. Its mouth, jagged and impossibly wide, moved in eerie whispers that seemed to ripple through the mist. Around her, the shadows writhed like living beings, coiling and snapping toward El Silbón as though hungry for his very essence.
Morro's chest tightened as he saw the ghost boy flinch, his sack of bones strewn carelessly beside him. The hag's claws gripped El Silbón's arm, pulling him closer into the writhing shadows as her voice grew louder, chanting in a language that sounded like the forest itself had come alive to speak. The shadows stretched and elongated, curling like smoky tendrils around El Silbón's already incorporeal form.
"No!" Morro shouted, his voice breaking the oppressive quiet as he surged forward. His bound wrists made him clumsy, but his desperation drove him onward. "Get away from him!"
The hag hissed sharply, her twisted head snapping toward him with inhuman speed. Her glowing red eyes, piercing and malevolent, locked onto Morro. The shadows around her lashed out violently, as though sensing his defiance and seeking to keep him away.
And then—Morro felt it. A spark deep within his chest, sharp and electrifying, igniting a sensation he hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. The wind surged around him, sudden and fierce, whipping through the clearing and pushing back against the encroaching shadows. He stumbled briefly, the power raw and overwhelming, but he didn't have time to question it. Instinct took over.
Raising his bound arms as best he could, Morro let the Wind Powers flow through him, the air around him roaring to life like a storm unleashed. The shadows recoiled, twisting and shrieking as the gusts tore through them, scattering the writhing tendrils like smoke in the gale. The hag staggered backward, her bony form struggling against the onslaught of wind as her claws released El Silbón.
El Silbón gasped, scrambling away as the shadows faltered. Morro stepped forward, the power surging through his veins, the air bending to his will with every motion. He barely noticed his own confusion, the return of his powers overriding any thoughts of how or why. All that mattered was driving the hag away and keeping her from turning El Silbón into whatever monstrous creature she intended.
The hag shrieked, her voice fractured and broken, as the wind built to a deafening crescendo. Morro pushed harder, his bound hands trembling as he funneled his energy into the storm. The mist swirled violently, twisting into a vortex that swallowed the hag's shadows and forced her retreat.
Finally, the creature let out one last scream, her form dissolving into the swirling mist as she fled into the darkness of the forest. The clearing fell silent, save for the faint rustle of the remaining winds.
Morro staggered slightly, the raw power of the Wind fading as he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. His wrists throbbed, but he hardly cared. His eyes darted toward El Silbón, who sat trembling against the underbrush, his black eyes wide with shock.
"What… was that?" the ghost boy rasped, his voice shaky but audible.
Morro shook his head, his breaths ragged. "Don't ask me," he muttered, his voice tinged with exhaustion and disbelief. "I don't have time to figure it out. Let's just be glad it worked."
As Morro knelt on the ground, still catching his breath after the whirlwind of his unleashed powers, he felt the ache in his wrists begin to dull, giving way to a strange sense of lightness in his lower body. He shifted slightly, his legs cramped from all the commotion, and his gaze drifted down absently toward his ankles. That's when he noticed it.
The vines binding his ankles were slack—no, more than that, they were completely limp, hanging like lifeless threads around his boots. He blinked, startled, and instinctively flexed his feet. The bindings fell away with ease, crumpling into the damp earth as if they had never been taut in the first place.
"What in the—" Morro muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing at the sight. The realization hit him like a gust of wind: they must have snapped when he'd tumbled off the stretcher earlier. His fall through the brush had been rough enough to jar every bone in his body—it wasn't far-fetched that it could've loosened or broken the restraints entirely.
He let out a low chuckle, though it was strained and tinged with disbelief. "Well, I guess that's something," he murmured to himself, shaking his head. Of course, the freedom of his ankles wasn't exactly a celebration when his wrists were still bound and throbbing like they'd been set in iron clamps. But still—it was progress.
El Silbón, still seated against the underbrush and visibly shaken, glanced up at him, his black eyes flicking toward Morro's now-unbound ankles with faint curiosity. "You are… free?" the ghost boy rasped, his voice faltering slightly.
"Not exactly," Morro replied wryly, lifting his bound wrists in demonstration. "But at least I can move now without face-planting into the dirt." His tone softened slightly as he glanced back toward the ghost boy. "Speaking of which—you okay?"
El Silbón gave a faint nod, though the spectral shimmer of his form was dimmer than before, as if the hag's attack had drained him. "I will be," he murmured, his tone distant. "But you should prepare. That hag… she is not the only one."
Morro's lips pressed into a thin line as he absorbed the warning, his mind already racing ahead. If that monstrous hag had come after El Silbón once, she—or something worse—could certainly return. His muscles tensed as he pushed himself to his feet, his mind cycling between his newfound ability to move and the mysterious surge of wind power that had come rushing back to him.
"This forest just keeps getting better and better," Morro muttered anew, a trace of his usual sarcasm coloring the words as he glanced warily into the mist.
The wind-child stepped forward cautiously, the faint ache in his muscles making each movement feel heavier than it should. His boots, worn and battered from his time under the Preeminent's reign, had visible holes in them, exposing the scuffed leather beneath. He barely noticed the chill of the damp earth beneath his soles as he approached El Silbón, his bound hands still resting awkwardly in front of him.
The air shifted slightly as he neared the spot where the hag had held El Silbón down, the mist seeming to coil tighter around the space. Shadows still lingered there, faint traces of the darkness that had twisted and writhed just moments ago. Morro's eyes flicked briefly toward El Silbón, who sat slumped against the underbrush, his spectral form dimmer than before but stable. Morro felt the pull of curiosity—and the faint urge to reassure the boy—but as he took his next step, his boot grazed the tainted ground.
The reaction was immediate.
Morro's chest tightened as an icy jolt shot through his legs, the cold rushing upward like a flood of freezing water. He gasped, staggering slightly as numbness spread rapidly through his body, dulling his senses and dragging him down. His vision blurred, the edges fading into a swirl of mist and shadow. He tried to lift his bound hands, to steady himself, but his muscles refused to respond.
His knees buckled, and before he could utter a word, he swooned, collapsing to the ground with a soft, defeated thud. The damp earth pressed against his cheek as the cold seeped deeper into his form, leaving him suspended in a liminal state—neither fully conscious nor entirely unconscious. His mind felt hazy, drifting in and out of awareness as the lingering darkness clung to him like an unwanted weight.
The world around him felt distant, muted. He couldn't tell if his breaths were shallow or if his chest simply felt too numb to rise and fall. His thoughts swirled, disjointed and sluggish, as though they were trapped in the same mire of shadows beneath his boots.
El Silbón's faint voice reached him, distant but steady as the spectral boy moved closer. "You touched it," he muttered quietly, his tone a mix of frustration and concern. "The darkness… it hasn't fully gone. It lingers."
Morro groaned softly, though the sound was little more than a breath escaping his lips. He tried to form words, to push past the cold that left him immobilized, but his body refused to cooperate. The shadows from the spot seemed to cling to him, wrapping around his chest like invisible chains, leaving him suspended between states—neither asleep nor awake.
The forest was silent, save for the faint rustle of the mist curling around them.
El Silbón crouched beside Morro's limp form, his bony hands gripping Morro's shoulders as he shook him, his spectral fingers ice-cold against the fabric of Morro's tattered clothes. "Wake up," El Silbón urged, his voice sharp and edged with worry. "Come on—this is not the time to sleep."
Morro stirred faintly, his head lolling to the side as the cold from the lingering darkness seeped deeper into him. His eyes barely cracked open, unfocused and hazy. His lips moved sluggishly, and his voice slurred, carrying a faint, dreamlike quality. "I don't wanna leave," he murmured softly, almost wistfully. "Too tired... can't go on…"
El Silbón stiffened, his black eyes widening as Morro's words continued, barely audible. "It's so much easier… to let go…" Morro whispered, his voice trailing off into the mist, his body sinking further into the damp earth as though the shadows themselves were pulling him down.
The ghost boy froze, realization striking him like a bolt of lightning. The lingering darkness—the traces of the hag's power—wasn't just physical. It was subtle, insidious, preying on Morro's mind, dragging him down into a pit of despair. Not the loud, screaming kind of despair, but the quiet, creeping sort that whispered soothing lies, promising relief if only he'd let it all go.
"No," El Silbón muttered under his breath, his skeletal hands gripping Morro's shoulders more firmly. "No, no, no—you don't get to give up now." He leaned closer, his black eyes locking onto Morro's unfocused gaze, willing him to listen. "That's the darkness talking. It's not you."
Morro barely responded, his breathing shallow as the cold and numbness spread further. El Silbón grit his teeth—or he would have, if he still had them—and shook Morro again, harder this time, his spectral form flickering faintly. "You're stronger than this!" he hissed. "Do not let it take you!"
The faintest flicker of awareness crossed Morro's face, but it was fleeting, drowned out by the weight of the shadows pressing against his spirit. El Silbón's fingers twitched nervously as he searched for words, for anything that might cut through the fog surrounding Morro's mind.
"You think I don't know what this feels like?" he said sharply, his voice rising. "You think I don't know how tempting it is to just… stop fighting?" His spectral voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion. "I know. But if you give in now, you're not just letting go—you're letting that thing win. That hag, that shadow, whatever else is out there—it doesn't get to win. Not over you."
The mist swirled tighter, as if resisting his words, but El Silbón refused to back down. His black eyes narrowed as he shook Morro one last time, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "You survived worse than this, didn't you? Prove it."
Morro's breathing was shallow, his body cold and unresponsive, the shadows of the lingering darkness gripping him like invisible chains. Silbón's skeletal fingers twitched as he glanced down at the unconscious figure, his ghostly form shifting faintly as he weighed his options.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, his tone edged with bitter irony. "I've carried worse."
Without hesitation, he hoisted Morro over his shoulder, the weight of the mortal—well, mostly mortal—far less cumbersome than the sack of bones Silbón had lugged for decades. "Dry, disgusting bones," he murmured to himself, his voice low and resigned as he shifted Morro's weight to balance him properly. "At least this one doesn't rattle."
Morro's boots, worn and riddled with holes, brushed against Silbón's spectral arm as he carried him deeper into the forest. The dampness of the earth beneath his skeletal feet seemed almost welcoming compared to the oppressive silence that lingered in the mist. Silbón moved quickly but carefully, his dark gaze darting toward the shadows now twisting at the edges of the clearing. Whatever creature the hag had conjured—or whatever friends it might have had—would surely return if they lingered too long.
When he reached a secluded part of the thicket, Silbón crouched down, his movements deliberate as he eased Morro off his shoulder and onto the ground. Moss and lichen covered the damp earth, their soft, spongy textures providing a modest cushion against the chill of the forest floor. Silbón arranged Morro's limp form with quiet precision, his translucent fingers lingering briefly on the mortal's shoulder as he ensured he was as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances.
"You better wake up soon," Silbón muttered, his black eyes narrowing as he adjusted the vines still bound around Morro's wrists. "Not that I care, but you're heavier than you look."
The ghost boy settled back on his heels, his gaze scanning the surrounding thickets for any sign of movement. The mist curled tightly around the clearing, an ominous reminder of the dangers still lurking in the shadows. Despite the cold weight of unease pressing against him, Silbón found himself glancing toward Morro again, the faintest flicker of something unspoken passing through his expression.
Morro stirred, groaning faintly as a dull, pounding ache throbbed behind his eyes. His first thought as awareness crept back to him was that he'd been run over by a stampede of Oni—or maybe the hag herself had taken a frying pan to his skull for good measure. Either way, his head felt like it might split in two.
"Ugh…" he muttered, cracking one eye open only to wince at the faint light filtering through the mist. "What… happened?" His voice was thick, slurred, as though his brain were swimming through molasses just to string together a coherent thought. The world around him felt hazy, his mind stuffed with metaphorical cotton that muffled everything except the relentless drumming in his skull.
He tried to sit up, his arms trembling as they pressed against the mossy ground, but even that slight effort left his head spinning. "Great," he grumbled, squinting against the dizziness. "Someone decided to smack me with a frying pan. That's just fantastic."
El Silbón's shadowed form hovered nearby, his black eyes watching Morro with quiet intensity. "You are awake," he said flatly, his tone as neutral as ever. "That is good."
"Good?" Morro repeated, his words slow and slightly slurred. "Feels like I've been out for days and someone replaced my brain with a bag of fog." He groaned again, flopping back against the moss and letting his head rest as he stared blankly at the swirling mist above. "What even happened? Everything's… fuzzy."
El Silbón crouched closer, his translucent form faintly shimmering as he gestured vaguely toward the spot in the clearing they had left behind. "You stepped on it," he said simply. "The darkness. It clings. It nearly pulled you under."
Morro blinked sluggishly, his thoughts catching up in fragmented pieces. "Oh, right," he muttered, the memory flickering faintly in his mind. "Guess that explains… this." He waved his bound hands feebly toward his aching head, though the gesture was less than precise.
"You were lucky," El Silbón added, his tone carrying a faint edge of warning. "If I had not pulled you out when I did…"
Morro groaned, cutting him off with a half-hearted wave. "Yeah, yeah, I get it—thanks for that, by the way." He rubbed his temples with his wrists, grimacing. "Not that it feels like much of a victory right now. My head is doing its best impression of a gong, and I'd really like it to stop."
The ghost boy tilted his head slightly, his black eyes scanning Morro's pale face. "You will recover," he said simply. "But for now… rest."
Morro sighed, closing his eyes again as he muttered, "Rest. Sure. It's not like I was going anywhere tied up like this anyway."