Secrets & Treasons

Fifth Movement: in the shadow of the mists | Someone else's crime

The water was black and muddy. And cold enough to freeze to the bone. Half Moon struggled in it with less and less strength, less and less conviction. The countless little things around her made the heavy water vibrate and unknown substances hit her without her being able to identify them. She was not even interested. In any case, she didn't have much of a head left. She had just passed the point of asphyxiation. On the verge of regretting and cursing her stupidity, her conscience stopped, as if in suspense. And yet, she made a decision as fast as incongruous and words came out of her mouth in profusion. The language was ancient, the spell archaic, a blinding light surrounded her for a few seconds before the icy hand of the dark swamp took her back in its embrace.

But they were still there.

Hundreds of them now. And she didn't have an ounce of oxygen left in her lungs. So, she gave up, letting the countless beings take her further down into the secret depths of the swamp.

It was over. Already? So easily? Yes. Yes, perhaps. However, Fate never agrees when events don't respect the plans it has foreseen. There was still a bit of hope left, lost, far in the abyss and he would seek it out as sure as he was omnipotent. He would bring it back to the miss who was not to die. Not now.

At the bottom of the water, Half Moon, submerged by the plant-beings, looked like a horrible growth of a shameful, ill-treated disease. She wandered with the currents.

* The most terrifying of enemies are not always those who draw the sword before your eyes... The most terrifying lie in the depths of your soul!*

A shockwave shook the silt of this part of the swamp with such power that jets of bubbling water rose to lunias above the normal level, revealing a commensurate void, which the ebb quickly filled. Concentric circles continued to ripple through the green, blurry water. The heavy atmosphere of the swamp, disturbed by the deafening noise, seemed in suspension. A few unials below the water, Half Moon's hesitant hand encountered a stone that looked as if it had been polished for a specific purpose: to contribute to a staircase. She clung to the unexpected glow, and with all the remaining strength she possessed, she pulled herself up through the darkness, toward liberation, toward light, toward air...

A hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the surface with an assurance and strength she could not counter, she was too weak for anything anyway. The light dazzled her as soon as she was pulled out of the water and dragged onto firmer ground.

The first gulp of air was an excruciating relief, shattering her lungs and causing her to spit out streams of the disgusting water to the point that she thought she was full of it. She choked, tried to breathe the freshest air possible. And spat again. She was shaking, her head was pounding terribly.

"What happened? How did you get under the water? Half Moon, can you hear me? Do you even realize how unconscious you are?"

She took a moment to compose herself before looking around. Already she was being shaken, as if to speed up the world that was slowing down for her.

"Half Moon!"

"I don't think she can really hear you," Bud said, holding back the elf's arm - he was about to shake her again. "We don't know what got her into the swamp."

Childeric nodded, suddenly brought back to a harsh reality that his worry had obscured. He knelt down beside the young woman and pushed aside the sticky locks that hid her face. She turned her face towards him and recognizing him, collapsed in his arms. She was not crying, she was exhausted.

It was not in the taste of most members of the quest to remain uncovered for long in the middle of the swamps of the Walk of the Mists. However, the weakness of one of their own and the insistence of the children prompted them to organize a quick temporary camp. Luckily, they were on hard ground, built by troll hands. They had improvised a fire around which everyone huddled. Half Moon was first, shivering, but strangely refusing to strip off her clothes to allow them to dry, going against the best advice of the other adults. Cyd had prepared a broth whose only advantage was that it was hot, much to his dismay. Little Feather, next to Half Moon, waited for the others to start dozing off. Pulling the young woman to him, he whispered a few words in her ear. She smiled at him, pulled him to her and urged him to sleep. Blue Lotus slid her head on her lap and closed her eyes.