Nighttime Split-Front

By early evening, the sky had darkened earlier than usual, as though an invisible hand had swiftly drawn the curtain of night across it. The sun had only just touched the ridgeline when the mist from the forest sea began to rise slowly along the ground, as if enchanted. It spread with astonishing speed, and in the blink of an eye, the entire valley was shrouded in haze.

The wind continued to blow steadily from outside, carrying moisture and that unforgettable sour, fishy stench. It was as if nature had seeped the smell into every breath ahead of time, leaving no place to escape it.

As usual, the campfire had not been lit. At this tense moment, any trace of light could become a target for the enemy. Every warning line along the defensive perimeter had undergone one final, rigorous inspection to ensure that nothing had been overlooked.

I held both blades across my knees, crouching behind the fortification on the northern high ground. My eyes stayed fixed on the front of the valley entrance like a hawk's, not daring to relax for even an instant.

Apart from the wind, I could occasionally hear the faint rustle of fallen leaves from the other end of the defensive line. The sound was slight, but in the stillness, it stood out with unusual clarity. It seemed to be caused by the wind sweeping over the edge of the perimeter, yet at that moment, it sounded as though something was deliberately testing the rhythm, tightening my nerves further.

The night was as dark as ink, heavy and profound as it blanketed the earth and swallowed everything in darkness. Within that endless blackness, the mist quietly began to surge faster, as though driven by some mysterious force.

The mist first pressed down from the