Rowan stood at the edge of the lake, his boots sinking into the squishy ground. Beside him, Bjorn crouched, pressing his hand into the mud as if daring it to argue back. Every step they took left behind noisy squelches; the shoreline seemed excited to swallow them whole.

“No bridge. No ferry.” Bjorn looked over at Rowan. “We don’t have a way across, unless you finally mastered that whole ‘running across water with wind magic’ trick.”

Rowan laughed, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Oh, sure. Just give me a couple more lifetimes of practice.”

Out in the haze, a lakegull let out a lonely squawk. The sound stretched across the fog before vanishing, like the mist had swallowed it. The lake didn’t stir. It was so still, Rowan felt as if the whole world had paused to watch them. The lake’s surface gleamed dark and smooth, a sheet of polished glass. 

Rowan squinted into the water, but he couldn’t see more than a few feet down. Something gave him the unsettling feeling that unseen eyes were watching.

“Bjorn,” Rowan whispered, “do lakes ever feel like they’re watching you?”

Bjorn kept poking at the mud with a stick. “Only the weird ones.”

That’s when Rowan saw a crooked dock leaning tiredly toward the lake. Its planks sagged and warped, and several boards had given up altogether, leaving gaps in between. At the far end, a rowboat bobbed in the mist.

The boat clung to a rusted post by a rope so frayed it looked ready to snap with a sneeze.. Moss clung to its hull. Only one oar rested inside, and deep scratches ran across its wood. A bent pole at the stern held a lantern that swung gently.

Rowan stepped onto the dock. Crrrreak. The wood groaned under his boots as he motioned for Bjorn. Rowan crouched to untie the rope. His fingers brushed the knot—

SNAP!

Hands quickly hoisted them into the air with a thunderous FWUMP!

“Wait, what? WAAAH!”

Rowan tumbled upside down. Beside him, Bjorn’s axe swung dangerously close to Rowan’s nose as they dangled together in a lumpy knot of rope. 

“Seriously?” Rowan groaned.

Bjorn sighed. “Here we go again.”

Out of the fog came a figure with a hat so enormous it seemed one gust of wind might carry it off. A single feather drooped across one eye. At his hip clanked a rusty, chipped sword, and with dramatic flair, he planted one boot on a half-sunken log, striking a pose like a hero waiting for applause.

“HAH! Captured in the Snare of Shadows, exactly as I predicted!” The tall man boomed, pointing at the net that had caught Rowan and Bjorn. His enormous hat bobbed dramatically, as if agreeing with him. “No traveler escapes the Banditleaf Trio’s legendary Ghost Net Surprise!”

Rowan squinted through the ropes. “Pretty sure you called it something else last time.”

The mist shifted. Two more figures lurched out of the fog.

The first waddled forward, his whole being radiating snack-time energy. A sticky honey bun was squished in both hands, frosting smeared across his face like war paint. 

“Did we catch a ghost?” he asked, spraying crumbs into the air. His cheery squint lifted toward the net. “I thought today was Lake Spirit Day.”

Rowan groaned. “Crumble…”

Next came the third. A jittery, narrow-eyed figure who hopped from root to root like the ground might explode if Thorncoat stood still too long. His cloak bristled with thorns that snagged on every branch, and a bulging pouch clanked at his side, stuffed with nets, vines, and shiny bits of metal.

“Don’t say their names!” he hissed, clutching his pouch like a shield. “You’ll summon them!”

“Relax, Thorncoat!” Snatch ordered. “With my unmatched genius, we have captured two suspicious infiltrators lurking near our vessel!”

Rowan looked down at him. “Your vessel? You mean that creepy boat tied to the dock?”

Crumble raised one honey-coated hand in a friendly wave. “Not ours. We just found it.”

“Silence!” Snatch barked, pointing to the sky as if it might applaud him. “We’re borrowing it… for heroic treasure-hunting purposes!”

Thorncoat spun around, his cloak bristling like an angry porcupine. “You told them about the treasure?!”

Rowan’s eyes looked up toward Bjorn. “Think they’ll argue themselves tired?”

“Hopefully,” Bjorn muttered. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Below the net, the trio broke into their usual racket: Snatch bragging, Crumble mumbling about snacks, Thorncoat scared about curses and reeds.

The fog thickened, curling around the trees like smoke. The lantern on the boat creaked on its hook, its glass flashing faintly, as if catching a light from somewhere deep in the mist.

Snatch drew his chipped sword and spun it dramatically. It slipped, clattered, and he barely caught it before it stabbed his boot. He straightened, pretending nothing had happened.

“You two are lucky!” he proclaimed. “For it was none other than the legendary explorers of the fog-sworn frontier who captured you! Seekers of lost relics! Claimers of—”

“Other people’s stuff,” Bjorn said flatly.

Snatch clutched his chest like a wounded poet. “Steal? Never! This is a sacred quest!”

“We’re looking for treasure,” Crumble said brightly. “Snatch says it glows.”

Thorncoat’s eyes darted to the lake. “Not just any treasure,” he whispered, clutching his pouch. “The Ghostlight Gold. The lake swallowed the last moon ferry. The spirits guard it now. They hiss if you get too close. I heard one once!” 

Rowan wriggled in the net, eyebrows shooting to the ground. “Hold on, there’s glowing treasure in the lake?”

Snatch thrusts his sword toward the water with theatrical flair. His enormous hat wobbled dangerously. “Indeed! And we, the Banditleaf Trio, shall claim it, for glory and for snacks!”

“Mostly snacks,” Crumble mumbled through another mouthful of honey bun.

Meanwhile, Thorncoat was already elbow-deep in his pouch, tossing out coils of rope, feathers, and what might’ve been half a birdcage. “Where’s the salt? We need salt! Salt keeps ghost fish from swimming into your eyes.”

Bjorn leaned closer to Rowan. “We should get down before they actually summon something.”

“Agreed,” Rowan muttered. Then, louder: “Hey! You letting us out, or are we just tonight’s decoration?”

Snatch flung out a hand dramatically. “Patience! First, the terms of your release!” With a sweeping bow, he produced a crumpled parchment from his coat and cleared his throat like a king addressing his court. “Option one: share your gold. Option two: help us row. Or option three…” He struck a proud pose, feather drooping into his eye. “…admit that I have an excellent hat.”

Rowan blinked at the floppy feather stabbing Snatch’s nose. He sighed. “…Fine. It’s a very feathery hat.”

Snatch lit up, grinning ear to ear. “Aha! At last, recognition!”

Crumble yawned so wide it nearly swallowed the rest of his honey bun. “Great. Now cut ’em down.”

Thorncoat gasped, clutching his thorny cloak like a blanket. “What if they’re cursed? What if they are the treasure?”

Rowan twisted in the ropes. “Do I look like a glowing artifact to you?”

Crumble tilted his head thoughtfully. “Kinda. You shimmer when you’re mad.”

Thorncoat squeaked and slapped both hands over his eyes. “Don’t look at me! I’ll turn to stone!”

Finally, Snatch stepped forward, brandishing his chipped sword as if a master smith had forged it. He slashed three overdramatic swishes through the air, nearly dropped it, then managed to nick a strand.

FWUMP! 

The net collapsed, dumping Rowan and Bjorn straight into the mud like a sack of turnips.

“Excellent!” Snatch declared, clapping his hands as though this had all gone exactly to plan. “Now that fate binds us as allies, we shall cross the cursed waters together!”

Rowan blinked at him. “…Wait. We’re not part of your trio.”

“Correct!” Snatch puffed out his chest, nearly tipping the boat paddle out of Crumble’s hands. “You’ll serve as temporary members of our Expansion Division!”

Crumble waddled over and stuffed a damp chunk of bread into Rowan’s palm. “Boat’s that way.”

Rowan stared at the soggy crust, then at the lake. At the end of the warped dock, a crooked little rowboat waited with its lantern swinging gently, less like a welcome sign, more like a warning.

He sighed. “This is a terrible idea.”

Bjorn nodded without hesitation. “Yup.”

And yet, somehow, all five of them started toward the boat.

The rowboat groaned the instant they touched it. Benches meant for three strained to hold five as they squeezed in.

Crumble plopped into the stern with the lone oar, rowing in wide, lazy arcs that spun the boat in circles almost as much as it moved forward. His snack pouch bounced with every pull, jingling like it had a rhythm of its own.

Bjorn claimed the bow, arms folded, eyes narrowed into the mist. “At this speed, we’ll never arrive.”

Rowan perched just behind him, gripping the seat as icy water sloshed around his boots. A few soggy leaves floated by his knees. “Uh… are we sinking already?”

“It adds character!” Snatch announced brightly. He balanced in the center like a captain in a painting, striking a new pose every time the boat rocked. “The wind at our backs! The mist before us! A voyage of destiny!”

Rowan glanced behind them. “We don’t have any wind.”

“Exactly!” Snatch pointed into the fog. “We row against the wind! Heroes always row upstream!”

“We’re not even on a river,” Bjorn muttered.

Meanwhile, Thorncoat crouched in the middle, clutching a bundle of twigs like a sacred relic. His eyes flicked at every ripple. “This is bad. Very bad. The fog hides something that hunts us.”

Crumble yawned. “You say everything’s haunted.”

“This time it’s true!” Thorncoat shouted back. “The ghosts live beneath the lake. They drag boats under. They whisper riddles in your ears—”

PLOP! 

A fish leapt nearby. Thorncoat shrieked and flung a pouch of salt skyward. It landed squarely in Bjorn’s lap. “Don’t look at the fog! It can see you!”

Bjorn arched an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“No!” Thorncoat screamed. “None of us is okay!”

Rowan gave a shaky laugh. “He’s… enthusiastic.”

“Don’t worry!” Snatch declared, puffing up again. “Thorncoat is our official Warden of Weirdness. Crumble rows, Thorncoat panics, and I lead with style and courage!”

“More like noise and nonsense,” Bjorn muttered.

The boat drifted deeper into the mist. The shoreline blurred, then vanished altogether. The world shrank until only the ship remained. Rowan leaned over the edge. It didn’t feel like a lake anymore; it felt like floating inside a dream, or maybe a place the world had chosen to forget.

Crumble’s oar dipped in and out. Splash. Pull. Splash. Pull.

No wind. No birds. Nothing but the groan of the hull and the rhythm of the oar.

The fog thickened, curling across the water as though it meant to keep them. Crumble’s arms grew slower, as the boat rocked gently, then stilled.

Rowan’s stomach tightened. It didn’t feel like they were moving anymore. It felt like the lake was holding them still. He hugged his knees and shut his eyes. The breeze wasn’t above, it was below.

Soft pulses nudged against the hull, tugging from different directions. The lake looked still, but something was moving beneath it. 

His eyes snapped open. “Bjorn,” he whispered. “Do you feel that?”

Bjorn glanced back. “The fog?”

“No.” Rowan’s voice dropped lower. “The water. Something’s pulling.”

Thorncoat gasped so loudly the boat nearly tipped. “I knew it!” He leapt up, cloak bristling like a frightened hedgehog, and jabbed a finger into the mist. “The Stormrest Beast! Guardian of the lake! It slithers through the fog, dragging boats into the deep! It eats oars! It eats compasses! It eats souls!”

“Pretty sure it just eats fish,” Crumble mumbled.

But Thorncoat only clutched his thorny cloak tighter. “This is its feeding ground. The last moon ferry vanished here. No wreck. No bones. Just—” he snapped his fingers. “Gone!”

Snatch twirled his chipped sword with shaky bravado. “Bah! Let’s not lose our heads over campfire stories! We are seasoned adventurers!”

Rowan barely heard him. His eyes stayed locked on the water.

A ripple stirred beneath the boat, like the lake had taken a breath. Rowan leaned forward, squinting into the dark water.

Something glided below. 

A shadow, vast and smooth, sliding silently under the surface. No head. No tail. Just a winding shape that seemed to stretch forever. Then, a single glowing eye opened.

THUD!