Varig stayed there on his knees, gasping, staring at the dried-out boar carcass until his chest stopped heaving so fast. His left arm trembled — sickly pinkish now, thick black veins throbbing underneath like rotten roots. He tried to close his fist. The fingers moved a little, weak, painful, like they were learning to exist again. It looked like meat someone had stitched in the wrong place, meat that didn't belong there.

  The silence in the ruins was too heavy. No birds. No insects. Just the low wind dragging ash across the ground.

  Then came the whisper.

  "Varig…"

  It sounded like it came from inside his own throat. He froze. Looked around, eyes wide, searching the shadows between the charred planks.

  "Who's there?" he shouted, voice thin, almost crying.

  The echo came back weak, distorted, like the swamp was mocking him.

  He shouted again, louder.

  "Who's there, damn it!"

  Just the echo. Fragile. Alone.

  The necklace vibrated hard against his chest. Vitor's voice came clear now, low, tired.

  "Don't shout, pup. You'll bring worse things. It's me. I'm here."

  Varig dropped to his knees again. His right hand squeezed the necklace hard, fingers white. Hot tears ran down his ash-smeared face. He looked at the pendant, at the grey sky, at nothing.

  "Dad…?" he whispered, voice shaking. "How… I saw you. I saw the body. You were dead. I saw."

  The voice answered slowly, hoarse, like it hurt to talk.

  "The body died, pup. But I didn't. The necklace held me. It's an old family link… an anchor that didn't let my soul get lost in the Void. I felt the cold taking me, son. It hurt so much… but you brought me back. With the boar. I felt the warmth coming back. You gave me breath. Thank you, my boy."

  Varig stopped crying. His chest still ached, but the panic eased. He looked at the necklace. The pendant still warm, pulsing slow, like a small heart. He wanted to believe. He needed to believe. Because if it wasn't his father… then he was alone. Alone in the swamp, with a weird arm, wounds throbbing, emptiness that wouldn't leave.

  He pressed his forehead to the pendant. Closed his eyes.

  "You're really coming back?" he asked, voice low, almost begging.

  "I am, pup. But I need more. Just a little more. You can do it. You always could."

  Varig stayed there a while, breathing slow. The horror of the boar was still fresh, but now it was different. Not just fear. Hope. A desperate hope that hurt more than the pain in his arm. He didn't want to be alone. Didn't want to face the swamp without his father. If the necklace was his father… then he'd do whatever it took.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The voice spoke again, soft, tired.

  "Let's get out of here, son. Grab what you can. We'll need everything if I'm gonna walk by your side again."

  Varig stood up slowly. Every inch hurt. The wounded leg throbbed. The left arm was still a strange weight, but the fingers moved a little more. He looked around. The ruins of the house were close — the burned deck where his father fell.

  He went back there, dragging his foot. The ground covered in ash and broken wood. He found a short knife, half-melted on the handle, but still sharp enough. Found a cracked leather canteen, empty, but whole. He took both. It didn't feel like stealing. It felt like preparation. Preparation for his father to come back.

  The necklace commented, low, hoarse.

  "Your mother loved that canteen… remember? She filled it with clean water when she could find it. Take it, son. We'll need everything."

  Varig stuffed the things into the torn bag. He didn't feel guilt. He felt he was doing the right thing. Helping his father come back. That if he gave a little more, more souls, more strength… his father would walk by his side again.

  He left the ashes of the village behind and entered the thick vegetation. The swamp was a maze of roots that seemed to want to trip him. Thick black twisted roots coming out of the mud like skeletal hands. The humidity stuck to his skin, cold, trying to get into the cuts, the joints, the bones. The cold wanted him. Wanted to erase what was left. But the necklace was warm. It was the only warm thing.

  Varig walked. The leg "healed" by the boar started failing. Every step was a stab. The left arm grew heavy again, like the little life it gained was running out. The voice from the necklace started getting low, failing, like it was dying again.

  "Dad…?" he called, voice low.

  Silence.

  He stopped, leaning against a rotten tree. The cold climbed up his feet, icy, slow, like the swamp was drinking him. The necklace vibrated weak.

  "Dad… you there?"

  The voice came low, almost fading.

  "I'm… it's so dark, Varig… I'm losing the way… the boar wasn't enough…"

  Varig felt his chest tighten. Panic came back. He didn't want to lose his father again. Didn't want to be alone.

  He looked around. A movement in the mud. A big rodent, swamp rat kind, trapped in a tangle of vines. Struggling to break free, squeaking low.

  The necklace whispered, weak.

  "I don't want to go back to the Void, son… please…"

  Varig approached slowly. He didn't feel pleasure. He felt urgency. He felt he needed to save his father. He stretched out his left arm. The grey skin touched the rodent. The animal stopped struggling. A tremor. Life being sucked slow. The rodent's skin wrinkled, eyes sank, body shriveled until it was just leather and bone. Varig felt the hot tingling in his arm. The pinkish skin gained a bit more color. The fingers moved better. The voice came back clear, vibrant.

  "Good boy. You're my hero. Now I can guide you again."

  Varig stared at the dried rodent. He felt nothing. Just relief. His father was back. His father wouldn't disappear.

  The sun started to set — or the fog got so thick it felt like night. Varig found a dry spot under a giant willow root. Sat there, exhausted. Cleaned the short knife with his torn sleeve. Started talking to the necklace about ordinary things, like his father was sitting next to him by a fire (that he had no way to light).

  "Remember when you taught me to make a trap with roots?" he asked, voice low.

  The necklace answered, soft.

  "I remember, pup. You were always clever. We'll make one together when I'm back."

  Varig closed his eyes. Hugged his own left arm — the only warm thing on his body. The swamp cold climbed up his feet, but the necklace pulsed slow, warm against his chest.

  He was lost in the swamp. But he felt at home.

  The necklace told a twisted story about their future — a dry house, hot food, laughter. Varig listened, smiling weak, until sleep came.

  The swamp waited outside.

  Hey everyone! Varig is venturing deeper into the swamp, and that necklace is getting hungrier by the second. If you’re enjoying the journey and want to see how deep this madness goes, could you do me a huge favor?

  Leave a rating or a comment below! It helps the story reach more people and motivates me to drop the next chapters even faster. Thank you so much for reading!