The morning mist was thick and wet. Every surface was coated in a silvery layer of dew; the trees’ bark glistened in it, spiderwebs were hung with tiny droplets, once-invisible traps now evident in the grass. The grass itself was coated in dew as well, being wiped off by your feet as you walked the barely-visible path meandering between the trees, slowly but surely soaking your shoes and pant legs. The ruined cathedral at the end of the forest was somewhere ahead. Your friends had been talking about it; how scenic the view was, how great the building must have been before becoming desolate, how it was marked on no map, how they could hear rustles and growls of something large but never saw any animal bigger than a blackbird when they tried to find the source. Your curiosity sparked, you had taken a look at the ruin yourself a few times, then buried yourself in the local library to try and find any shred of information. And in a mouldy old book about local myths, you had finally found