Our frantic charge destroyed what little order remained.

  Fog swallowed distance the moment we moved, turning the world into fragments—shouts without direction, shapes without edges, steel flashing in and out of existence like distant memories. The Fellwood closed tighter around us as if offended by our refusal to break.

  Bront led our group’s push, parallel to Murasa and the others, shield locked forward, every step a declaration of intent. Corrupted bodies hurled themselves at him—once-human husks tangled in vine and bone, those same watchers from our first visit, and many other unnamed horrors—but they broke against his defense, forced to part as he barreled forward.

  “Left!” Selene called sharply.

  I barely had time to register the warning before Kaela pivoted, spearblade thrusting without hesitation. A nameless husk shrieked as it was skewered, ichor hissing where it struck the ground. She didn’t slow, didn’t look back.

  “Keep moving!” Selene barked. “Don’t let them bog us down!”

  Easier said than done.

  My legs screamed with every step, the aftershock of overuse, and Tenebrae’s last withdrawal leaving my muscles hollow and weak. I stumbled once, catching myself on a tree trunk slick with corruption, vision swimming as something clawed at my back.

  Blue fire erupted past my shoulder.

  Lyria stood there, staff raised, jaw set—no hesitation now. Her magic burned cleaner than before, controlled, purposeful. Not rage. Resolve.

  “Eyes forward, Yukon,” she said, voice steady despite the chaos. “I’ve got you.”

  That alone kept me upright.

  To our right, Murasa’s formation advanced like a moving sun.

  Golden light pushed back the fog in a widening cone, radiant wings flaring as he strode forward, maul swinging in brutal, efficient arcs. Each impact rang like a cathedral bell, holy sigils detonating on contact and reducing corrupted forms to ash and drifting embers.

  “Advance by ranks!” Murasa commanded. “Shieldbearers—pace! Don’t overextend!”

  The Knights moved as one—wounded, shaken, but disciplined. Celeste leaned heavily on her staff, still casting despite the tremor in her hands. Barton muttered prayers through bloodied lips, reinforcing barriers as they pressed on.

  Haizen fought like a man possessed.

  His twinblade flashed silver through the gloom, fury driving him harder than caution. Every strike was meant to kill—no restraint, no mercy. He didn’t look at me. Not once.

  Fine.

  The Fellwood answered our advance with malice.

  Roots erupted from the ground without warning, spearing upward like grasping fingers. One soldier vanished screaming as the earth swallowed him whole. Another’s shield was ripped from his arm and dragged into the fog, only for it to be hurled back impossibly fast, splitting his skull instantly.

  “They’re adapting!” someone shouted.

  They weren’t wrong.

  The corrupted forms no longer rushed blindly. They circled. Herded. Forced us inward, funneling both groups toward the same blood-soaked path leading to the ruins.

  Toward the pulsing stream.

  Toward the heart of this madness.

  A sword-bearing husk lunged at me, faster than it should’ve been.

  I barely brought my sword up in time. The impact rattled my arms, pain flashing white-hot up my spine as the creature’s blade scraped sparks from steel. I kicked it back more out of reflex than any sort of finesse.

  Quickly, despite my exhaustion, I traded my sword for my bow while making some space in a desperate maneuver.

  It came again.

  My arrow flew first. Sticking with a sickening thud right into the thing's chest and dropping it.

  I panted, pulling my arrow free and stringing it again, falling further back into Bront’s shadow.

  I was too exhausted to be swinging my sword recklessly, I needed precision… and more so—I needed familiarity.

  The ruins loomed closer now—jagged silhouettes emerging through the haze, ancient stone slick with corruption. The red-green stream cut through the sky ahead, pulsing brighter with every step we took, like it knew we were coming.

  Or worse—

  Like it had been waiting.

  The laughter returned, low and amused, threading itself through the clash of steel and screams.

  My grip tightened on my bow.

  I was empty. Spent. Barely standing.

  But I was still here.

  And so were they.

  “Almost there!” Selene shouted, deflecting another vine as Bront smashed forward beside her. “Whatever’s waiting—this is it!”

  I glanced at Lyria.

  She met my gaze, fear still there—but buried beneath something stronger.

  Resolve.

  Together, battered and bleeding, divided and yet moving as one, we pushed toward the ruins parallel to Murasa and the main group.

  Toward the source.

  Toward whatever nightmare Lun and Ten had warned me of.

  We finally broke through the woodline, stepping into the clearing.

  And my nerves iced over.

  The ruins sprawled before us—far larger than they’d seemed from a distance. Broken towers jutted from the earth like snapped bones, their surfaces veined with corruption that pulsed in time with the red-green stream overhead. Cracked stone plazas were drowned beneath writhing vines, and half-buried archways yawned like empty sockets, watching us enter.

  And standing between us and the ruins—

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  An army.

  Husks packed the clearing in uneven ranks, dozens upon dozens of them—once-humans, now twisted beyond recognition, armor fused to flesh, faces slack or screaming silently beneath layers of vine and sinew. Between them prowled warped beasts: things with too many limbs, split maws dragging along the ground, antlers or horns grown through skulls that had never been meant to bear them.

  Some crouched.

  Some twitched.

  All of them waited.

  The moment our boots crossed the threshold of the clearing, all faces paled, all eyes went wide.

  Silence fell—thick, expectant.

  “Oh…” Kaela breathed. “That’s… that’s a lot.”

  Bront slowed, shield lifting higher, his breath coming heavy. Even Murasa’s formation hesitated, golden light dimming slightly as it washed over the sheer number of enemies ahead.

  Then I felt it.

  A pressure.

  Like fingers closing around my thoughts.

  My gaze dragged upward, past the mass of corrupted bodies—amidst the ruins themselves—a set of twin spires rising at the far end.

  And there—

  Two figures stood silhouetted against the pulsing stream.

  Tall.

  Red-skinned.

  Humanoid, but wrong in the way nightmares are wrong—too still, too deliberate. Black robes clung to their elongated frames, etched with symbols that crawled when I tried to focus on them. Their faces were sharp and cruel, eyes glowing faintly as they stared down at us like insects that had wandered into a web.

  Fell sorcerers.

  Each stood atop a separate spire, left and right arms outstretched respectively—not toward us, but toward the heart of the ruins between them.

  Toward a massive, pyramidal structure, erupting from the ground like an ancient tomb.

  The energy pulsed.

  The clearing shuddered.

  Vines surged across the ground in response, snapping upright like serpents roused from sleep. The husks ahead of us stirred as one, heads jerking toward the spires, bodies tightening as if pulled by invisible strings.

  Understanding slammed into me.

  “They’re linked,” I said hoarsely. “The vines—the husks—everything. The Fellwood isn’t sentient, its wardens are.”

  As if to mock the realization, one of the sorcerers lifted a clawed hand.

  The stream pulsed again.

  And the forest obeyed.

  Roots tore free from the earth at our flank, weaving together into living barricades that slammed shut behind us, sealing the clearing. Stone groaned as ancient ruins twisted, collapsed arches reforming into jagged choke points. Even the air thickened, heavy with mana that tasted rotten on my tongue.

  Selene swore under her breath. “They’re shaping the battlefield…”

  Murasa’s jaw tightened, eyes blazing as he took it all in. “So this is the source.”

  The sorcerers finally looked at us properly.

  One tilted its head, lips peeling back in something that might have been a smile, and it glanced to the shadowed doorway that stood at the top of the stepped pyramid. My heart pounded, my stomach twisted.

  Something was wrong… I could feel it.

  Lunae and Tenebrae’s mark on my chest swirled, both burning and freezing simultaneously. They were agitated.

  Something about that doorway seemed to beckon to me.

  There was something else in there.

  A voice slid into my mind then—slick and amused.

  You came so far.

  Pain lanced behind my eyes, and I staggered, barely staying upright as the pressure intensified.

  And brought such lovely discord with you.

  Lyria grabbed my arm, grounding me. “Yukon—! Are you okay?”

  I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, eyes never leaving the darkness. “Something… spoke to me.”

  “Don’t listen,” she snapped, though her own voice trembled. “Whatever they say—it’s a lie.”

  I nodded, teeth clenched.

  The second sorcerer raised both arms.

  A crystal emerged from the spire in front of him, flaring with the same greenish energy streaked with red.

  The army moved.

  Husks surged forward in a howling wave, beasts roaring as they charged, the ground itself rising to meet them. The clearing exploded into motion—maws gnashing, magic igniting, screams tearing free as the final battle was no longer a threat, but a fact.

  “This is it!” Murasa roared, raising his maul high as radiant wings flared fully behind him. “Knights—hold the line!”

  Bront planted himself at the forefront of our group, shield locking into place. “Stay tight!” he bellowed. “We break through—or we die here!”

  My hands trembled as I drew the arrow half way.

  Fear crept in—not of death, not yet, but of the truth settling in my chest.

  This wasn’t a skirmish.

  This wasn’t even a battle.

  This was a war zone—engineered, controlled, alive.

  And somewhere above it all, that foul entity watched… waiting to see which of us would break first.

  I swallowed, forcing my breath steady.

  Lunae. Tenebrae.

  If this is what you warned me about…

  I took aim with my arrow.

  Don’t let us fail.

  My heart hammered violently in my chest, as though a thousand suns burned where my ribs met. Nervousness clawed through me—raw and unfamiliar in its intensity.

  But how could we possibly win…?

  We were exhausted. Disjointed. Trust had thinned—some of it snapped clean through.

  I tried to shove the thoughts aside, but the hollow ache in my muscles and bones made it impossible to ignore. I wasn’t even sure I could fight without becoming a liability.

  I bit down hard, trying to summon whatever strength remained—

  When suddenly, a golden glow washed over me.

  Warm. Steady. Empowering.

  My breath hitched as vitality flooded back into my limbs. My eyes snapped forward—and there, standing at the center of it all, disheveled and bloodied, was Barton.

  The priest.

  Guilt hit me like a blade to the gut.

  He still bore the blood on his lips from my attack. Still carried the bruises, the pain. And despite that—he was pouring every ounce of his power into healing everyone present.

  Even a monster like me.

  I stared, barely blinking, and he must have felt it.

  Barton glanced back over his shoulder and managed a faint, weary smile.

  There was no fear in his eyes.

  No resentment.

  No anger.

  Only acceptance.

  The warmth spread further, knitting torn flesh and weary spirit alike, and without a word being spoken, our fractured forces began to align. Positions were taken. Gaps closed. Purpose returned.

  As the Fell horde pressed closer, Murasa stepped forward and took point, Haizen and Coles flanking him. The remaining five soldiers fanned out along the sides. Jango and his shieldbearer moved in beside Darron, just within the narrowing tip of the arrowhead formation. Celeste stood with them, already weaving something brilliant—golden light laced with teal runes spiraling around her staff.

  I squinted as the radiance intensified.

  Then Murasa spoke.

  His voice boomed across the clearing, carried by the power pooling within him.

  “By the light of Aurelia—this forest shall be cleansed!”

  He drew in a breath deep enough to fell trees—

  And roared his final declaration.

  “MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS—TODAY WE STAND FOR ALL THAT IS HOLY AND GOOD. FOR LANTON. FOR ALVARETH. FOR THE FIVE KINGDOMS—CHARGE—!”

  The five of us shared a look.

  We’d come a long way in these past weeks. Every trial, every wound, every choice—it would all be tested now.

  Without hesitation, we surged forward, sprinting to join the arrowhead formation, reinforcing its point, shoring up its flanks.

  From this moment on—

  It was no longer a struggle to survive.

  It was an all-out battle for our lives.