Nirvanith could never quite understand how someone like Ivy Fernsong could live within the forest’s borders. The forest, in all its vast wisdom, had always welcomed creatures of every kind—small and big, fierce and gentle, strange and familiar. Yet there was something about Ivy that felt … different that unsettled her, even.

  For all her experience and sharp instincts, she couldn’t decipher what it was about the girl that set her apart. It wasn’t her skill—she wasn’t particularly clever or powerful, or at least so Nirvanith suspected. The only thing she could think of was the way Ivy moved that even she couldn’t ignore. The druid saw it in the lightness of her step, and how she brushed her fingers across the bark of trees as though greeting old friends. The forest responded to her touch. Its branches seemed to sway toward her, and the air softened when she passed.

  How ridiculous, she thought to herself.

  Ivy was far too soft and too open-hearted for a world that devoured gentleness. The girl’s innocence radiated like sunlight through leaves—beautiful, yes, but dangerous. The world beyond the forest, Nirvanith knew, would crush her without a thought, until nothing of that light remained.

  She knew this because she had learned it the hard way. Kindness was weakness. Compassion invited betrayal. Trust was a luxury only fools could afford. The forest could only be protected through strength, power, and fear. It was the way she had lived ever since she’d chosen the forest as her refuge … and the way she intended to remain, for a good reason.

  Before she could stop them, unwanted reminders flooded her mind.

  On the eve of her sixteenth year, the forest fell silent. When the spirits made their claim, Nirvanith’s world shattered. Her eyes turned a ghostly white, glowing faintly in the dim moonlight. Her skin paled like bleached bark, veins darkened to the color of rot, spreading down her limbs like creeping ivy.

  The pain wasn’t even physical—it was something far deeper, a pull from the roots of the forest itself, as though something ancient had finally reached for her. Terrified and trembling, she ran barefoot across the moss-covered ground to her family’s grove.

  “Mama—Papa—what’s happening to me?”

  But when she reached for them, they recoiled. Their warmth, always her anchor, vanished in an instant. Her mother’s expression twisted—not in rage, but in fear. Her father turned away entirely. They could not offer a single word, let alone an embrace.

  There was nothing but silence … and that unbearable space between them.

  The Circle gathered soon after. They had watched her grow, taught her chants, and sang with her to the moon. But now, they stared at her as if she were a stranger—a wound on the forest they so cherished. Whispers slithered around her like vines.

  “The vessel has awakened.”

  “A curse, not a gift.”

  “She’ll bring rot to the roots …”

  She stood in the center of the ring, her breath visible in the cold. No one stepped forward. No one reached for her. For the first time in her life, she felt truly and utterly alone.

  The elder raised his staff and pointed toward the treeline. Nirvanith knew what came

  next. She didn’t cry, nor did she beg. She turned, stepping past the edge of the circle—and never looked back.

  Pain struck her suddenly. It was a wound that had never truly healed. She swallowed hard, forcing down the small lump that rose in her throat. She could still remember it all so clearly—the heavy silence in the air, her mother’s trembling hands clutching the pendant at her neck, and her father’s eyes, full of words he would never say, turned away from her when she needed them most. Nirvanith had buried that moment long ago, tucking it deep within herself, but some memories refused to stay where they were supposed to.

  An elder cast her out and dragged a crescent-shaped ceremonial blade across Nirvanith’s face, trying to cut her away from her magic. She wept in pure shock. How could the people she had trusted her whole life be the ones doing this to her? The strike carved a long, horizontal scar beneath her eyes, a mark that would forever remind her of pain, exile, and the strength it would take to survive. She didn’t fight back, because the ache of being abandoned was heavier and sharper than the blade itself.

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  From that moment on, her world would never be the same again.

  A sudden sound ahead snapped her out of her thoughts, like a stone thrown into still water. Nirvanith’s breath hitched. She was not the sort to be surprised in her own woods, and the noise told her this was no simple animal.

  A band of mercenaries had pushed deeper into the forest than any of their kind should have dared. Her gaze swept over their dirty faces under wide-brimmed hats, leather patched with metal, and belts full of knives and strange tools. They moved in steady steps, marching forward. These were not petty hunters or lost travelers. They were men who chopped and burned for coin.

  Before she could plan, their eyes found hers, and that moment was the signal they needed. Arrows flicked from every shadow like a sudden swarm of wasps. They rushed past leaves and thunked into trunks and soil. Nirvanith moved without thought. Shadow-wrought magic rose from her, threatening to strike the unwanted intruders back.

  She shoved a pulse of force forward. A group of mercenaries stumbled back as the ground beneath them buckled and spat dirt into their faces, but more came at once from the flanks. One of them lashed out with a whip woven of a glinting wire. It wrapped around her lower leg in a biting loop and jerked. The yank slammed her toward a root, and the world blurred. Her foot skidded on damp moss, and she hit the ground hard.

  Pain struck, but Nirvanith had lived half her life in danger. She was used to the discomforts like this and knew how to ignore them until danger itself passed. She rolled, grabbed a fallen branch, and twisted to her feet. She struck out, and the branch connected with a mercenary’s wrist, snapping the whip from his hand. Iron clattered.

  “Get her! Kill her now!” one barked. “She’ll be nothing but trouble!”

  Two crossbowmen moved into position, their bolts already nocked. Another man raised a short sword, face covered by a cruel grin. Nirvanith planted her feet and let the magic rise once more. Shadows erupted from the soil, thick as ropes, whipping around ankles and dragging men off their feet. She reached out with a blade of shadow and slashed through a shield, sending a shower of splinters into the air. Arrows shattered against sudden rings of black shadows that formed at her command.

  The mercenaries fought dirty and fast. One man lunged and caught her shoulder with his blade. Pain lanced through her, but she twisted, drove her elbow into his ribs, and felt him double over with a grunt. Nirvanith’s breath came hard and even. The more she fought, the more of them seemed to appear.

  Then, like a burst of sunlight breaking through storm clouds, Ivy appeared. Her staff glowed faintly with natural energy as she stepped between Nirvanith and the mercenaries, her voice firm.

  “You’ve hurt the forest enough,” she said, taking a long look at the men around her. “Leave now, and I won’t have to stop you.”

  The mercenaries laughed at first, mocking her gentle demeanor. Ivy did not hesitate. She raised her staff, vines erupted from the ground, tangling their feet, and a summoned beast—a spectral wolf— emerged from the shadows, growling low and fierce. Nirvanith watched, stunned, as Ivy fought.

  Every strike they made against her was met with force they could not understand. The forest itself had turned against them. Vines erupted from the ground, wrapping tightly around the legs of any man who dared step too close. They pulled and twisted with unnatural strength, dragging their victims down into the dirt. Those who broke free only met another fate. The wolf lunged from the shadows, tearing through armor and flesh alike.

  Arrows whistled through the clearing, but none found their mark. Branches bent and thickened, forming a living wall of bark and leaves that caught every shaft before it could reach her. The ground trembled with the force of Ivy’s will; roots shifted beneath the mercenaries’ feet, tripping them and trapping them.

  Nirvanith could only stare, momentarily frozen. She had seen magic before, but never like this … coming from Ivy, out of all people, the girl she had once dismissed as fragile, soft, and na?ve. Nirvanith realized, then, that she would never see Ivy as anything but her equal again.

  The mercenaries, outmatched and disoriented, fled into the woods. As the last of them

  disappeared, Ivy turned to Nirvanith, her expression full of concern. Her usual softness quickly returned to the lines of her face.

  “Are you all right?” Ivy asked, “You’re hurt.”

  For the first time, Nirvanith didn’t snap at her. She didn’t have the strength. Instead, she allowed Ivy to help her to her feet, leaning on her for support.

  With that done, Ivy didn’t ask for permission to help her further. Her fingers brushed lightly over Nirvanith’s arm, and a soft glow followed in their wake. Nirvanith felt a faint warmth spreading through her skin—pure and soothing. The pain in her arm dulled as Ivy’s hand lingered, and the torn skin knitted together beneath her touch.

  Nirvanith sighed, begrudgingly eyeing the girl. “Why did you help me? I’ve done nothing but push you away.”

  Ivy smiled. “Because that’s what you do when someone needs help. It doesn’t matter

  how they’ve treated you,” she said without hesitation. “Besides, Nirva, this is what friends do.”

  This time, Nirvanith didn’t correct her—she let the nickname linger in the air between them. And though she would never admit it aloud, a thought crossed her mind. Perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible thing to have a friend after all.