The woods loomed darker, bending over me as if sneering at my turmoil. The fetid scent of the Fellwood burned my nostrils, now hundreds of times more sensitive. The faces of those around me stretched, painted in cruel red light, mocking, judging.

  I couldn’t save anybody.

  The thought didn’t echo.

  It collapsed inward.

  Something inside my chest had been torn loose—raw, howling, unrestrained. Tenebrae surged like a starved beast finally unchained, his presence no longer whispering, no longer waiting for permission.

  It flooded me.

  Black fire roared through my veins, violent and absolute, swallowing thought and restraint alike. My vision bled crimson at the edges as the world warped—gravity bending, stones shuddering beneath my boots.

  But beneath it all—

  Cold.

  A single, stubborn thread of frost locked itself around my heart.

  Lunae.

  Not quite flaring. Not answering the rage.

  Holding.

  Encasing my heart in something like spectral ice, as if bracing it against the inferno consuming everything else.

  I turned toward Murasa, power boiling higher, then higher still—black fire licking up my arms, red lightning splitting the air with every step.

  The restraints shattered.

  Celeste screamed when her spell imploded, teal light tearing apart into shrieking fragments as the conjured octopus broke. The backlash hurled her across the clearing, her staff skidding uselessly across the ground as she collapsed in a coughing heap.

  I continued forward.

  The ground cracked beneath me—not permitting the movement so much as failing to resist it. Debris lifted into the air, circling me slowly, caught in the distorted pull of Tenebrae’s power.

  Murasa braced himself, radiant wings flaring as golden light surged from his frame.

  “Hold formation!” he commanded, voice strained but steady. “Do not provoke—!”

  My sudden movement cut his words short.

  Murasa didn’t hesitate.

  The moment I snapped into motion, he moved too—not to kill, not yet—but to contain.

  Golden wings stretched wide.

  His maul came down in a thunderous arc, holy sigils igniting along its head of twisted iron and glowing amethyst as radiant force screamed through the air.

  I barely had time to raise my arm.

  The impact hit like a collapsing cathedral.

  Black flame exploded outward as I caught the blow on my forearm, claws digging into enchanted metal. The ground beneath us detonated—stone and soil shearing away in a widening crater as opposing forces screamed against each other.

  Radiance burned.

  Tenebrae’s fire answered.

  Murasa grunted, boots carving trenches as he drove forward, muscle and magic working in brutal harmony. His wings beat once—hard—forcing me back a step.

  Just one.

  “Stand down!” he barked, voice ringing with divine command. “Before you lose yourself completely!”

  I snarled, red vision narrowing.

  Black flame surged from my arm, crawling up the maul’s haft like living oil. The holy sigils flared violently in protest as shadow and sanctity collided, sending sparks of gold and crimson tearing into the air.

  I twisted.

  Ripped the weapon aside.

  Murasa pivoted with it—experienced, relentless—spinning the maul low and then up, catching me across the ribs with the haft. The blow sent me skidding back, claws digging into the soil.

  Pain flared—then steamed away.

  No matter.

  I lunged before he could reset, claws crashing into the radiant barrier he raised at the last second. The shield shattered under the strike, shards of light bursting outward as my shoulder slammed into his chest.

  We collided like opposing storms.

  His maul slammed into the ground inches from my head, holy light erupting upward as I vaulted past it, black flame tearing a scorched line across his pauldrons.

  Murasa staggered, just a fraction.

  His wings flared wide again, forcing space between us as he planted the maul and dragged in a breath, divine light surging brighter.

  He met my gaze.

  Measured.

  Unafraid.

  When he blinked, I was gone.

  Not quite speed.

  Not teleportation.

  Erasure.

  The world flinched—and I suddenly stood before Barton.

  His prayer broke into a strangled gasp as my shadow swallowed him whole. His barrier flared once, brilliant and intricate—

  My claw punched through it.

  The light shattered like glass. Barton flew back, slamming into Murasa’s grasp—he’d somehow made it in time to catch him—his breath leaving him in a choked, broken gasp.

  Haizen roared.

  He moved on instinct alone—twinblade screaming into motion, cold steel tearing in as he flashed forward with everything he had.

  I turned.

  Caught him by the throat.

  Lifted him from the ground.

  His boots kicked uselessly, gauntleted hands clawing at my wrist as the darkness around me thickened, swallowing what little light remained.

  Crimson eyes bored into him again.

  “Yukon—!” Murasa shouted, panic cracking through his composure. “Enough! This isn’t—!”

  I tightened my grip.

  Haizen’s armor groaned, metal beginning to cave under the pressure. The air screamed. The world narrowed to a single, crushing certainty.

  There were no thoughts left in my mind. Only the shock, grief, and a spiraling inferno that pushed me ever forward.

  Then—

  A flutter.

  Something light settled against my arm.

  Warm.

  Soft.

  Impossible.

  I froze.

  Perched atop my clawed forearm was a small spectral bird—wings translucent and glowing a faint blue, its form woven of mana I’d come to know as intimately as my own breath.

  Lyria’s spell.

  The one she’d shown me many times.

  To cheer me up.

  To protect us.

  The bird tilted its head, unafraid.

  And the world crashed back in.

  “No—!” a voice cried.

  Not in my head.

  Real.

  Across the clearing, figures burst through the treeline—Bront first, shield raised, eyes wide with worry. Behind him—

  Lyria.

  Alive.

  Unharmed.

  Her lavender eyes locked onto me—and widened in pure, naked terror.

  “Yukon!” she shouted. “Stop—please, stop!”

  The illusion shattered.

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  The body by the ruined stump—the one my mind had sworn was hers—was gone. The blood. The stillness. The death.

  All gone.

  Selene and Kaela fell in beside Lyria and Bront, looking at me with a mix of fear and profound disappointment.

  Haizen gasped violently as realization struck a half-second too late.

  My grip loosened.

  He collapsed to the ground in a coughing heap, armor dented, throat bruised—but alive.

  I staggered back as Lunae’s cold tightened around my heart, forcing the inferno inward, locking it down before it could consume what little remained of me. My mind spun, disbelief, confusion, and guilt crashing in all at once.

  Tenebrae howled but didn’t resist—fading once more.

  Lyria ran to me, stopping just short of my reach, staff trembling in her hands.

  “Yukon… what— Why?” she whispered, looking utterly heartbroken. “Y–You promised.”

  My claws trembled and receded.

  The black fire writhed and sputtered out completely.

  Murasa stepped between us, and before I could speak, he forced me down with a spell of radiant shackles.

  The dirt tasted rotten as the weight of his magic all but crushed me.

  He stared down at me in pity.

  Celeste limped over behind him, the fear in her eyes never dimming. I saw Barton being supported by two of the soldiers, barely standing.

  Then—Haizen.

  He stormed over, his newly perforated blade gripped tight, fury burning beneath his slightly bent helm.

  “He can’t be trusted! Take him out while you’ve the chance—” he barked, twinblade striking the soil beside Murasa.

  My thoughts whirled like a maelstrom as I struggled to make sense of everything.

  What in the world was going on—

  How was Lyria alive…?

  What had I just done?

  Murasa closed his eyes and slowly raised his Maul…

  “...I’m sorry Yukon—you’re just too dangerous…”

  “W–Wait,” my voice came out as a croak.

  Despite her heartbreak, Lyria still couldn’t accept that.

  She stepped between Murasa and me, pushing against him with all her might—“You can’t just—kill him!” she groaned from the effort.

  He didn’t move an inch.

  Haizen, furious, reached forward to pull her away—Bront caught his arm, his grip like a vice, his gaze leaving no room for discussion.

  No one would touch Lyria.

  Kaela came over too, joining Lyria in taking a stand between Murasa and me.

  Selene hung back, conflict evident in her creased brows.

  Haizen ripped his arm free. “You lot are mad if you think this will go unpunished! He nearly killed me, and wounded Barton and Celeste—!”

  Darron finally burst through the trees, taking in the situation in an instant, but hesitating.

  Jango and his shieldbearer also came over, taking a stand behind Murasa’s party, eyeing me warily.

  “I agree with the Knights… I always had a bad feeling about him,” Jango said, clearly shaken by my display, hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Lyria snapped her head to the side. “What do you know about him?!” she hissed, eyes burning.

  Platoon leader Coles came over as well, he and his soldiers taking a stand behind Murasa and the Knights of Golden Light. Their expressions were drawn tight, but they couldn’t hide the fear, the disgust.

  “Whatever you decide, sir. This is your quest, but please do so swiftly. We’re running out of daylight…” said Coles, making a point not to look at me. He was right, though, we only had a few hours left at best.

  I tried to push myself up but the shackles felt as heavy as a building.

  Dragging in a breath, I forced my lips to move. I had to say something. I had to try.

  “I—didn’t attack you for no reason—I gave myself over to the flame because… I thought I saw you executing Lyria,” I said, forcing the words out.

  Murasa’s eyes widened slightly. “Why would we—”

  “Murasa! You cannot take his words for truth—this man is dangerous!” Haizen countered.

  Darron stepped forward, drawing curious glances from the others. He took a breath and finally set his attention on the Knights.

  “Pardon my interruption,” he began, cordial, measured.

  All eyes fell on Darron.

  “I… landed near Yukon. We made it through the woods together—supported each other… I also saw the moment he changed,” his voice lowered, eyes locking with Murasa. “I’ve never seen anything like it before… And it did look as though he saw something through the woods, something that set him off, but when I followed his gaze, all I saw was fog.”

  Darron shuddered, recalling the next memory. “Whatever he saw—woke up something within him that I can’t vouch for… but it did seem unusual. I think we should hear him out.”

  Murasa exhaled slowly, the sound heavy and conflicted.

  “Fog…” he repeated, eyes flicking briefly to the treeline. “That is not unheard of here. The Fellwood preys on the senses.”

  Haizen scoffed. “Then all the more reason to end this now—before it does worse.”

  Bront shifted his stance, shield angling just enough to make his intent clear.

  “Touch him, or any of them,” he growled, “and you’ll have to go through me.”

  The air tightened as Haizen pulled his twinblade from the soil, not standing down.

  Selene finally made her decision, stepping in beside Bront, her blue eyes narrowed under tense brows.

  “Ay… I won’t make excuses for him, but we can’t afford to lose any more allies out here.” Her voice came even, her hand resting on her rapier.

  Steel whispered as hands crept closer to hilts and blades slipped free.

  I lay there between them, shackled, powerless—watching the people I’d bled beside fracture like ice under strain.

  Then—

  Something like a horn sounded.

  Low.

  Distorted.

  Wrong.

  It echoed once through the trees, a hollow, warping note that seemed to bend as it traveled—answered moments later by another, closer this time.

  Coles stiffened. “That’s not ours.”

  The ground trembled.

  Not from marching feet—but from something waking.

  From the direction of the ruins, the red-green stream pulsed brighter, surging like a wounded artery. Shadows began peeling themselves off blackened trees—husks stirring, armor and flesh scraping stone and dirt as corrupted forms dragged themselves upright.

  Celeste’s breath hitched. “They’re moving…”

  “No,” Murasa corrected grimly.

  “They were waiting.”

  A scream cut through the fog—sharp, panicked.

  The perimeter scout burst from the trees, blood streaking his tabard.

  “They’re coming!” he shouted before a vine speared through his chest and hauled him back into the darkness.

  Chaos erupted.

  “Form up!” Coles barked. “Defensive ring!”

  But there was no ring anymore.

  Groups split instinctively:

  Soldiers pulling back toward the Knights.

  Bront, Selene and Kaela taking a defensive stance.

  Lyria shouting at Murasa to release me.

  Darron swearing and vanishing into motion.

  And me—

  Left on the ground.

  Restrained.

  Helpless.

  Murasa hesitated—just for a heartbeat—his gaze flicking between the swelling mass of shadows pressing in from the treeline… and me, shackled in the dirt at his feet.

  The Fellwood did not miss its opportunity.

  The fog thickened, rolling in low and fast, swallowing distance, smothering shouted orders until they became dull, directionless echoes. The ruins ahead vanished behind a curtain of gray-green haze, their silhouettes dissolving like half-remembered dreams.

  And somewhere in the dark—

  Something laughed.

  Low.

  Wet.

  Patient.

  The sound crawled along my spine, intimate and amused, as though the forest itself were savoring the moment.

  The Fell had gotten exactly what it wanted.

  With a frustrated growl—and much to Haizen’s visible dismay—Murasa snapped his fingers. The radiant shackles shattered into motes of light, their crushing weight vanishing all at once.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and pushed myself upright, nearly stumbling as sensation returned too fast. My eyes met Murasa’s through the haze, and for a brief moment, the battlefield fell away.

  There was no anger there.

  Only warning.

  Don’t make me regret this, they seemed to say.

  “I won’t,” I rasped, though I wasn’t sure if the words left my mouth or stayed lodged in my chest.

  And it was true—I had no intention of harming them. I never had. I’d only acted on what I’d seen… or what I thought I’d seen.

  As I turned, taking in the chaos encroaching from every side—vines writhing across the ground, corrupted shapes pulling themselves free from the underbrush—the realization struck like a hammer to the ribs.

  We’d fallen straight into it.

  I had to wonder:

  Had they known I was here?

  Known what I was?

  The Fell hadn’t just tried to kill me—it had tried to turn us on ourselves. To make us cannibalize our trust, our fortitude.

  And I’d nearly let it.

  My legs trembled as I shifted my weight, bones creaking in protest. The inferno inside me was gone, smothered and spent, leaving only a hollow ache in its wake. I was exhausted. Burned thin. One hard hit away from collapsing again.

  Smack—

  A light hand struck my cheek. Not hard, but sharp enough to snap my focus back into the present.

  I blinked down to see Lyria standing before me.

  Her lavender eyes were wide, shining with unshed emotion, her staff hanging forgotten at her side. Her lower lip jutted out slightly as she held my gaze, searching me—really searching me—while the forest closed in around us.

  “What were you thinking, Yukon…?” she muttered, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.

  The shouts and clashes around us faded, muffled by fog and fear alike, until it felt as though only the two of us remained.

  “I… I thought they’d killed you,” I admitted hoarsely. “I saw it. Clear as day. It must’ve been the Fell—they showed me a nightmare and wrapped it in truth.”

  For a heartbeat, her composure cracked.

  Lyria’s eyes glistened, and she looked away, shoulders dipping as if the weight of it all had finally caught up to her. Slowly, she raised a fist and let it fall gently against my chest—right over my heart.

  “Don’t…” she whispered. “Don’t become a monster for my sake.”

  Her voice dropped even lower, almost lost beneath the rustling trees.

  “But… thank you.”

  When she looked back up, my breath caught.

  Her fair skin was flushed pink with emotion, silver hair framing her face in soft disarray, lavender eyes shining as they held mine—fear, relief, and something warmer all tangled together.

  She was beautiful.

  Before I realized what I was doing, I began leaning in, the chaos around us seeming to slow—like the Fellwood itself had paused, curious to see what we’d choose.

  Her eyes fluttered, and she moved closer too—

  “No time, lovebirds—!”

  Kaela’s shout cut through the moment like a blade.

  She skidded to a halt nearby, deflecting a snapping vine with the flat of her spearblade before waving both arms wildly at us.

  “This is it—we’re pushing to the damned ruins!”

  The spell broke.

  Bront surged forward, shield raised high, his massive frame forcing a path through the oncoming tide as corrupted bodies slammed uselessly against his defense. Selene moved at his flank, precise and relentless, cutting down anything that slipped past—vines, husks, limbs—her blade never slowing.

  The battlefield snapped back into focus.

  Lyria and I locked eyes one last time, a silent understanding passing between us, and then we moved—falling in behind the others as the charge toward the ruins began in earnest.

  Every step sent pain lancing through my body, but beneath the exhaustion, something else stirred.

  A spark.

  A promise.

  The Fell would pay for even imagining Lyria’s death.

  I would see to it with my own hands.

  And together—whatever the cost—we would stand against this generation’s Great Catastrophe.