The path had dwindled to a pale scar between roots that writhed like slow-breathing serpents. The trees of the Wolhaven Forlaith arched overhead in ghost-white columns, bark ribbed like bone and slick with mist. Light fell in slanted green shards that drifted sideways through the air, as if gravity had grown uncertain.

Duln walked before them, hood drawn low. Her steps were steady but costly. The exposed skin of her hands had turned a mottled gray, blistered where sunlight touched. Each hour above ground thinned her, yet she pressed on, the haft of her spear serving more as staff than weapon.

“East,” she said, her voice a gravel whisper broken by breath. “Old road goes that way to Durn-Kelmar. If forest permits eyes to see it.”

Aldryn matched her pace. “You needn’t prove strength, Duln. Shade would…”

She shook her head. “Had shade enough below. Down there, we forget sun. Now sun forgets me. Is fair trade.” The echo of her words lagged half a heartbeat behind, repeating faintly in the branches.

Theo glanced at his homemade compass spinning limp in his palm. “Navigation’s officially decorative.”

Lyra smiled thinly. “Then we follow the one person who knows where not to go.”

“Better than no knowing,” Duln murmured. “Forest change shape when it is bored.”

Above them, birdcalls rang backward, the last note first, the first note last. Kestel shrieked in confusion and veered away. Boaz stayed close to Duln. When she stumbled over a root that hadn’t existed a breath ago, he caught her arm. The Sigil beneath his tunic pulsed in strange rhythm: fast when she faltered, slower when he steadied her.

“Your people truly lived under the Crests for all these years?” he asked.

“Lived… yes. Breathed rock, not air. Light is poison for us now.” She touched her blistered cheek. “Curse meant mercy. Keep Terran from world we break.”

Kiera’s voice gentled. “If we travel at night…”

Duln smiled faintly. “No night strong enough to hide sun inside me. Let it burn. I not die yet.”

The forest answered with a long, wooden sigh. They came to a small hollow carpeted in pale leaves that glowed faintly of their own accord. Lyra crouched, picked one up, and it dissolved into ash on her fingertips.

“Nothing here wants to stay what it is,” she murmured.

Boaz knelt, tracing the ash-spiral left behind. Heat pulsed from its center though no flame burned. The Sigil answered with a quick throb of warmth.

Thorne padded forward, hackles lifting.

“Hold position,” Boaz said.

Duln lifted her head. “You feel it too. Forest close circle around us.”

“Wolves?” Shaye asked, tightening her grip on the curved blade.

Duln’s gray eyes narrowed. “Once wolves. Now memory that forgets how to die.”

A hush spread through the hollow. Even the wind hesitated, deciding whether to pass through or stay. Kestel glided above them, his wings leaving faint ember streaks that faded into nothing. Jaxson drew an arrow but held. “Feels like the forest’s holding its breath.”

“Not breath,” Aldryn said softly. “Anticipation.”

They moved again, slower now. The air thickened, syrup-heavy with scent of pine-smoke and rain. Duln’s stride shortened; sweat traced silver down her temples. When she faltered, Boaz caught her once more.

“I can walk,” she rasped. “Do not waste pity. Just remember what sun cost.”

He nodded. “We will remember.”

They pressed on until the mist ahead thinned to reveal a faint thread of the old road. Thorne stopped. His paw rested on soot. Another print bloomed beside it, faintly glowing from within. A trail crossed the path and vanished into the fog.

“Tracks?” Jaxson asked.

“Echoes,” Duln said, voice low and uneven. “Hungry ones.”

The forest exhaled. It was a deep, smoky sigh that smelled of burnt resin. The Sigil flared hot against Boaz’s chest. Somewhere beyond the white trunks, something growled, long, low, and not entirely alive.

The growl rolled through the mist like distant thunder, shaking loose a rain of pale leaves. The company froze. Every sound that followed seemed borrowed from another world: the soft crackle of dew, the rasp of metal, the slow thud of Boaz’s heartbeat echoing in his own ears.

“Circle up,” Boaz said quietly. “Duln to the center.”

He guided her there with a steady hand. She didn’t protest this time, only sank to one knee, the spear trembling in her grip. “Too long above ground,” she whispered. “Legs forget.”

Kiera placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before turning outward, mace raised.

Mist closed in until the trunks vanished. Only thin outlines remained, moving, breathing outlines. Eira gave a warning hoot above them; it came back as two. Aldryn’s eyes narrowed. “Echo magic. They’re doubling themselves in the sound.”

“Then we fight the ones that bleed,” Jaxson muttered. He drew two short swords, twirling them once, the motion crisp and practiced.

Theo crouched, chalk already in hand. “Rendmark,” he whispered, beginning to carve a sigil onto a fallen branch. Tink scurried around him, waiting like a surgeon’s assistant.

The first wolf appeared without sound, its body the color of cinders, its eyes glowing orange like embers in a dying hearth. When it padded forward, its paws left no prints, only a faint hiss as grass blackened beneath. Then another emerged behind it. Then five more.

“Ghosts?” Lyra asked.

“No, bound fire, I think,” Aldryn answered. “Once beasts. Now ash that remembers shape.”

Boaz drew his sword. The Sigil blazed faintly, as if tasting the same heat that birthed the wolves. They began to circle, silent, deliberate. The company shifted with them, backs nearly touching. Kiera whispered a prayer under her breath. Lyra’s fingers tightened on the small orb of light forming in her palm: Veilshift, pulsing like a heartbeat.

The first strike came from the left. A wolf lunged through mist straight for Theo. Thorne met it mid-air, massive claws raking through smoke. The creature split apart, then reformed behind him.

“Fire and shadow!” Theo shouted. “They cheat physics!”

“Then cheat it back,” Lyra snapped, throwing her orb. The sphere expanded in mid-air, creating a shimmer of false terrain; half the forest blinked to mirror itself. Wolves snarled, confused, lunging at their own reflections.

Jaxson moved like flowing water. Perivigilum flashed in his eyes, showing him where each strike would land a heartbeat before it did. He pivoted, cut once, twice. One wolf burst into a cloud of sparks. Kestel screamed overhead, diving to rake another’s face. It scattered, re-formed, and turned on Boaz.

Boaz stepped forward. “Stay with Duln!” he barked over the rising din. His blade caught the wolf’s charge. When its jaws closed on the steel, he called the Sigil’s light. The symbol ignited along the edge like molten script. The wolf burst outward, fire and ash scattering in a ring. The Sigil pulsed again, too strong this time. Pain lanced through Boaz’s chest; he staggered but kept his feet. The forest brightened briefly, color washing from green to red.

“Boaz!” Kiera cried. She raised her hand, a soft golden radiance spilling outward as she channeled Virelya’s Mercy, stitching the seared flesh across his chest even as he fought.

Aldryn swung his staff in a wide arc. Runic sparks leapt from its tip, binding three wolves mid-stride. “Hold them!” he commanded. Theo slammed his finished rune into the ground. Rendmark flared white, then detonated in a concussive wave that shredded the mist itself.

For a heartbeat the forest was clear. Ten wolves stood visible, some real, some echo. Boaz saw their eyes, empty yet pleading, as though begging release. Thorne roared and leapt again, taking one down. Lyra collapsed to one knee, blood trickling from her temple from an ember wolf that had broken through her illusion. Jaxson skewered it through its open maw. The wolves regrouped.

“They feed on flame!” Aldryn shouted. “Boaz, don’t call light! It fuels them!”

Boaz gritted his teeth, trying to rein in the Sigil’s surge. The metal seared his chest, branding him with its lines. The wolves howled as one, a sound of pain more than rage. Even Duln stirred, lifting her head to watch.

“They bound same way we were,” she rasped. “Chained to wrong fire.”

Aldryn thrust his staff into the ground. Stone groaned beneath the roots. “Then unchain them!”

Boaz lifted his sword high, letting only the faintest glimmer of the Sigil burn through. The light struck the wolves, and for an instant everything turned white. The wolves screamed, and then silence, the mist burning away like breath on glass.

Ash drifted down around them, soft as snow. Boaz’s knees gave out, sword tip sinking into the soil. Kiera rushed to him, pressing a cool cloth from her pouch over the wound on his chest. “You can’t keep drawing on it like that.”

“I didn’t,” he managed. “It…answered.”

Theo stood over the nearest pile of ash. In its center, something black glowed faintly: a shard of charred wood, edges pulsing with inner fire. He crouched and plucked it free. “Anyone else notice these didn’t feel evil? More like… trapped?”

Aldryn wiped soot from his brow. “That, boy, is exactly the problem with every curse worth remembering.”

Behind them, Duln pushed herself to her feet, swaying. “Forest thank you,” she said quietly. “You free its breath. But it watch you now.” Her eyes lifted toward the canopy where no wind moved. The branches seemed to bend closer, listening.

Boaz looked down at his scorched chest. “Let it watch,” he said, voice low. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

The mist had thinned to ribbons drifting through the trees. Ash fell in slow, spiraling flakes, catching what little light remained. For a while, no one spoke. The only sound was their ragged breathing.

Kiera knelt beside Boaz, placing her palm on his chest and chanting. The skin beneath was angry red, the Sigil’s pattern faintly seared into the flesh, but it was healing.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

Boaz managed a half-smile. “Only when I breathe.”

“That’s most of the time,” Theo muttered from nearby, rinsing soot off his fingers with water from his flask. His hands trembled, chalk dust ground into every crease.

Lyra sat a few paces away, pale and unfocused, one hand pressed to her temple. Blood matted her hair where the wolf had scored her. Mika lay against her knee, whining softly.

Kiera shifted toward her then. “Hold still.”

She placed both palms lightly on Lyra’s brow. Warm light bled through her fingers: soft gold, pulsing once… twice. Lyra’s wince eased into a sigh.

“Any dizziness?” Kiera asked.

“Only in the ways I already was,” Lyra said, attempting a grin that cracked into a cough. “Don’t waste your mercy. I’ve had migraines worse than this.”

Jaxson crouched beside Theo, inspecting the blackwood shard. “You think that’s safe to keep?”

Theo held it up. “Define safe.” The fragment glowed faintly, veins of red flickering through the char. “Feels more sad than cursed.”

Aldryn straightened from where he had been tracing the burned circle in the ground. “Keep it, but sealed. That grief may yet be useful.”

Duln tried to stand, failed, and sank back down with a hiss. Boaz rose despite Kiera’s protest and moved to her side. Her skin had gone almost translucent, veins visible like pale roots beneath. Sunlight from the fading canopy touched her face; she flinched but did not hide.

“Your strength is gone,” he said.

She shook her head faintly. “No… only traded. Fire inside me now, small but true. Your light wake something in Terra blood. I not know if curse weaker… or stronger.”

Aldryn crouched beside her, voice gentler than usual. “The Forlaith has strange ways of measuring mercy. You’ll rest tonight, and we’ll cover you from the dawn.”

Duln managed a thin smile. “Old wizard speak kind now. Mark the moon.”

Theo raised a hand. “Noted.”

Thorne prowled the clearing’s edge, nostrils flaring with a satisfaction of danger that has gone.

“Good,” Jaxson said. “Because I’m out of clever ways to kill smoke.”

They began to make a rough camp where they stood. No one was eager to move deeper yet. Kiera coaxed a small, normal fire from dry sticks; its ordinary orange glow felt almost sacred. Lyra stretched out near it, watching the flames dance.

“Strange,” she murmured. “After fighting things made of fire, this still comforts.”

Boaz sank down opposite her, the Sigil dim now, its warmth gone cold. “Fire’s not the enemy,” he said quietly. “Only what it’s made to serve.”

Aldryn looked up at that. “Spoken like someone learning where to place it.”

No one answered. The forest gave a final sigh, as though satisfied for the moment. In that hush, the fellowship settled into a fragile peace. They were bandaged, bruised, but bound again by the same thing that had saved them: the will to stand together when the world itself came apart.

Night gathered early in the Forlaith, thick and watchful. The fire in their clearing guttered, its smoke curling upward like a warning. No one trusted the dark, but it was Duln who broke the silence.

“Forest not sleep,” she murmured from her blanket. “Wolves come twice. Once to test, once to take.”

Boaz met her dim gaze. “Then we’ll be ready.”

Her cracked lips bent in a faint smile. “Ready mean listening. Fire talk different at night. Soft.” She tapped her chest, above her fading heartbeat. “Not roar. Breathe.”

Boaz didn’t yet understand, but he stored the words away. Around him the company moved quietly — restringing bows, checking blades, spreading ash over the bright fire to dull its glow. Theo worked beside Aldryn, carving shallow runes in a circle around the camp. Lyra adjusted the veil of her illusion so the light bent inward, cloaking them in muted gray.

When the first crack of twig sounded, none were surprised.

Ember eyes glimmered in the fog beyond the trees. More than before: twice, maybe three times as many. They advanced without sound, tongues flickering blue-white like molten metal.

“Circle,” Boaz ordered. “Kiera, stay with Duln. Theo, light only when I say. Lyra, veil them, not us.”

He felt the Sigil stir against his chest again, eager and wild. The memory of the last battle flashed: how his flames had fed the wolves instead of stopping them. He drew a deep breath, remembering Duln’s rasped words: not roar. Breathe.

When the first wolf lunged, Boaz didn’t ignite. He stepped aside, sword raised defensively, and listened. The creature’s fire was alive but unstable, devouring itself even as it burned. He felt the pulse of it through the Sigil, a rhythm out of balance. He slowed his breathing, let his own pulse match it… then reversed the pulse.

When he swung his blade, the Sigil didn’t blaze. It exhaled, a wash of dull red heat, steady and low. The wolf struck through it and faltered; its inner flame guttered, smoke curling from its eyes. It stumbled once, then collapsed into ash without a sound.

“Boaz!” Kiera cried. “You smothered it!”

“Not smother,” Boaz said. “Balanced.”

The others took heart. Theo slammed his palms to the runes he’d carved. “Then I’ll tune mine to you.” Violet light rippled outward in thin threads that caught the wolves’ paws, slowing their charge. Each pulse echoed the steady beat of the Sigil.

Lyra’s illusion darkened the edges of the clearing, funneling the enemy into narrow lines of approach. Jaxson, Thorne, and Mika waited there, one swift and silent, the others a streak of muscle, teeth, and claws. They struck together, their movements almost synchronized, as if Boaz’s steady flame anchored them.

Another wolf leapt through the veil, striking at Theo. Boaz turned, met it with his sword: no flare, no shout. He pressed the Sigil’s warmth into its core and felt its rage fade, its fire unraveling into mist.

Aldryn watched, eyes wide with both pride and fear. “You’re damping them,” he shouted. “Not extinguishing; the forest feeds the rest of the heat!”

“Then let it,” Boaz replied. His voice was calm now, resonant. “It’s their home. I’m just returning them to it.”

Kiera’s melody rose behind him, carrying the words of an old hymn. Each note strengthened the calm rhythm in Boaz’s chest. The wolves hesitated, some backing away, some circling uncertainly. He saw their shapes more clearly now: ribs of emberwood, sinews of ash, eyes full of sorrow.

“Forgive yourselves,” Boaz whispered, and released one final pulse of even, cooling light.

The flame spread outward in a ring. Not a blaze but a slow breath, red fading to gold, gold to soft white. It touched the wolves, and one by one their forms dissolved into drifting motes that shimmered before fading away.

When the glow receded, only falling ash remained. The forest sighed, long and low, like something unclenching after centuries.

For a moment no one moved. Then Theo dropped to a knee, laughing softly. “Now that’s an experiment worth repeating.”

Jaxson sheathed his blades. “You made it look easy, Boaz.”

“It wasn’t,” Boaz said. His knees trembled. “It’s not about force. It’s… hearing what the fire wants.”

Aldryn gave a slow, approving nod. “And what did it want?”

Boaz looked to Duln. She had managed to sit up, faint color in her cheeks again from the forest’s reflected light.

“To rest,” Boaz said quietly. “It just wanted to rest.”

Duln met his eyes, understanding. “You listen now. Sun inside you, gentle.”

He smiled faintly. “Trying to be.”

Lyra sank to the ground with a tired grin. “Well, I’ll sleep easier knowing our leader can negotiate with combustion.”

Kiera chuckled softly, finishing a bandage on Theo’s hand. “You’ll still have watch duty, though.”

Boaz looked around at them, his friends, their faces marked by ash and fatigue yet alive with quiet pride.

“We all will,” he said. “Two-hour turns. No one alone. The Forlaith’s still watching.”

Aldryn rose, leaning on his staff. “It watches, yes, but I think not in anger now.”

The group set about securing the camp. Kestel wheeled above once, a dark shape against the faint glow of silverleaf canopies. Mika and Thorne prowled the perimeter. Soon the company settled into weary calm.

The Sigil lay cool against Boaz’s chest now, its fire subdued to a steady warmth. The night was quiet but not empty; the forest breathing with them, and no longer in opposition.

Thorne settled beside him, fur singed at the edges.

“You changed the flame,” Kiera murmured.

Boaz shook his head, eyes on the dim ashes where the wolves had vanished. “No,” he said. “It changed me.”

Morning came like breath on glass, soft, slow, reluctant. The mist that had prowled their edges all night thinned to pale ribbons, and the silverleaf trunks drew color from the dawn, veins glowing faint as moonstone. The camp itself looked smaller in daylight, as if the night had been a magnifying lens for fear.

Boaz finished the last watch with Thorne and stirred the embers. Normal embers, obedient, orange, woke with a crackle that sounded gratefully ordinary. The Sigil lay cool against his chest, its presence steady, its pulse his own.

Kestel spiraled down from the canopy and landed near Jaxson’s boot, cocking his head as if wondering what they were doing next. Jaxson stretched and winced, then grinned at the hawk. “I’m not sure what’s next, but you can file your report.”

Theo sat cross-legged with his tool roll unspooled in neat chaos. He’d opened the waxed pouch and coaxed the blackwood fragment onto a square of linen. It glowed faintly at the core like a coal unwilling to admit it had cooled. Tink crouched beside it, little hands hovering reverently.

“You’re not planning to make a friend out of that, are you?” Lyra asked, ambling over with a bandage at her temple. She was peeling off the bandage from the now-healed wound, and her eyes were bright.

Theo held the fragment to the light and frowned. “It’s not hostile. It’s… homesick.” He glanced up, catching himself. “In conclusion, I’m not adopting it. I’m studying it.”

“Good,” Shaye said, accepting a steaming tin from Kiera. “Because if it starts igniting, I’m throwing it in a river to douse it.”

Kiera’s tea was strong and clean, the sort of brew that resets the tongue. She pressed a cup into Duln’s hands and crouched beside her. “Slow sips.”

Duln obeyed, jaw tight against the heat. The gray at her cheeks hadn’t lifted, but the trembling was gone. In the daylight her eyes looked clearer, less clouded by pain.

“Night kinder than noon,” she said, voice still rough but stronger. “Your steady fire… it not burn me. Felt like shade that warms.”

Boaz settled opposite her. “I tried to listen. To let it breathe instead of roar.” He hesitated, then added, “Does that help you? Truly?”

Duln thought for a long moment, as if translating from a language she hadn’t used in a century. “Help… yes. Or maybe remind. Sun not always enemy. Curse teach us to fear what we once loved. Hard to unlearn.” A ghost of a smile crossed her mouth. “You unlearn fast.”

Lyra dropped onto a log and blew across her tea. “He’s stubborn in the correct direction for once.”

Jaxson elbowed her. “Careful. Compliments might cause over-zealousness next time.”

“Save your compliments for later,” Shaye said, eyes narrowing in mock severity. “Breakfast first, flattery second.”

“Agua priorities,” Theo murmured.

“Correct priorities,” Shaye replied, and passed him a strip of dried meat as if knighting him with worryingly sharp generosity.

Aldryn wandered in from the clearing’s edge where he’d been tracing new lines over last night’s runes. He watched the group with an expression that, on anyone else, would have been called soft.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Boaz said.

“Listening,” the old mage answered. He looked to Duln. “To the forest. To what it decided about us.”

“And?” Lyra prompted.

“It decided to let you stay,” he said simply, leaning his staff against his shoulder. “For now.”

Kiera hummed a low phrase, half prayer, half tune, and the little normal fire obliged by popping at precisely the right moment to sound grateful. The company ate. The taste of salty meat, cheese, and smoke felt like a treaty signed with the morning.

When the food was gone and the cups rinsed, Lyra stood and, with a sly glance at Jaxson, extended her hand. “Before we sharpen everything and go back to doom, we’re owed one victory dance.”

“We are?” Jaxson said, but he was already up, grinning despite his tiredness. There was no music but Kiera’s soft humming and the forest’s breath. Lyra’s steps were small so as to spare her newly-healed head injury; Jaxson matched them, quick and precise. For a moment they were just two figures moving through crooked light, and the world forgot to be dangerous.

“Show-offs,” Theo said, but he was smiling. Tink clapped anyway.

When the dance ended, Lyra bowed grandly and nearly tipped over. Jaxson caught her elbow. “There’s the flourish.”

“Every good performance needs a curtain call,” she said, and eased back to her log.

Aldryn approached Boaz, eyes unreadable beneath shaggy brows. He pointed to the bandage Kiera had placed on Boaz’s chest earlier. “Let’s see.”

Boaz peeled it back. The angry red had healed and cooled to a deeper brown. Faint, intricate lines of the Sigil’s geometry laced the skin like a watermark.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Boaz said.

Aldryn nodded. “Good. Pain teaches quickly; marks teach long.” He took a breath, then spoke softly: “We all carry fire, Boaz. The trick isn’t to fear the burn, but to learn where to place the flame.”

Boaz looked past him to the company, their mess of gear, the scuffed ground, Duln propped on a blanket with her tea, Lyra and Jaxson bickering amiably, Theo coaxing Tink not to steal a screwdriver, Kiera setting the last cup to dry in a patch of sunlight as if consecrating it. Thorne lay with his chin on his paws, watching everything with that patient, wild attention.

“Then we place it here,” Boaz said. “On what we keep.”

Aldryn smiled, the lines at his eyes deepening. “A kingly answer for a man who says he isn’t one.”

Boaz’s mouth twitched. “I said I’m not ready to be one.”

“Precisely.” Aldryn tapped the staff once, amused. “That’s the correct start.”

Theo cleared his throat and lifted the blackwood fragment again. “One last thing before we break camp. The shard. It’s not just residue. It’s… structured. Runes in the grain. I think these wolves weren’t born here, they were bound here.” He hesitated. “Somebody did this on purpose.”

Shaye’s humor faded. “Handler-work, or someone…worse?”

“Definitely not Tulogan,” Jaxson scoffed, thinking of the tactless brutes they had already fought. “Too complex, and delicate.”

Aldryn’s gaze tracked the shard. “Delicate and old. The kind of binding that uses the forest’s own memory against itself.” His voice darkened. “We’ll need to know why before we stand under Terran stone.”

Duln listened without lifting her head. “In Durn-Kelmar,” she said, slow and careful, “some know. Not all will speak. But some.”

“Then east,” Boaz said, rising. “We’ll keep the road if it keeps us.”

They packed with the practiced quiet of people who’d done this too often already. Kiera tucked Duln’s blanket into a sling and tied it across Boaz’s back; he took the weight with a nod and an unspoken promise. Lyra placed her orb into a coat pocket. Theo sealed his shard, laced the pouch with a new counter-mark, and tied it to his belt, the responsibility pulling his shoulders straighter. Jaxson whistled for Kestel; the hawk rose to the first draft of day and wheeled east.

Before they left, Boaz paused at the ring of ash where the wolves had dissolved. He bent, touched two fingers to the earth, and brushed the dust from them like a benediction.

“Rest,” he said, as if to both the dead and the fire itself.

The silverleaf trunks opened ahead in a long, pale corridor. Duln pointed, the motion small but sure. “Road waits,” she said. “Roots remember.”

They set out beneath the waking canopy, the forest no longer an enemy but not yet a friend: watching, weighing, and, for the moment, walking with them.

The silverleaf trunks thinned by degrees until the light began to fall in truer angles, and the air lost that thick, turned-around taste. Even so, echoes hung in pockets like cobweb; Jaxson’s laugh returning a half-beat later, Lyra’s footfall answering itself from somewhere to the left.

Duln walked with them, wrapped in Kiera’s extra cloak, the hood shadowing her blistered brow. She leaned on the spear as if on a memory. When the ground rose and the trees opened, she lifted a hand, small, sure.

“Road,” she said.

It appeared not as a grand causeway but as a seam in the world — flattish stones set in long, uneven lines, moss fretting their edges. The path bent east, a pale ribbon threading the roots. Old Terran markers, knee-high pillars, stood at intervals like broken teeth, each chiseled with runes worn nearly to nothing.

Theo crouched at the first pillar, brushing away lichen with the edge of a wooden token. “These marks… they aren’t just letters. They’re lattice. Whoever cut them wanted the stone to remember a pattern.”

Aldryn tapped the pillar with his staff, softly, as one might wake a friend. “And the stone obliged. Listen.” He thumbed a pinch of yesterday’s wolf-ash over the top. The pillar drank it like dry earth drinks first rain. A faint skein of light mapped itself along the grooves and faded.

“What did it say?” Lyra asked.

“That we are late,” Aldryn said. He didn’t smile.

Boaz felt the Sigil stir, steady and warm, as if the road were a hand on his shoulder guiding his pace. He glanced at Duln. “How far?”

Her eyes tracked the pale ribbon of stone. “Two sleeps, if forest not shift again. For me… maybe slower.” The last word held no apology.

“Then we shift with you,” Boaz said. “We stay tight on the road. No strays. Jaxson, Kestel high cover. Shaye and Telen, forward eyes. Theo, keep that shard sealed but handy, if the binding here hums the same tune, I want to hear it before it hears us.”

Theo patted the waxed pouch. “Copy.”

They walked. The Forlaith did not relent, but it permitted. A wind rose and found the right direction. Birdsong lost its backward edge. Twice they passed clearings that looked like mirrors of one another. The same stumps, same scatter of stones, a dead limb like a crooked finger pointing north. The second time, Thorne bristled, then settled as Boaz slowed his breathing and the Sigil’s pulse evened. The forest let them through.

At the third marker pillar, the road dipped and the light dimmed again. The old stone bore a deeper cut, a triangular groove within a circle, crossed by three short lines, with runes unlike the others.

Theo looked to Aldryn; Aldryn to Duln.

Duln’s mouth flattened. “Not our carving,” she said. “Newer hand. Cruel hand. Makes echo stay when body goes.”

“Same signature as the wolves,” Theo murmured. “I can feel the cadence in my teeth.”

Kiera shivered and drew her cloak tighter. “Then whatever bound them isn’t finished with this place.”

Boaz set his palm lightly to the pillar. The Sigil warmed, then cooled, in refusal, not attraction. “We acknowledge it,” he said, “and we pass. We won’t feed it.”

They pressed on until noon dragged itself across a washed-out sky. The road narrowed to single file where roots had shouldered stones aside. There, Boaz called a halt on a shelf of rock that gave them a long view east: pale trunks in ranks, the road dipping and rising, and beyond that, something darker, denser: the first lift of the foothills like a sleeping animal’s back.

“Durn-Kelmar under that,” Duln said. Pride and sorrow braided in her voice.

They ate standing, eyes on the trees. No one lingered. The forest had gone quiet in a way that was not peace but consideration, like a crowd deciding what to do with strangers at their gate.

Near midafternoon, the shard in Theo’s pouch ticked once: no heat, just a numb little tap against his hip. He froze. “Boaz.”

Boaz turned. The Sigil gave no alarm, only the steadiness he’d learned to trust. He lifted a hand. “Hold.”

Theo eased the pouch open. The shard’s glow was faint as a coal at the bottom of an old hearth, but a hairline along its grain pulsed, one-two… pause… one-two. Aldryn listened, head tilted.

“Not threat,” the old mage said. “A call and answer. The road is speaking to its wound.”

Lyra made a face. “I hate that sentence.”

“Me too,” Jaxson said, scanning the treeline. “But at least it’s not biting.”

Boaz nodded to Theo. “Seal it again. If the road remembers hurt, we’ll bring what healing we can to it by not making more.”

By late afternoon the light grew clean enough that shadows fell where they should. The company’s footfalls returned to being only footfalls. Even the echo of their voices came back right-sized. At a bend where the road crossed a shallow runnel of clear water, Boaz called the day.

“Here,” he said. “Kiera, set shelter. Aldryn, small, banked fire. Watches as before, pairs, every two hours. No one alone.”

Duln sank carefully to the blanket Kiera spread and exhaled, a breath that forgave the day. “Good choosing,” she said to Boaz, the broken cadence softening. “Forest like leaders who listen.”

He sat beside her for a moment, the Sigil cool at his chest. “Then we’ll make listening a habit.”

Evening settled, honest and ordinary for the first time since they’d entered the Forlaith. The sky peeled back enough to show a seam of pale blue. Nevara traced a dark circle above and came to roost near Aldryn’s shoulder. Somewhere far off, a howl rose, and broke, not rage, not hunting. Relief.

Boaz took first watch. Thorne lay at his feet, ears forward, at ease but not asleep. He looked along the road’s pale course until it vanished into the trees and thought of roots and stone and the long burden of memory.

“We place the flame where it keeps,” he murmured, more to the forest than to himself.

The mist did not answer. It simply did not return.

East awaited. The road held. And the Forlaith, at least for this stretch, chose to walk with them.

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