The air near Lysimar’s outer walls was thick with a silence that had no right to exist in such a place. Emily Loriet moved through the fields where White Lilies once bloomed, their pale petals now tinged at the edges by shadow, a cruel mimicry of beauty. She did not look down as her boots crushed against brittle soil; she only needed this moment to be seen. The people gathered along the path bowed shallowly, though many cast furtive glances toward the tree line where dark tendrils coiled like serpents beneath the earth’s surface.

  “Blessings upon you,” Emily said in a voice that carried too much weight for such an empty phrase. She placed her gloved hand on one of the remaining lilies, its stem crooked and thin as if it had been forced to grow against willpower alone. “Though this land is not yet lost… we must remember why they bloom.”

  Her words were met with murmurs, half prayer, half acknowledgement, and she smiled faintly beneath her mask of serenity. It was always the same: a performance of grace and hope for those who had no choice but to believe in it. She would never tell them that this field’s lilies wilted faster than others or how even their scent carried an acrid undertone, like ash on wind.

  Behind her, Captain Valerius stood watchful at the edge of the clearing with his men. Emily did not look toward him as she turned and began to walk again, feet brushing against what little grass remained beneath them. The sky above was a dull gray that seemed too heavy for this world, no light filtered through except in thin shafts that barely touched their faces.

  “Your Majesty,” Valerius called when they reached the path back toward the city’s edge. “The Weeping Wall is holding, but it will not do so much longer.”

  Emily paused only long enough to acknowledge him with a tilt of her head before continuing forward. She did not speak again until she had passed into one of Lysimar’s more stable districts, where moon silver buildings gleamed faintly in the dimness and children played beneath the shade of trees that still held their leaves.

  “The Gloomroot is growing bolder,” Valerius said, his voice low. “We have lost another section near the river.”

  Emily did not stop walking as she replied, her tone even but edged with something colder than concern. “And yet here we stand, still in Lysimar’s embrace.”

  A pause followed that lasted longer than it should.

  “You will need to act soon,” Valerius said at last, and there was a note of weariness beneath his usual formality.

  Emily turned then, her face an empty mask as she studied him. “And you think I have not already?”

  The captain did not answer immediately; only watching the way her eyes lingered on something behind them, on Nine Pyrot standing at attention near one of the market stalls where traders haggled in quiet voices.

  She turned back to Valerius with a small smile that never reached her eyes. “I have already decided what must be done.”

  The formal audience was held inside the citadel’s main hall, its high arched ceiling darkened by age and neglect. The walls bore faded murals of Lysimar at its peak, golden fields under endless skies, but even they seemed to sag beneath their own weight.

  Nine Pyrot stood before Emily as she sat on a throne carved from moon silver wood that had long since dulled, the once proud surface now marred with cracks. His armor was heavy and worn, a relic of past battles, and his posture remained rigid despite exhaustion in every line of him. He did not speak until he needed to.

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  “I have been tasked,” Emily began without preamble as she studied Nine’s face through hooded eyes that gave no hint at their true intent, “with a mission more vital than any I have assigned before.”

  She leaned forward slightly and the weight of her words settled over the room like mist.

  “The Gloomroot has reached deep into Cinderbloom territory,” Emily said. She did not need to elaborate, everyone in this hall knew what that meant: twisted flora, corrupted creatures, a silence so absolute it was almost deafening.

  “Nine Pyrot.” Her voice held no inflection as she called his name and the knight stiffened at once. “You will lead an expedition into Cinderbloom’s heart.”

  There were gasps in the room, hushed whispers that faded quickly when Emily raised her hand for silence.

  “I am not asking,” she said, though it was clear they all knew what had already been decided. “I have chosen you because your resolve is unshaken.”

  Nine did not look at anyone as he responded with a single nod and the barest of movements, a sign that even his body understood this could be a death sentence.

  Emily allowed herself to smile faintly, though it was nothing more than an expression she had practiced until it felt natural. “I am certain you will return,” she said gently, because every word needed its own weight, no matter how hollow the truth behind them might be.

  The journey into Cinderbloom took longer than expected. The air grew heavier with each step forward, thickened by something that pressed against their lungs like a silent scream. Nine led his men through terrain where even the trees had been twisted until they resembled grotesque sculptures of pain, branches curling in on themselves as if trying to avoid touch.

  The first sign was not what he expected: silence. Not the absence of sound, but an unnatural stillness that filled every inch between them and everything else beyond it. The birds did not sing; even insects had ceased their hums when they crossed into this place.

  “Stay close,” Nine said as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, though he knew no blade could cut through what lay ahead.

  They moved for hours, past ruins that whispered memories in a language only the Gloomroot understood. One such ruin was marked by an archway half buried beneath earth and shadow; something about it sent a shiver down Nine’s spine as they passed under its broken frame with nothing but his own breath to break the silence.

  Then came the first of them: not human, nor beast, something in between. It emerged from the darkness like mist given form, body half tangled within roots that pulsed faintly beneath their surface. Its eyes were dark and hollow as if they had been burned out by a fire no longer burning.

  Nine’s hand moved before his mind could catch up to it; he drew his sword in one fluid motion but did not strike immediately. The creature let out a sound, almost like laughter, though there was nothing amusing about the way its voice echoed with pain and hunger alike.

  The others behind him froze as well, but Nine kept moving forward until something caught at his shoulder, pulling him back just enough to avoid being taken by the thing’s grasping fingers. It lunged for them all in one motion but only managed to drag itself deeper into shadow when they turned away from it without another thought.

  “Move,” he ordered and led them past that place before any of the others could question what had happened, before even his own mind could process how close death had been, just a breath’s distance behind him.

  Yet as he pushed forward toward their goal, something else surfaced in memory: not this moment but another one entirely.

  He remembered standing beneath an open sky where Gloomroot tendrils did not yet reach; the scent of blood and ash still clung to his skin from battle that had taken far too many lives for a victory so small. He could hear their voices, echoing through time like distant echoes, some he would never forget, others lost in silence.

  It was then that the ground beneath them shifted again, and something else moved within it, deeper this time than before. The air thickened until even his breath felt heavy and wrong as if every particle of life had been drained from what little remained here.

  Nine did not hesitate after that moment; he only pressed on into whatever darkness awaited beyond, because there was no other choice left to make.