“Hey. I think….I’m going to be gone for a while. I have some things that I need to work out, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take.

  ….

  Just…some things going on that I need to sort out. I’m sorry, I don’t want to get into the details. I don’t even know what it is…”

  Ariel snapped back into reality, her hand pressed against the Hugteikn as its glow faded into dormancy. She stood there, breathing hard, her chest heaving as if she had run a great distance. The world around her felt at once too sharp and too distant, every detail of the grove vivid yet hazy with the aftershocks of what she had just done. Her palm lingered against the stone for a moment longer before she pulled it back, flexing her fingers as if trying to shake the tremor out of them.

  She closed her eyes and prayed, fervent and wordless, that Holly would find the message. That her voice, thin and fleeting though it was, might reach across whatever divide separated them. The thought of Holly’s face as she spoke those words pressed against her heart, equal parts hope and ache.

  Ariel began to pace slowly around the stone plinth, each step measured, her boots whispering against the mossy ground. She pressed her knuckles to her lips, trying to steady the surge of emotions, trying to think. She could still feel the Eiranth pulsing faintly on the other end of the cave, a reminder of what had been won—and what had been lost.

  Her mind tugged backward, turning over what had just happened. The cleansing of the corruption had not only restored life to the Eiranth but memory as well. Fragments had returned to her. Fragments had returned to the Wisp. And that truth lingered heavy in her chest: if memory could be restored, then it could also be taken. How much of this world had already been devoured? What truths lay hidden, waiting to surface only when the corruption was burned away?

  Ariel slowed her pacing, resting her fingertips lightly against the edge of the plinth as her thoughts wandered. What else had been forgotten? What secrets lay buried in silence, in the blank spaces left behind by Gloymr’s touch? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but beneath it, a fragile thread of determination wound itself tighter. If her presence here could stir memory back into being, then perhaps she had more power in this place than she realized.

  

  Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of voices drifting from the trees. They slithered through the grove, layered and unsettling, like a chorus of nightmares threading closer. Shadows broke from the treeline, and one by one, they revealed themselves.

  The first was short and thin, skin pale as bone, with twitching black cat ears and manic eyes that gleamed with sick delight. Chains rattled as she dragged a scythe along the moss, sparks trailing.

  Tréga the Mad.

  She grinned wide, lips curled into a singsong sneer. “Ohhh, darling morsel… don’t tremble so. I’ll pluck your pretty memories one by one—until you forget how to even scream! HA-HA-HA!”

  The second emerged taller than the rest, gaunt and half-corporeal, gray translucent skin stretched thin over glowing runes that crawled beneath like veins. Hollow sockets burned with faint crimson symbols.

  Myrkrún the Erased.

  Their voice was calm, ceremonial, cold: “The rune unravels. The word decays. All scripture bends toward silence, as shall you, Minnithrall.”

  The third drifted into view like a fading echo, her willowy form blurred at the edges, as though she were never fully present. Her pale-blue void eyes reflected Ariel’s own face back at her. Silvery hair unraveled into smoke, dissolving in the air.

  Tyna the Lost

  When she spoke, it was flat, hollow, fragmented: “…You were never here. You will not remember this moment. Or me. Or yourself.”

  The last figure staggered from the trees with the weight of rusted chains dragging behind her. A human woman, gaunt and weary, her skin bruised with bluish tones, veins faintly visible beneath. Collapsed armor hung broken on her frame, and in her hands, she dragged a colossal hammer, its head corroded and dented.

  Deyfa the Burdened

  Her voice was gravel and sorrow, heavy as iron. “You will falter. You will stumble. And you will break. Just… like… me.”

  The grove’s air tightened with their presence, oppressive and suffocating. The four acolytes stood in a half-circle before her, each distinct, each radiating malice. And together, in their chorus of madness, ceremony, absence, and despair, they hissed the name they had chosen for her:

  “Minnithrall.”

  Ariel immediately summoned vines, the green coils wrapping tight around her arms like living armor. She’d never seen these figures before with her own eyes, but she didn’t need an introduction. She knew exactly who they were—the Acolytes. Every instinct in her told her as much. Her gaze swept over each of them in turn, her stance steady, ready for anything.

  Her voice cut through the tense silence, low and fierce. “How kind of you to finally show yourselves, pets of Gloymr. I don’t know what you want from me, but you’re not taking anything else.”

  Tréga’s manic grin widened, her cat ears twitching with delight as she spun one of her chain scythes lazily in the air. “Ohhh, precious piggy… baring your teeth already? How quaint. I do so love it when my little toys fight back.” Her voice dripped mockery, lilting sweetly before cracking into a shrill burst of laughter. “HA-HA-HA!”

  Ariel didn’t flinch. She stared her down, the familiar green glow beginning to stir and ignite in her eyes, pulsing brighter with each beat of her heart. Her lips curled into a sharp quip: “You’re going to have to do better than spooky laughter and an 'I can fix her' personality to get under my skin.”

  Then another sound broke through the tension—Fornaskr’s voice, calling from the direction of the cave. “Ariel!”

  Ariel’s head snapped toward the sound. Her gut clenched. “Stay back!” she shouted, throwing out her hand toward the cave entrance. The trees obeyed, branches wrenching and twisting, crashing down to form a thick barricade of wood and leaf. Fornaskr was safe, sealed inside.

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  But the moment’s distraction nearly cost her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a blur of movement—Tréga’s chained scythe whipping straight for her. Instinct took over. She snapped her vine up, the living tether lashing forward just in time to coil around the blade and arrest its momentum with a screech of metal.

  Tréga tilted her head, purring out a snide coo. “Mmm, clever little morsel. You’re quicker than you look. But can you keep up when I play rougher?” She tugged at the chain, laughing again, sharp and sinister.

  Ariel didn’t answer. She swung her other vine, cracking it forward like a whip aimed at Tréga’s chest. But the acolyte was already flipping backwards with grace, scythes spinning, silver chains flashing. She landed in a crouch, grinning wider, and without pause, launched herself forward in a blur of black and silver.

  Ariel tossed her free vine aside, letting it snag a nearby trunk. The tether went taut, yanking her body sharply out of the way just as Tréga’s scythe carved through empty air. In the same motion, Ariel snapped her remaining vine low, catching Tréga’s ankle mid-leap. With a sharp jerk of her arm, she slung the acolyte skyward like a ragdoll.

  Tréga twirled midair, laughter rising shrill and wild. One scythe shot out, chain rattling, and bit deep into the bark of a tree. Using the momentum, she swung herself sideways, pulling taut on the chain and landing nimbly against the trunk, her manic grin unbroken.

  Ariel skidded along the ground, boots tearing through moss and soil, but she kept her balance, her body leaning low and tight as she realigned herself. Breath sharp in her throat, she snapped the vine loose from her left arm and twirled it in a wide circle. Leaves rustled, then whipped inward from every direction, spiraling tight around her. They encircled her body, glowing brighter and brighter until the air itself seemed to hum with gathered energy.

  She was just about to hurl the storm of leaves toward the grinning cat-eared acolyte when the ground shook with a heavy clank. Metal against stone. Ariel’s stomach dropped as she glanced back—there, charging forward, was the gaunt figure in collapsed armor. The colossal hammer dragged behind her, carving a scar into the grove floor as sparks spat from its rusted head. Her clouded eyes fixed on Ariel with a weary, burning malice.

  Two acolytes. Both closing in. Ariel’s eyes darted between them—between the manic glint of Tréga’s chains and the relentless approach of the armored giant. Her pulse roared in her ears.

  She reacted fast. With a snap of her wrist, Ariel hurled her vine skyward, the coil catching tight around a thick branch above. Green fire flickered in her eyes as she yanked hard, launching herself upward. Her body swung high into the air, the glowing leaves rising with her, swirling like a comet’s tail as they followed her ascent.

  The canopy broke around her, treetops falling away beneath her feet. Ariel twisted midair, breath caught in her throat as she spun to look down into the grove. Both acolytes were there—the hammer dragging closer, the scythes gleaming as Tréga leapt in pursuit. Ariel’s jaw tightened. She threw her arms wide, pulling the storm of luminous leaves close until they whirled dense around her like a living shield. Then, with a fierce cry, she thrust her arms forward.

  The leaves obeyed. They bolted downward in a radiant torrent, streaks of emerald light cutting through the air. They struck the grove with an explosive crack, detonating against the ground in a shower of sparks and verdant energy.

  The grove shook. Trees groaned. A shockwave rippled outward, sending dust and leaves flying.

  Ariel didn’t linger to watch the aftermath. She swung her vine wide, snapping it to another trunk across the grove. The tether pulled taut, dragging her out of the air and whipping her body sideways. She sailed over the grove’s heart and landed in a crouch against the far side, boots skidding against soil until she slid to a halt. Her chest rose and fell in fierce rhythm, the glow in her eyes dimming slightly as she steadied herself, her vines curling back into readiness.

  Dust began to settle from the explosion. Ariel’s eyes narrowed, scanning through the haze. Her stomach sank when she saw them. Both the cat girl and the armored woman still stood amidst the scorched ground, their figures unbowed, their bodies bearing barely a scratch. The chains still rattled with playful menace, and the hammer still dragged with earthshaking weight.

  Ariel’s gaze flicked quickly across all four acolytes. Two had pressed her hard, direct and relentless; the other two hung back, quiet, watching with that eerie patience that spoke of something colder, more calculating. Her instincts told her the truth—these were predators of different kinds. Some struck openly. Some waited for the perfect wound.

  Tréga was the first to break the silence, her laughter spiraling back up into the air. “What a show, little morsel! Up you go, down you go—like a puppet on strings! Do it again, do it again!” She swung her scythe in idle arcs, mocking as always.

  The armored woman’s voice rumbled low, heavy as falling stone. “You are weak. Every breath strains you. I will break what remains.” She hefted her hammer and took a grinding step forward, chains clattering at her sides.

  Before they could close in again, the rune-marked acolyte lifted her broken staff, her layered voice cutting sharply through the grove. “Enough. She comes. Even now the air bends to her passage. The Wisp draws near.”

  The armored figure growled but stilled, dragging her hammer back to her side. Tréga froze in place, her grin faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. She cast Ariel a glare, ears twitching, then huffed and spun her chain scythe with one final flourish before disengaging, retreating toward the tree line.

  Myrkrún’s hollow sockets turned back toward Ariel, runes glowing faintly red. “Minnithrall… pursue us if you will. But know this—the further you walk, the more of yourself you will lose. All fire gutters. All memory rots. Yours will be no different.”

  And with that, the four figures dissolved back into the forest shadows, leaving the grove empty save for the echo of their words and the weight of their malice.

  Ariel’s knees gave out as her adrenaline ebbed, and she collapsed onto the mossy ground. Her chest heaved, sweat trickling down her temple as the vines around her arms uncoiled and slipped back into the earth. She braced herself with her hands, staring at the dirt as her body shook with exhaustion. The fight replayed in fragments in her head—the chains, the hammer, the falling tree, the screaming leaves. She had barely held them off. Barely.

  She lifted her head, her vision swimming, and remembered Fornaskr. With a weary wave of her hand, she whispered a command. The barricade of branches and trunks groaned, twisting and parting until the mouth of the cave was free again.

  Fornaskr burst out almost immediately, his lantern clutched in one hand. He ran across the grove and dropped to his knees beside her. “Minnidottir! Are you hurt?”

  Ariel shook her head quickly, forcing her breath to even out. “I’m fine. Exhausted, but fine.”

  Fornaskr searched her over, eyes narrowing at the sight of her trembling arms and sweat-soaked hair. “You faced them alone.”

  Ariel nodded faintly, a grim smile tugging at her lips. “They were… tough. Stronger than anything I’ve ever seen. One tried to crush me with a tree. The other nearly had me in chains.” She swallowed hard, her voice dropping. “If they’d pressed harder, I don’t know if I’d still be standing.”

  Fornaskr frowned, the weight of her words pulling at his features. “And yet you are standing. You pushed them back. That is no small feat.” He hesitated, then glanced at the paling green light in her eyes. “But you have drained yourself, Minnidottir. You’ve used too much.”

  He reached into his pack and pulled out a rough piece of bread, pressing it gently into her hand. “Eat. You must take it easy. Strength returns slowly, and you will need it.”

  Ariel chuckled faintly, her hands trembling as she tore off a small bite. “Bread as battlefield medicine. Who knew?” She nibbled at it, chewing slowly, her body grateful for even the smallest reprieve.

  Fornaskr offered her a small, weary smile. “Sometimes, bread and breath are enough to keep the flame alive.”

  Ariel leaned back on her hands, chewing in silence. The grove was still again, save for the rustle of leaves settling back into place. She let the quiet stretch, each second of stillness pressing over her like a blanket after the chaos. Her breath slowed. The hush of the forest seeped into her bones, reminding her of how fragile and fleeting moments of peace could be.

  Then the air shifted, cool and radiant. A soft glow rose over the treetops, and from beyond the canopy, the Wisp drifted down into the grove. Its form shimmered, the translucent edges pulling closer to something whole. It pulsed gently as it descended, its presence washing over the grove with a calming weight.

  Ariel and Fornaskr both turned their eyes upward as the Wisp approached.