The night clung to the earth like wet cloth—heavy, muffled, and reeking of ash. A low fog drifted across the ground, catching faint traces of moonlight and curling like smoke over the cracked soil.
Noah stepped carefully, his boots crunching on brittle roots that broke like bones. The Sword of Roots glowed faintly at his hip, a pale silver heartbeat in the dark. Every few steps, the blade pulsed—as if sensing the corruption around them.
Fern whispered, "Stay close. This land listens, but not to us."
They moved through the ashen brush, each breath filling their lungs with a bitter, metallic taste. The air here was wrong—it carried the memory of something burned. Even the stars above looked dim, their light swallowed by the haze.
Sprint kicked at a lump of something on the ground, then grimaced when it cracked open. Inside, hardened resin glittered faintly around the blackened shell of a seed. "Seeds don't burn," he muttered.
"They do," Fern said quietly, "when the soil forgets how to live."
Noah said nothing. His eyes kept moving ahead, scanning for motion. The further they walked, the quieter the world became. No rustle. No chirp. No hum of wings.
It was like walking through the grave of summer.
After a while, Fern stopped and knelt beside a hollow log, drawing a circle with her finger in the dirt. "We'll need cover soon. Let me try something."
She placed her palms together and whispered an old prayer in Gardenling tongue. Green light flickered between her fingers, soft as fireflies. A faint wind rose, carrying the scent of moss.
Noah watched as a shimmer spread over them—a veil of emerald light that rippled like water. Fern's voice grew stronger. "Blessed be the wild, the unseen, the quiet—"
The glow brightened. For a moment, Noah felt calm wash through him—clean, cool air on his skin. But then the light began to twist. The green turned yellow, then sickly white. The soil beneath her circle hissed.
"Fern," Noah said.
She looked up, eyes wide. The air shimmered violently; the glow flared like a beacon.
Sprint swore under his breath. "That's not hiding us—that's lighting a signpost!"
The light flashed once more—and something in the darkness answered.
A faint clicking began, far off at first, then multiplied. Dozens of tiny claws scraped across stone. The sound came from everywhere at once.
Fern gasped and clutched her chest, forcing the spell apart. The vines that had coiled around them shriveled instantly, turning to ash. The glow vanished, leaving them blind in the dark.
She staggered back, breathing hard. "The corruption—It twisted the magic. It feeds on life. My blessing called it instead."
The clicking grew louder—sharp and deliberate. Noah turned slowly, sword drawn.
Out of the fog, shapes began to move.
The Blight Kin scouts crawled into view—thin, spidery creatures with limbs fused to black resin and scraps of metal. Their eyes glowed orange, like burning embers. Some wore bits of melted glass over their chests, others had wires protruding from their backs like antennae.
Noah counted six—maybe seven. They hissed as one, their bodies jerking in unnatural rhythm.
Sprint nocked an arrow. "Left flank's mine."
Noah gave a quick nod, lowering his stance. "I'll take right."
Fern reloaded her small crossbow, whispering, "No magic. Not here."
The air went still.
Then, the first Blight Kin lunged.
Sprint's arrow cut through the dark and hit its mark, driving deep into the creature's chest. It screamed—a grinding, metallic shriek—and fell backward, legs twitching.
Two more charged from the right. Noah met them mid-stride, the Sword of Roots bursting into light as it struck. The first blow cleaved through resin and flesh alike. The second swing shattered the other's weapon and split it across the shoulder. The creatures fell into the dirt, dissolving into smoking sludge.
A third darted behind him, fast and low. Fern fired. Her bolt pierced its neck, pinning it to a dead tree. The creature convulsed, hissing until it fell silent.
The rest hesitated, chittering nervously. Then, one by one, they slunk back into the shadows—melting away as if the night itself swallowed them.
Noah kept his sword raised until the last sound faded.
Silence returned, broken only by the soft crackle of burning resin.
Noah approached one of the fallen scouts and crouched beside it. Up close, he saw fragments of human debris embedded in its armor—plastic shards, bottle caps, a torn strip of foil. The orange glow from its eyes dimmed and died.
"They're fusing with our trash," he murmured. "Human garbage."
Fern joined him, her face pale. "Then Malga's not just using corruption. He's using the remnants of your world to strengthen it."
Sprint kicked another corpse over, something metallic clinking against his boot. He picked it up—a thin, twisted wire looped like a necklace. "They wear it like trophies," he said grimly.
Before Noah could answer, Fern gasped. She looked down at her arm—resin from one of the creatures' blades had splattered across her sleeve. The fabric smoked faintly. Beneath it, her skin reddened, veins darkening.
"Fern!" Noah grabbed her wrist.
"I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice trembled. "It's poison—corrupted sap. I just need—"
He tore open his pack and pulled out one of Nela's resin jars. Without hesitation, he scooped the golden paste onto his hand and pressed it against the burn. It hissed at first, then cooled.
Fern's breath steadied. Color returned to her cheeks. "That resin… it's slowing the spread."
Sprint muttered, "So we're patching ourselves with bee glue now. Great."
Noah managed a weak smile. "Whatever works."
They wrapped Fern's arm tightly, then resumed their march. This time, they moved slower—silent as shadows, every step measured.
By the time they reached the ridge, the fog had thinned enough for moonlight to break through.
And there, rising before them, was The Fortress of Thorns.
It sprawled across the horizon like a living wound—a mass of twisted roots hardened into black spires. Each thorn glowed faintly red from within, as though magma pulsed beneath its surface. Smoke drifted lazily upward, blending into the clouded sky.
The fortress hummed with a deep vibration that made the ground tremble under their feet.
Sprint's voice was barely a whisper. "That… doesn't look inviting."
Noah stared, jaw tight. "That's where he's waiting."
Fern stepped beside them, clutching her wrapped arm. "Then we don't stop now."
They crouched low, watching Blight Kin patrols crawl along the walls—dark silhouettes lit by the fortress's red veins. Their eyes blinked in eerie synchrony, a pattern like a heartbeat.
Fern started to raise her hands to cast another spell but stopped herself mid-motion. "No magic. It'll only betray us again."
Noah nodded. "Then we move like the dead."
Together, they crept forward into the last stretch of darkness.The wind hissed through the thorn towers, whispering in a language that almost sounded like voices calling their names.