The child's eyes were half‑open, unfocused, drifting somewhere between waking and a place Jake couldn't reach. Her ribbons—normally bright, alive, humming with the rhythm of the land—hung limp around her small frame. The glow inside the structure flickered weakly, like a candle fighting a draft.
Jake pressed closer, careful not to disturb the creature curled against her. Its breathing was shallow, but steadier now that it rested near her. Their ribbons—hers dim, its frayed—seemed to pulse in faint synchrony.
He whispered, "I'm here. I found you."
Her gaze shifted, slow and heavy, until it landed on him. For a moment, Jake wasn't sure she recognised him. Then her fingers twitched, reaching toward him through the narrow opening.
Jake took her hand gently. It was warm—too warm—and trembling.
"You're safe," he murmured. "I'm not leaving."
The structure pulsed around them, branches tightening slightly as if sensing the strain on her body. Jake felt the vibration through his palm, a broken rhythm that made his chest ache.
He looked at the creature beside her. Its eyes were half‑closed, but it lifted its head weakly, nudging the child's shoulder. Their connection was undeniable—threads intertwined, rhythms shared.
Jake whispered, "You're linked… aren't you?"
The creature blinked slowly, as if confirming.
The child's fingers tightened around his. Her lips parted, and for the first time since he'd found her, she made a sound—a soft, fragile hum. It wavered, cracked, then faded.
Jake leaned closer. "What happened to you?"
Her eyes fluttered. She lifted her free hand and tapped weakly against the inside of the structure—three slow taps, a pause, then one more.
Jake recognised the pattern. Warning.
He swallowed hard. "Something hurt you."
Her gaze drifted toward the creature. Then toward the forest beyond the clearing. Her fingers twitched again, tracing a small, broken gesture in the air.
Jake didn't understand it.
But he understood the fear in her eyes.
He pressed his forehead against the branches. "Tell me what to do. Please."
The structure pulsed again—stronger this time. The glow beneath the bark brightened, then dimmed sharply, as if struggling to maintain itself. The child winced, her body curling slightly inward.
Jake's heart lurched. "You're hurting. This thing… It's keeping you alive, but it's hurting you too."
The creature beside her let out a soft, pained sound. Its ribbons flickered, threads dimming.
Jake realised something then—something cold and sharp.
The structure wasn't just holding them.
It was draining them.
He pulled back, breath trembling. "I have to get you out."
The child's eyes widened slightly—fear, warning, or plea, he couldn't tell. She tapped again—weak, uneven.
Jake shook his head. "I can't leave you in there. Not like this."
He pressed his hands against the branches. They tightened instantly, resisting him. The glow beneath the bark flared, then flickered violently.
'I'm not asking permission,' Jake growled, the sound of his own voice startling him. He threw his weight against the weave. The branches didn't just shudder; they shrieked—a high, metallic grinding of wood on wood that vibrated through his teeth and made his vision blur.
The structure resisted, tightening around the child and the creature. The child gasped softly, her fingers slipping from his.
Jake froze.
He couldn't force it open. Not without hurting her.
He stepped back, chest heaving. "Okay… okay. Not brute force."
He looked at the creature. Its ribbons pulsed faintly, threads reaching toward the child's. Their connection was the only thing keeping the structure from collapsing entirely.
Jake knelt beside the opening again. "You're linked. You're stabilising her."
The creature blinked slowly.
Jake touched the stone he had found earlier—the one with the broken spiral. It pulsed faintly in his hand, matching the structure's broken rhythm.
He whispered, "This stone… it reacted to you. To her. To the forest."
He pressed it gently against the branches.
The structure shivered.
The glow beneath the bark steadied—just slightly, but enough for the child's breathing to ease.
Jake's eyes widened. "It's working."
He pressed the stone more firmly. The branches loosened a fraction. The child's ribbons brightened—barely, but unmistakably.
Jake felt hope surge through him. "I need more. More stones like this. More pieces of whatever this is."
The child's eyes opened wider. She tapped weakly—two taps, a pause, then two more.
Jake recognised the pattern. Yes.
He nodded. "I'll find them. I'll bring them back. I'll fix this."
The creature lifted its head, eyes meeting his. It tapped its paw weakly against the child's arm—one slow tap, then another.
Jake understood.
"You're coming with me."
The creature blinked once, then slowly crawled toward the opening. The branches loosened just enough for it to slip through. Jake caught it gently, cradling it against his chest. Its body was warm, trembling, but determined.
He looked back at the child. "I'll return. I promise."
Her fingers lifted weakly, tracing a small circle in the air.
Return.
Jake tied the stone securely to his belt, adjusted the creature in his arms, and stepped back from the structure. The forest around him felt different now—tense, expectant, as if watching his every move.
He whispered, "Hold on. I'm coming back."
The child's ribbon pulsed once—weak, but steady.
A thread unbroken.
A promise shared.
Jake turned toward the forest, the creature pressed against him, and stepped into the shadows.
The search had begun.