The car finally stopped—not because Merlin pressed the brake, but because the road simply ended.
Not in a cliff.
Not in a fallen tree.
The road ended as if it had never been there to begin with.
Before them, only darkness stretched between the ancient trunks of the Evergreen Forest. The fire they had seen earlier was gone, as if it had never touched the land. The smell of smoke haunted the air, but there were no flames left to find. No ash. No cinders.
Behind them—
Lucy slowly turned around.
The road they had driven on…
was gone.
Where there should have been asphalt, tire marks, or even broken stones—
There was soil.
Roots.
Thick grass.
Living earth.
It was as though the forest had grown over their escape in seconds.
Merlin stepped out of the car, heart pounding in his ears. Rain dripped from his hair to the collar of his jacket as he walked to where the road should have been. He touched the ground.
Soft.
Alive.
"…It's sealed," he whispered.
Lucy remained frozen in the passenger seat. Her hand trembled as she brushed the fog from the glass window, staring at the trees.
Nothing moved.
No birds.
No insects.
Just the heavy quiet of a place that was watching.
The old man, Crafter, slowly stepped out from the back seat. His spine was still bent with age, his lungs still fought for air—but his eyes were awake now.
Too awake.
"This forest…" he murmured.
"It doesn't just grow."
He looked around them.
"It decides."
Merlin turned sharply. "What do you mean, decides?"
Crafter walked forward, placing his hand on the trunk of an ancient tree. The bark was rough—scarred with long, deep grooves, like wounds clawed into flesh.
"This place is alive in a way humans are not."
Lucy finally found her voice. "…The fire. We saw fire. And then it vanished."
Crafter nodded, his face carved with grief.
"Because it was never meant to burn the forest."
He looked at Lucy.
"It was meant to burn you."
Her breath caught in her throat.
Merlin stepped protectively in front of her. "Careful what you say," he snapped. "She's already been through enough."
Crafter gave him a tired smile.
"You still think the forest is hunting her."
"That's your mistake."
Merlin stiffened.
"The forest doesn't hunt," Crafter said quietly.
"It calls."
Lucy felt something twist in her chest.
"Calls?" she echoed weakly.
Crafter turned toward her slowly.
"It has been calling you for a very long time."
Thunder rumbled somewhere deep inside the forest—not in the sky.
In the trees themselves.
Lucy hugged her arms. "If it called me… then why did it try to kill us?"
Crafter closed his eyes.
"That wasn't the forest."
Merlin's jaw tightened. "Then who was it?"
For a moment, Crafter did not answer.
Then he said—
"Him."
Lucy felt a cold trail slide down her spine.
"The one you saw," Crafter whispered.
"The white-haired one."
Merlin swallowed. "The werewolf…"
Crafter nodded slowly.
"You humans name things to make them small."
"Werewolf. Monster. Beast."
His eyes glistened.
"But he was never small."
Lucy thought of the glowing eyes.
The red.
The pain inside them.
"He looked… angry," she whispered.
Crafter laughed quietly.
Anger without joy.
"Angry?"
The old man turned his face toward the endless trees.
"He watched his god burn."
Lucy inhaled sharply.
"He watched his people slaughtered."
Merlin frowned. "You're talking about the legend. The divine beasts. The forest war."
Crafter looked at him with pity.
"You think they're legends?"
"No…"
He shook his head slowly.
"They were history."
Lucy's stomach twisted.
"You mean… it really happened?"
Crafter finally turned fully toward her.
"And he still walks those ashes."
Lucy whispered:
"And my father?"
The word trembled in the air.
Crafter studied her face for a long, painful moment.
"Your father did not die by accident," he said.
Merlin reacted immediately. "We know that much already."
The old man shook his head.
"You don't know any of it."
Lucy's chest felt too tight to breathe.
"He didn't die because he was weak," Crafter said.
"He didn't die because of animals."
Lucy stepped forward.
"Then why did he die?"
Crafter's voice broke.
"Because he stood where humans should never stand."
The forest groaned again.
Not wind.
Not thunder.
Something deeper.
"You see," Crafter whispered, "when the king burned the Wolf God…"
Lucy's heart pounded violently.
"The forest didn't just lose its protector."
"It lost its restraint."
Merlin whispered, "And Volmer…?"
Crafter nodded.
"He became rage with a heartbeat."
Lucy felt tears fill her eyes.
"And… my father?"
Crafter's voice trembled.
"Your father knew something humans were never meant to know."
Silence swallowed them whole.
"He found proof… that Volmer was not fully gone."
"What proof?" Merlin asked.
Crafter turned toward the dark woods.
"You."
Lucy felt the world fall beneath her feet.
"Me…?" she whispered.
Crafter nodded slowly.
"You were not brought here by chance, child."
Lucy shook her head violently.
"No… that's myth. That's… story nonsense."
But something inside her—
Something ancient—
Was trembling awake.
"You were summoned," Crafter said softly.
Merlin turned sharply. "By who?"
Crafter's face tightened.
"By the thing that has been waiting longer than you can imagine."
Lucy whispered in horror, "Volmer…"
Crafter did not deny it.
Merlin clenched his fists.
"Then why tell us to leave?"
Crafter looked at Lucy.
"Because those who follow the call do not return whole."
Lucy swallowed.
"Then why does he want me?"
Crafter whispered:
"Because your blood remembers him."
The forest shifted.
Branches groaned.
Leaves whispered.
Merlin grabbed Lucy's shoulder. "That's enough," he growled.
Crafter suddenly stepped back.
Far back.
As if he feared the answer hanging in the air.
He pointed down a narrow, winding path hidden behind the trees.
"Go to the chief," he said urgently.
Lucy hesitated. "You're not coming?"
Crafter smiled sadly.
"I already belong to the forest."
He walked past them toward the village gate.
Merlin turned sharply. "Old man—wait!"
But Crafter didn't stop.
As he reached the gate, he paused.
Just once.
And looked back.
"If he allows you…" he whispered.
Lucy and Merlin froze.
"If he allows you…" he repeated.
Then his voice fell into something almost reverent.
"You may survive."
Lucy whispered, trembling:
"He… who?"
Crafter looked up.
Not into the sky—
But into the trees.
And said:
"Your father's shadow."
Then he turned.
And walked into the forest.
The darkness swallowed him.
Not with sound—
Not with movement—
Just… absence.
And Lucy felt it.
The forest was no longer watching.
It was waiting.