The land transformed as they advanced.

  The rolling gray of the Ashen Reach gave way to jagged rises where the trees grew thin and crooked, their trunks dark as charred bone. Mist gathered between them, sluggish and pale, as if reluctant to drift. The air carried a strange hum, like distant chimes buried beneath the earth, a sound that faded when one listened too closely.

  Aurora could feel it against her skin: a prickling tension that tasted of metal and stormlight. The Veil was close now.

  Crows circled silently overhead, but no other creatures stirred. Only silence remained.

  Kegan walked alone at the edge of their line, scanning the darkness with watchful eyes. Alora stayed close to Ymir, speaking softly with Aurora during their breaks, observing the peculiar moments when Ymir’s pulse raced or when his gaze fixated on something invisible to the rest of them.

  Each day, he regained more clarity. It was like he was learning how to be human again. And it unnerved her. One night, as they sheltered in the remains of a broken watchtower, Ymir spoke. The fire was low, and Aurora was asleep beside him.

  He looked at Alora, his voice a whisper, “Do you think I’m still him?”

  Alora hesitated. Then sat beside him. “I think you remember how to ask the right questions. That’s a start.”

  “Sometimes I dream of fire,” he said. “ I like it. That scares me.”

  Alora looked toward Kegan, sitting silently in the dark.

  “Then let us burn the right things. Together we are stronger, like twine in a rope. A single thread is weak and breaks with a slight pull; if it is wound with many, it takes great effort.”

  Ymir smiled, small but real. He nodded towards Aurora's sleeping frame.

  “She trusts you. Both you and Lili. You have been through so many things in a short amount of time. I’m almost envious.”

  “You shouldn't be if you knew what we have endured.” Alora sighed. Trying to find the right words to say to him. It was hard to speak of things that had come to pass. What do you say to someone who has gone through something no one could even describe?

  Kegan joined them, sitting down on the otherside of Ymir.

  “Ymir, I believe you require something else to hold onto.”

  Kegan’s hands twirled in a circular motion, stretching his arms wide, and a shadow formed. A long spear appeared in his hand as he passed it to Ymir.

  “Treat it well. It might prove useful soon.”

  Ymir looked at the spear and nodded his thanks to Kegan. Gripping it tightly, he stood and walked out of the camp. Kegan and Alora shared a look of approval as they sat in silence, as the fire died down for the night.

  By the end of the week, the mountains had begun to rise in the north.

  The Witch pine Veil was visible on the horizon, a jagged line of black trees that clawed at the sky like the fingers of a buried god.

  Storms brewed there, slow and circular, as if caught in some magical gravity.

  Lili squinted up at them. “That’s probably fine.”

  They were only days from the Veil now. The sense of something watching returned. The Rift may have closed. But its echo still walked.

  They had no choice but to keep moving. The capital was still a moon away, and the road ahead promised only shadows. But now, at least, they walked it together.

  The Witch Pine Veil rose before them like a wall of thorns clawing at the heavens. The trees stood unnaturally close together, thick black trunks entwined with ghostly white moss, bark that oozed amber-red sap like bleeding veins. Their branches arched and twisted overhead, forming a canopy so dense that even the midday light dimmed to a blue, haunted twilight beneath.

  Only silence pressed like a weight on the world. Lili stood at the edge of the forest and exhaled slowly, her fingers splayed at her sides, bare feet planted in the cracked, root-laced earth.

  “Well,” she muttered, sniffing the air. “Smells like rot and bad ideas.”

  Kegan stepped beside her, hood drawn low. His expression was unreadable.

  “It’s worse than before,” he said. “This much I remember. It’s grown.”

  Aurora stood close to Ymir, who was watching the Veil with quiet intensity.

  Alora examined the edge of the nearest tree.

  “It doesn’t want us here.”

  “Then it’s not alone,” Lili muttered. But she didn’t back away.

  Instead, she knelt and pressed her palm to the soil. The breath left her in a rush.

  The Veil communicated, not through words, but through images and emotions, pressure and pain. The roots shivered with memories of fire and screams. Once, many beings had existed here, but they were gone, their voices consumed by the Rift, leaving in their place something ancient and sinister, observing from the shadows of the trees with unblinking eyes.

  Lili opened her eyes.

  “We walk gently,” she said, standing slowly. “If you break a branch in there, it remembers.”

  They entered, and the forest swallowed them whole. Light faded away in ribbons, and even sound felt stifled, boots muffled, staff tapping like distant water drips. Their breath clouded faintly in the cool, damp air, even though the air itself wasn’t cold.

  Lili walked first. She didn’t speak unless she needed to. Her usual quips faded into something quieter. She whispered to the roots, placed her fingers on the bark, and tasted the wind like a wolf on the hunt. Alora watched her in surprise. This Lili was different, less chaotic, more attuned.

  “The trees are sick,” Lili said, voice low. “Not just corrupted, they are confused. Something rewrote them.”

  Kegan nodded grimly.

  “Mol’therak passed this way once. During the first war. This is where the Rift sang loudest.”

  Aurora shivered and drew her cloak tighter. Ymir said nothing but stayed close to her, his eyes scanning the woods like they might shift when he wasn’t looking.

  Hours passed. Time lost its shape. Even the sun seemed distant, bleeding through the branches in smears of gray light that never quite reached the forest floor.

  At one point, they passed what looked like a statue, a woman, carved in exquisite detail, crouched in terror with arms raised.

  But Lili stopped them.

  “That’s no statue,” she said. “That’s what’s left.”

  She laid a sprig of blessed fern at its base and whispered a word. The bark cracked, and a pale mist fled the stone form’s mouth like a sigh escaping after centuries.

  “Rest now,” Lili said, softer than they’d ever heard her.

  Kegan watched her with unreadable eyes.

  “You learned more than jokes in those woods of yours.”

  Lili didn’t answer, but her eyes gleamed. Later, they stopped at a clearing surrounded by black toadstools. The trees here bent backward, their trunks split and hollow. Lili sat cross-legged and pulled out her water-skin, then dipped her fingers into the soil again.

  The earth twitched beneath her hand. She frowned. “Something’s been following us.”

  Kegan crouched beside her. “Alive?”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore. But it thinks it is. It’s really close.”

  Before he could answer, a sharp cracking echoed from behind the nearest tree.

  Ymir had stepped back, leaning too heavily against the bark. The branch snapped cleanly.

  The forest shuddered. Everything went still. Then, a sound like hundreds of whispers all at once flooded through the trees.

  Lili stood fast. “Don’t run.”

  Shapes moved. Thin, spindled. Root and bone. Eyes glowing faintly white behind tree hollows. Dozens. Alora lifted Gravebloom, readying a ward. Kegan unsheathed his blades, edges gleaming dull red. Ymir reached for his spear, but his hand trembled.

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  “Lili,” Aurora whispered. “What are they?”

  Lili stepped forward as Kegan lowered his dagger.

  “They’re the forgotten. Spirits too weak to pass, too bound to remain. Mol’therak used them. Fed on them. Twisted their stories into weapons.”

  She raised her arms in a sign of peace. “I am Lili DeepVine of the Still root Grove. Daughter of Senna, Warden of the Trees. Bearer of the old breath.”

  The forest paused.

  “This is not your war,” she said softly. “Let us pass.”

  A moment. Then the figures… dissolved. Like smoke rising in reverse.

  Aurora exhaled. Alora lowered her staff. Ymir stared at Lili with something like wonder.

  “You’re incredible,” he said.

  Lili gave a one-shouldered shrug.

  “Well. I am the disappointment of my clan. Thought I’d balance the scale.”

  Alora chuckled under her breath. Even Kegan gave a rare, approving nod.

  But the moment passed quickly. Because far ahead, in the darkest part of the trees, a flicker of violet light pulsed once.

  Then twice. Then faded.

  “The heart of the Veil is near,” Kegan said. “And not all spirits want to be forgotten.”

  The trees grew tighter the deeper they walked, like the forest didn’t want them to leave.

  The path, such as it was, twisted with roots that pulsed faintly underfoot, as if something lived within the soil, dreaming of teeth and rain. The canopy above allowed only brief cracks of gray light. Shadows moved without cause. The Veil was breathing around them.

  But Lili moved like she belonged there. She pressed her fingers to bark, whispered into moss, and even hummed quietly to a patch of mushrooms that vibrated in time with her voice. The forest seemed to part for her, like a creature too cautious to attack yet.

  Ymir watched her closely.

  He hadn’t said much since the clearing, and his eyes still held the haunted glint of Rift-light. He walked beside Aurora, but there was space between them, a hesitation in his movements, as if afraid to touch something too clean.

  Lili slowed until she matched his pace.

  “You look like you’ve been chewed up and spit out by a thundercloud.”

  Ymir blinked at her, then smirked faintly. “Feels about right.”

  She offered him a stick of dried forest pear. “Food helps.”

  He took it after a pause, chewing in silence. Then she asked, blunt and unceremonious:

  “Do you know who we are? I mean, you’ve got Aurora locked in the longing gaze of eternal suffering, but what about the rest of us?”

  Ymir raised an eyebrow.

  “Not really. There wasn’t a lot of time for introductions. I got names but otherwise, no.”

  Lili grinned and gestured dramatically to herself.

  “Lili DeepVine. Druid of the Wild song Clan. Fearless disappointment of my people. Good with dirt, bad with weddings, can punch a ghost in the face.”

  Ymir chuckled under his breath. Lili, satisfied that she was breaking through to him, she jabbed a thumb toward Alora, who was scanning the forest ahead.

  “That’s Alora. Veil-borne Sovereign, Recently known. Heir of Spooky Things and Queen of Necromancy, Sass. She’s scary, but we love her.”

  “Her Staff chose her, like Aurora’s staff did but…There’s more to it.” Ymir murmured, something flickering behind his eyes.

  Lili blinked. “Wow, you do know stuff.”

  She waved toward Kegan at the rear of the group.

  “And that’s Kegan. Seeker of Souls. Shadow dad. Pretty sure he broods professionally.”

  Ymir stopped walking. The air shifted. “What did you say?”

  Lili frowned, confused by the sudden stillness in his voice.

  “Kegan. Seeker of Souls. Shadow dad, professional brooding. I guess he’s alright. ”

  Ymir turned fully, his body tense, eyes darkening with something that wasn’t entirely his own.

  “No. That can’t be him.”

  The others noticed the change instantly. Aurora stepped closer, concerned.

  “Ymir,”

  But Ymir’s voice rose, sharp.

  “I heard him in the Rift. Voices talked of him. Whispers from the dark. The Seeker of Souls who let the Gate burn. Who left the dead screaming at the threshold.”

  Alora stepped in, her tone calm but edged. “Ymir, stop, he’s not your enemy.”

  “Isn’t he?” Ymir snapped, turning to Kegan now.

  “How long have you been watching us? How long have you known? You’re the reason I was trapped! Coward!”

  Kegan didn’t move. His expression was unreadable.

  “Since before you were born,” he said quietly.

  Ymir’s hands clenched.

  “You’re the one they called the Whisper-Father. You fed the Rift, didn’t you? Gave it names. Let it grow.”

  A gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it the faint sound of far-off laughter, thin, cruel, and ancient.

  Kegan stepped forward, calm but commanding.

  “I’ve walked longer than your memories. I’ve buried more names than you’ve ever spoken. But I have never fed the Rift.”

  “Then why do they know your name?” Ymir growled.

  Kegan’s jaw tensed. “Because I was the one who sealed them away.”

  A long silence fell. Ymir looked away.

  “Then why do I feel like I should fear you more than them? Why should you be trusted?”

  No one had an answer for that. Even the trees seemed to lean in, waiting for someone to lie.

  Lili broke the silence, stepping between them with arms wide.

  “Alright, tall, dead, and angry, let’s rein it in. Nobody’s murdering anybody while we’re on my trail. Got it?”

  She gave Ymir a look. “We just got you back. Don’t make me turn this forest around.”

  Ymir exhaled hard, but the fire in his eyes dimmed. He nodded stiffly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Aurora touched his arm. “We’re all carrying too much. That doesn’t mean we drop it on each other.”

  Kegan said nothing, but he turned and continued walking. The Veil swallowed him again.

  Lili looked back at Ymir and muttered under her breath.

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  They continued their walk, with the whispering trees behind them remembering everything.

  Kegan led at a steady pace, his dual spirit blades sheathed but faintly luminous, their edges whispering to the ambient magic around them. “Stay sharp,” he said, voice low. “The boundaries are thinner here. If you feel cold, step away from the mist.”

  Lili glanced at the swirling vapors beside the trail. “Cold mist, cursed forest, certain doom. Just once, I’d like a road lined with cheerful daisies.”

  Alora smirked, though her eyes stayed wary. “You’d complain about the pollen.”

  “I’d take sneezing over spectral death any day.”

  Aurora smiled faintly but said nothing. She walked beside Ymir, who moved slower than the rest, his steps uneven. The pale light of dawn caught in his hair, but shadows threaded beneath his eyes , the marks of Rift sickness deepening.

  “Are you warm enough?” she asked.

  He nodded, though his breath came shallow. “The air hums,” he murmured. “Like it remembers me.”

  Aurora’s grip tightened on her staff. The crystal at its head pulsed once, sympathetic , her healing aura reacting instinctively. “That’s just residue from the Veil,” she said softly. “Don’t let it in.”

  Ymir smiled faintly. “It already knows my name.”

  The group continued in uneasy silence. Birds no longer sang. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. When the trees finally parted, they stood before a shallow valley veiled in rolling fog.

  “The Witch Pine Veil,” Kegan said, stopping at the ridge. “From here, the paths twist. Stay close.”

  The forest below them seemed alive, the trees growing in impossible shapes , roots rising like ribs, branches arcing into thorned arches that pulsed faintly with inner light. Occasionally, sparks of violet drifted between the trunks, falling like embers that refused to die.

  Lili crouched and touched the earth. It was warm. “How long since anything lived here?”

  “Nothing natural has,” Alora replied. “But not everything that moves is dead.”

  Kegan’s expression darkened. “The Rift tore through this valley during the first flare. What didn’t burn, adapted.”

  A sound drifted through the fog , faint, melodic, almost human. It rose and fell, a single phrase repeated like a lullaby.

  Ymir froze. “I know that song.”

  Aurora looked sharply at him. “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t remember. But it’s… familiar.”

  Before anyone could stop him, he stepped forward, descending the slope.

  “Ymir!” Aurora called.

  He didn’t respond. The mist coiled around his legs, pulling him deeper. Alora swore under her breath and raised Gravebloom. The staff’s violet aura flared, its petals opening to reveal a heart of cold fire.

  “Wraith call,” she said quickly. “They’re mimicking memory.”

  Kegan drew both blades. The spirit-metal shimmered blue-white in the gloom. “Circle formation. Lili, right flank. Aurora…Aurora! ”

  But Aurora was already following Ymir, staff in hand, light blooming from her crystal in a soft golden halo.

  “Stay close!” she shouted back.

  The fog thickened. Shapes flickered in the periphery, outlines of faces, hands, broken silhouettes. Their voices brushed the air in half-remembered whispers. Aurora… Kegan… stay… stay…

  “They’re echoes,” Kegan called, his voice taut. “Residual souls caught in the Veil’s pull. Don’t answer them.”

  Lili muttered, “Too late for that advice.” A spectral figure lunged at her from the mist, mouth open in a silent scream. She ducked and flung a dagger; it passed through harmlessly, but the figure rippled apart with a hiss.

  “Good aim,” Kegan said grimly.

  “I aim better when I’m terrified!”

  Aurora caught sight of Ymir ahead, his silhouette trembling in the haze. She sprinted forward, calling his name. The mist resisted her, thick as water. When she finally reached him, his hand was raised toward a ghostly light suspended between two trees, a phantom image of a woman’s face, her features distorted, shifting through time.

  “Ymir, no!” Aurora grabbed his wrist. The illusion fractured like glass. A pulse of dark energy rippled outward, rattling the trees.

  The ground beneath them split open, exposing veins of light that burned in shifting colors, violet, silver, gold. The Rift’s echo.

  Aurora’s feather stone flared in response, spilling golden ribbons of magic into the wound, sealing it. Her power clashed with the Rift’s corruption, golden against violet, light bending in violent spirals until the tear closed with a thunderous crack.

  When silence returned, Ymir was on his knees, trembling.

  “I heard her,” he whispered. “She called my name.”

  Aurora knelt beside him. “No one’s calling you from that place anymore.”

  He didn’t look at her. “Then why does it still sound like my voice?”

  For a long moment, none of them spoke. The fog began to recede slightly, and somewhere in the distance, sunlight pierced the canopy, pale and weak but real.

  Kegan exhaled and sheathed his blades. “We camp here. The Veil won’t let us through in one day.”

  Lili looked doubtful. “And if the forest decides it wants company?”

  “Then we remind it,” Kegan said, “that some ghosts know how to fight back.”

  Aurora glanced toward Ymir, who was staring at his hands again, watching faint traces of violet shimmer beneath his skin before fading.

  She wanted to reach for him but didn’t. The magic here felt raw, reactive, hungry. As the others set up camp among the whispering trees, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest was watching them with malice.