Ivy slipped out of her bed, unsure of when she had even fallen asleep. The only thing she knew for certain was that when she opened her eyes, Nirva was gone. That wasn’t unusual—Nirva moved in and out of the Sanctuary like a passing breeze, appearing and disappearing without warning.

  But in the quiet moments when she was absent, Ivy always felt her missing.

  And tonight, when everything felt uncertain and heavy, that absence hit harder than usual.

  “Nirva?” Ivy called softly as she stepped outside the Sanctuary, her bare feet brushing over the cool ground. She looked around, expecting Nirva to emerge from the shadows at any moment. Normally, even if Nirva didn’t answer, Ivy could feel her nearby, but now … nothing. Just the forest, silent and still.

  Before Ivy could call her name again, something else caught her attention.

  A small bird lay still in the grass, its fragile body curled beside its shattered nest. Dead. Recent. She knelt beside the bird, sorrow flickering across her features. Her fingers brushed the ground near it, not to disturb, but to feel.

  The forest didn’t mourn here—it watched.

  A shift in the wind followed, brushing across her senses. It was … familiar.

  Her ears twitched, and her heart lifted.

  Nirva stepped out of the trees. Her pale face caught the last flicker of moonlight. She looked more troubled than usual, though. Her cloak hung still. Her movements were slow—too slow. Her mouth curved into a soft smile that didn’t touch her eyes. Ivy blinked.

  That wasn’t how Nirva smiled.

  “There you are,” Ivy said softly as she rose from the ground, brushing dirt from her hands. “I’ve been looking for you. Look at what I found.” She gestured toward the small, lifeless bird lying in the grass. “Do you think that’s the corruption’s doing? Or just …” Her voice faded as uncertainty crept in. The longer she looked at Nirva, the harder it became to ignore the strange tightness in her chest—an instinct whispering that something was off.

  Something she couldn’t name. “What’s wrong?” Ivy asked quietly, her brows drawing together as she searched Nirva’s face.

  No answer came.

  Just the soft tread of boots over moss.

  Ivy took one step forward. Just one.

  Before she could understand what was happening, a sudden spike of pain exploded through her—sharp, cold, and stealing the breath from her lungs. She didn’t know how it happened or where it came from … only that it struck the very moment Nirva appeared in front of her. Her gaze dropped, slow with disbelief, eyes widening as her mind tried to make sense of the sight before her.

  A dagger was buried in her stomach.

  Nirva’s hand was wrapped tightly around the handle.

  “What …” Ivy’s voice cracked. Her thoughts scattered, refusing to fit together. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. She gasped, stumbling back, hands flying to the wound, fur already stained dark. Her knees buckled. “Nirva—?”

  Nirva was gone. The illusion shattered like glass, warping in the air as its magic unraveled. What remained was not a friend or protector. A man stood before her. His entire body was wrapped in tattered, filthy bandages that clung to him like a second diseased skin. His right side was grotesquely disfigured, burned so deeply that the flesh looked melted and raw. Half his cheek was missing, leaving the sharp curve of his teeth exposed in a permanent, nightmarish grin that had nothing to do with joy.

  Corruption pulsed beneath his skin, making it shimmer faintly in the dim light. Dark veins spread up his neck like spilled ink trapped beneath glass. One of his eyes was a striking, unnatural violet. The other was cloudy, sunken, almost lifeless, yet somehow still aware. Raven-black hair, streaked through with strands of ghostly white, fell across his forehead in uneven lengths, framing the ruined half of his face.

  He stared down at Ivy with a cold, predatory focus, like a hunter studying a wounded doe, deciding just how long it would take for her to fall. At that moment, with a shadow of doubt, Ivy knew, somehow, that she was standing right in front of the source of the corruption.

  “First,” he said, voice low, a venomous hiss, “you take out the heart. The leader. Then you let chaos consume the rest.” He crouched, slowly—mocking tenderness in his movement—and wiped the dagger clean across Ivy’s fur. She whimpered, trying to push herself upright, but the breath had gone out of her lungs. Her limbs refused to answer.

  “Who… who are you?” Ivy whimpered, her voice barely holding together. Even through the stabbing pain tearing through her middle, she forced herself to look up at the man. Her vision wavered, his shape blurring and sharpening in uneven waves, but none of that dulled the feeling rising in her chest. She could feel the cold wrongness of him.

  “You lot are so clever,” he said, almost admiring. “Shame it won’t save you.” Then, with a deliberate motion, he pressed his boot to her chest, just hard enough to make her gasp again. He laughed manically, then stopped, coughing, and his eyes darted away. Both of them clearly heard something approaching.

  “You’re lucky I’m not finished with you,” he whispered. Then he stepped back—and vanished. Not in a burst. Not in a blink. He walked into the shadow of the trees, and the forest closed behind him as if nothing had ever passed through.

  * * *

  Moments later, the root-gate whispered open again. Nirva stepped through, and her gaze swept across the ground. Nothing about her seemed rushed … until her eyes landed on the crumpled shape beneath the oak.

  Her breath caught. She froze for half a heartbeat, the air locking in her lungs, and then she ran. Her cloak snapped behind her like a broken banner, the edges twisting, dark threads unspooling from the hem like smoke drawn from shadow. Her boots tore across the moss, heedless of silence.

  “Ivy!”

  She dropped to her knees beside her, staff clattering to the ground. The magic in her cloak writhed with her breath, its woven glyphs now glowing unevenly, tugging at the fabric as if it wanted to fray. The delicate enchantments she’d laced into it—her control, her stability—were unraveling.

  Her hands hovered over Ivy’s wound, shaking, the pale skin at her knuckles blanched with tension.

  “Ivy—gods, no—look at me. Stay with me.” Her voice cracked, a tremor in her throat that hadn’t been there in years. Blood was soaking into the grass, and still, Nirva held back from touching it. She was afraid to move, terrified that she would harm Ivy even further.

  A horrifying thought slipped into her mind. What if Ivy didn’t recover from this?

  Nirva had survived a long, lonely life before Ivy ever crossed her path. She had been fine with it—more than fine. Loneliness was familiar, predictable, and almost comforting in its own cold way. She had learned to live without anyone and to rely on no one but herself. But now … Now she couldn’t even imagine a world in which Ivy didn’t exist.

  The thought alone struck her so hard she felt the ground tilt beneath her feet. Panic rose like a wave, leaving her momentarily dizzy as the reality of it settled like ice in her veins. She needed to make sure Ivy was fine … for she didn’t know how to live in a world without her.

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  She reached at last, fingers glowing with healing light, but it was unsteady—surging and flickering in the way her magic never did.

  “Damn it!” she snapped, the words breaking out of her before she could stop them. The back of her eyes burned painfully. She understood now why her magic felt so unsteady and distant. It wasn’t used to this storm of emotion tearing through her and panic that scattered her thoughts in every direction.

  Her magic had always depended on her steadiness, on the calm control and iron focus. It required her to be grounded, disciplined, and unshakable. And right now, all of that was gone.

  Nirva lifted Ivy into her arms like she weighed nothing—though her own limbs trembled with strain. Ivy’s blood soaked into the crook of her elbow, and for the first time, Nirva didn’t even dare to look down at it.

  Her breath came uneven and clipped. Her boots thundered across the mossy path as she raced toward the root gate. Behind her, the trees groaned, and the roots slammed shut with a deep, splintering sound like bones grinding.

  She didn’t stop.

  As she passed the outer warding boulders, her free hand flared with healing magic—desperate to stabilize Ivy, but the moment the light reached her wound, the energy sputtered and curled back, repelled as if the forest itself refused it.

  Nirva’s brow tightened. She reached the base of the great tree and slammed her shoulder into the door, hard enough to rattle the spiral staircase inside. Wood groaned. Bark bent. Still holding Ivy, she pressed her forehead briefly to the frame and muttered, fast and uneven, “Vel’ra ash delmari … sol treyen …”

  A whispered crack echoed inside the trunk, and part of the wall behind the staircase shuddered open, revealing a passage of gnarled roots and living bark. Light spilled out.

  It was not the warm glow of fire or magic, but something older. The roots pulsed with a bioluminescent life, glowing softly with blues, greens, and golds, the colors of ancient growth and deep peace. Small lights hovered midair like pollen drifting through sunbeams. The air inside was thicker, rich with the scent of loam and blooming bark.

  The forest had always been open to wanderers—creatures, travelers, and spirits drifting through its edges. But this place was different. This part of the forest was hidden and protected, known only to a rare few who tended to it with devotion. It stayed concealed from anyone who walked its paths carelessly. Only those the forest trusted—those who nurtured it, loved it, and listened to it—could ever hope to reach this quiet heart. And right now, no one deserved the forest’s help more than Ivy.

  Nirva’s dark, tattered cloak looked wrong here—the frayed hem dragging behind her like a shadow trying to escape the light. She stepped inside, and the roots welcomed her. Nirva laid Ivy carefully into the cradle of roots, and only then did she realize how uneven her breath had been. It was almost as if she had forgotten how to breathe in all of her panic.

  The chamber at the heart of the Sanctuary pulsed with light—a thrum of ancient magic, older than either of them. The roots beneath the bark shifted slowly, like a slumbering giant stirring in its sleep.

  Ivy’s breath came shallow. Blood still soaked her tunic. Nirva’s hands hovered above the wound, her voice steady now as she whispered the old words—not hers, but the forest’s. The roots responded.

  They slid upward, curling around Ivy’s limbs and torso, gentle but sure. Glowing mycelium bloomed where the roots touched her skin, bathing her in soft, golden light. Where blood had flowed, the light spread, cleansing, closing. But there, at the core of the wound, something black writhed.

  A thread of dark aura, slick and clinging, coiled like smoke made of tar. It pushed against the healing magic, resisting it—fighting back. The glow around Ivy pulsed harder, brighter, but the corruption held fast. Nirva gritted her teeth. She knelt beside the roots, placed one hand on Ivy’s chest, and the other pressed into the heartwood beneath them. If she needed to give all of her magic for the darkness to vanish from Ivy, then so be it. It was the price Nirva was more than willing to pay.

  “Y’vatha … kel’saan … Let the rot pass …”

  The white light sharpened. With a final pulse of radiant energy, the corruption was snuffed out—hissing like a candle in rain. The black tendril curled once, then vanished into the soil. Ivy stilled. Her face relaxed. Finally, she no longer seemed to be captive by unbearable pain. The mycelium dimmed, turning a soft blue as her breathing evened.

  Nirva sank to the ground beside her, her knees hitting the earth as a wave of relief washed through her body so suddenly it nearly stole her breath. Her trembling fingers reached out and found Ivy’s, lacing together tightly, like that single touch was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

  In the deep, heavy silence of the grove, she sat there with the one emotion that swallowed everything else. Raw, consuming fear of losing the one person who meant more to her than she thought was possible.

  A single tear slid down her cheek. She bowed her head, gripping Ivy’s hand as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the world. In a way, it had been. Nirva was aware of it now more than ever.

  * * *

  Ivy’s eyes opened slowly, her lashes heavy with sleep and pain. Her hair spilled like soft moss over the glowing roots beneath her, their light dimming now that the healing was done.

  She blinked up at the canopy of the Sanctuary’s heartwood—light filtering through thick, living bark, dappling her vision in gold and green.

  How did she find herself there? The last thing she could remember was Nirva and … At the realization, she gasped, making a feeble attempt to push herself into a sitting position, but it was pointless. A gentle pressure tugged at her side.

  She turned her head, still sluggish, and saw Nirva kneeling beside her, carefully wrapping a bandage over the now-closed wound. Her cloak was still torn at the hem. Her gloves lay discarded beside her knees. Her fingers worked with precision—but her eyes were softer than Ivy had ever seen them.

  “You’re awake,” Nirva breathed, the words leaving her in a shaky exhale. “Thank the gods.” Ivy blinked up at her, still dazed. She couldn’t remember the last time Nirva had thanked … well, anyone for anything. Gratitude wasn’t something Nirva offered easily. Seeing her like this, relief softening every line of her usually sharp expression, felt almost unreal. In fact, Ivy thought faintly, this might be an even stranger sight than the monstrous man who had attacked me.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Ivy tried to smile, but the pain still clung to her ribs. “Like I got stabbed … by you.”

  Nirva let out a quiet breath and shook her head. “Don’t joke,” she murmured, her hands pausing mid-wrap.

  “I’m not joking,” Ivy said as Nirva continued wrapping the bandages with slow, careful movements. Ivy watched her closely—every detail of her face, every flicker of expression—searching for anything out of place. But now she was certain this was her Nirva. “The creature that stabbed me,” Ivy continued, “it took your shape first. But even when it looked like you… I knew something was wrong.” She lifted a shaky hand and let her fingers trace a gentle line along Nirva’s cheek. “I could feel it wasn’t you. I just figured it out too late.” She drew in a breath, remembering the horror of it. “When its true form showed … his face was half burned, wrapped in bandages. And the smell, it was like rot and old sickness. Nirva, I think he’s everything corrupt in this world. Maybe even the source of it. I could feel it.”

  Nirva fell quiet, her eyes unfocused, lost somewhere deep in her own thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was low.

  “Something strange happened to me, too,” she said at last. “I was patrolling the forest like I always do. I leaned over the creek to check the water, and my reflection wasn’t mine. It looked like me, but it didn’t feel like me. It moved wrong.” Her gaze slowly lifted until it met Ivy’s. “Do you think the two could be connected somehow?”

  “Possibly,” Ivy whispered, nodding. Silence stretched between them, as if both were struggling to believe what they’d just shared. The corruption had been gnawing at the forest for so long now, creeping into roots and branches like a sickness. But never had it struck so close to home.

  “You shouldn’t have been out there alone,” Nirva said at last, her voice firmer than before.

  “I was looking for you,” Ivy countered gently. “And why did you go into the forest on your own?”

  Nirva lifted an eyebrow. “Because that’s what I always do.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Ivy replied, her tone soft but unwavering. “Not after everything that’s happened. Maybe … maybe we should stay together instead.” Her heart twisted painfully at the thought of what could have happened—of what almost did happen. If she had lost Nirva …

  Nirva scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “Why are you lecturing me? You were the one who almost died.”

  “You would’ve done the same,” Ivy whispered, and they both knew it was true.

  Nirva had nothing to say anymore. Instead, she adjusted the wrap one final time, tying it off with a practiced tug, and set her hand gently over Ivy’s. They sat in silence for a few moments longer, the golden light of the roots flickering gently around them. Ivy let her head rest back against the moss. Nirva stayed beside her, unmoving.

  “Don’t scare me like that again,” Nirva said at last, almost too softly to hear. Ivy smiled faintly, her fingers still loosely clasping Nirva’s. “I’ll be there next time. Closer. I promise.”