“Ez…” she murmured faintly.

He didn’t speak.

He only nodded, his face unreadable.

Lirael hovered nearby, still scanning them both.

“It’s been three days,” she whispered. “You vanished. No sound. No trail. I—I tried everything. Even wind couldn’t find you.”

Kael finally looked up, exhaustion etched in every line of his face.

“We’re back now,” he said.

“That doesn’t explain—”

“Not tonight,” Kael cut in. “Let her rest.”

Ezryn’s gaze lingered on Liz a beat longer, then he stepped aside.

Kael rose and followed Martha into the cottage without another word.

Inside, warm stew simmered on the stove.

But nothing could thaw the weight still pressed on Liz’s heart.

The morning came like any other.

Sunlight filtered gently through the curtains. The smell of simmered herbs floated through the house. And as always, Martha’s familiar voice rang out—

“Wake up, little birds. Breakfast’s getting cold!”

The four gathered around the table as they had every morning. Hot stew steamed in front of them. Wooden spoons clinked against bowls. It should have felt comforting.

But not today.

Liz stared down at her untouched bowl. Then, with a sharp clatter, her spoon dropped onto the wooden table.

“Stop it, Martha,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Enough with your act. Who are you—no. What are you? What is it you’re trying to lead us toward?”

Kael, Ezryn, and Lirael looked over at her, surprised.

Liz continued, the quiet hurt threading into her tone. “What were those visions Kael and I saw? Was that what you wanted us to witness? Why won’t you just tell us the truth?”

Across the table, Martha sipped her tea without flinching. Then, with a sigh, she set her cup down.

“One question at a time, dear.” Her voice was as warm as ever, yet tinged with something deeper. Sadness. Weariness.

“I’m no enemy to you. And you know that, even if you don’t understand it yet.” She looked at Liz with eyes that carried lifetimes. “A long time ago, I made a promise to a friend. A brilliant, maddeningly stubborn man with a mind full of stars and a heart that could never say what it felt. Everyone called him a genius—but between you and me, I think he was a fool. Because he spent his whole life pretending not to care for the one thing he loved most.”

She smiled faintly, then added, “And now he’s gone. Used the last of his life, his magic, to build this place—a sanctuary. A world hidden within the world. To protect… you.”

The silence that followed hung heavy.

Ezryn leaned forward, frowning. “Who was he?”

Martha didn’t answer. Her gaze turned distant, as though she were watching ghosts walk through the room.

Ezryn turned toward Kael and Liz. “You both disappeared for three days. We searched the forest, but it kept pushing us back. What did you see?”

Kael and Liz shared a glance. The weight of what they witnessed still coiled around them like smoke. Kael spoke first.

“We saw a memory,” he said, his voice tight. “Or a vision. The massacre of a village… soldiers dragging women away to be burned. One man stopped it—he looked like Ezryn, but colder. Older.”

“His name was Yuan,” Liz added softly. “And then… there was a palace. A man inside. He was reading the stars. He spoke to Yuan like… like he was in control of something much larger. And… I felt like I knew him. Like I was afraid of him, deep in my bones.”

Ezryn’s face had gone pale. “So I… was this Yuan?”

“No,” Martha said quietly. “You are Ezryn. But the thread that binds you and him… runs deeper than names and faces.”

Lirael spoke next, frustrated. “So what? Kael and I were just dragged into someone else’s fate?”

Martha turned to her gently. “That’s too simple a view, child. You’re not just passengers in this. The four of you… you were meant to find each other. There are patterns woven far beyond your seeing. Threads tied by something higher. Something… old.”

Kael slammed his fist against the table. “Enough with riddles! We’ve been stuck in this forest, chasing shadows. I’m sick of the mystery. If you know something—just tell us!”

Martha looked at him kindly, but her voice sharpened. “And if I told you everything? Would you understand it? Would you believe it? No. Because some truths must be lived, not handed over like bread. I can only give you pieces… the rest, you must earn.”

Ezryn’s voice came low and tense. “So I am—or was—someone who let a village burn?”

Martha didn’t reply. She looked at him for a long time, then whispered, “You carry what he did. But you also carry the chance to choose differently.”

The silence swelled again. Then Martha grew still. Her eyes turned toward the window.

“…We’ve run out of time.”

Everyone looked up.

She turned to Liz. “I had hoped to give you more time. To help you wake gently. He would have wanted that. He promised you a home… a soft place to return to. But I’m no better at that than he was.”

Lirael stood suddenly, her fan half-opened. “Something’s approaching.”

“The barrier is weakening,” Martha said, rising. “The moment she awakened, the seal began to crumble. This place won’t hold much longer.”

Kael’s hand had already gone to his sword. “Who found us?”

Martha’s face was grave. “Those who should not be able to cross. The ones that hunt what they fear. The ones that call her—”

“—Devil,” Liz whispered. Her body shuddered slightly. Her hand clenched at her side.

Martha nodded once. “Get ready, all of you. This sanctuary was built to protect, yes. But it is not without its teeth. Defend yourselves—and each other.”

The first sign was the silence.

Not the gentle quiet of dawn, but a stillness too deep—unnatural. Then came the trembling of the trees. A wind that moved against the natural breath of the forest. Shadows twisted.

And then—they came.

From the cracks in the fading barrier surged beasts of nightmare. Horned, scaled, twisted by dark magic. At their head, a towering fiend whose presence felt like death crawling over the skin.

Zekareth had found them.

The five stood in the clearing.

Ezryn’s hands sparked with lightning. Lirael summoned a cyclone around her, fans drawn. Kael’s blade glinted as he fell into stance. Liz stood behind them, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

Martha placed a hand on her back. Her voice, calm as always, now carried strange weight.

“Feel it, child. The pulse beneath your feet. The breath of the trees. The memory of your blood. Earth remembers. And so must you.”

The first wave hit.

The forest became a battleground.

Lirael danced like the wind, slicing through beasts mid-air. Ezryn’s magic arced like thunder cracking mountains. Kael stood between Liz and the horde, unyielding, blade spinning in a blur of steel. Liz channeled roots, stone, and vines—her control growing, her hands moving before thought. She was remembering… something. Or her body was.

Still, the enemy pressed on. Endless. Unrelenting.

And then—

The forest itself recoiled.

The mist parted like it feared what approached.

A silence fell, heavy and absolute.

Then he came.

The general.

A towering figure in dark armor, bearing a halberd of blackened obsidian. His steps cracked the earth. The crest on his armor bore the mark of Zekareth—three talons over an inverted sun.

He stared at the four.

Without a word, he charged.

Kael met him—and was flung aside in a flash.

Lirael and Ezryn struck together. A cyclone and lightning spear—but they broke like glass against his defense.

Liz cried out, trying to raise another wall—too slow.

And then she felt it.

A ripple through the forest floor.

Martha stepped forward, placing herself between the general and the children.

Her eyes, once soft, now glowed faintly with gold.

She raised one hand—and the air around her shifted. Not like magic, but like… destiny rearranging itself.

The general struck.

His halberd met something unseen.

The blow echoed—but Martha did not move.

“I don’t like to fight,” she murmured. “But for them, I will.”

She lifted her other hand. Threads of light stretched from her fingers, weaving symbols into the air—ancient, celestial. The general roared as his weapon was bound in light.

Ezryn whispered, stunned, “That’s not normal magic…”

“No,” Lirael breathed. “It’s not.”

Martha began to walk forward, the symbols orbiting her like moons.

“You were not meant to cross here,” she told the general. “This sanctuary was forged by a dying man’s wish. I’ve honored it long enough.”

The general broke the binds and lunged—but too late. Martha was already before him.

Light burst from the earth. Symbols scorched the sky.

When the flash faded, the general fell—impaled by roots forged of starlight and stone.

But Martha… was fading.

Her hands began to crumble, then her arms. Her body flickered like a dying candle.

“No—!” Liz rushed forward.

Martha turned, smiling gently.

“My dear girl,” she said, brushing tears from Liz’s face with a hand now made of light. “You’re strong. Stronger than you know. But your journey has only begun.”

The others gathered around her, their faces stricken.

“I wish… I could have stayed longer,” she said, voice faltering. “He hoped I could give you the warmth he never could. That was the promise.”

“Who?” Liz whispered.

Martha didn’t answer. She smiled instead.

“Tell him,” she murmured, “that I kept it.”

Her eyes met each of them.

“You’ll see me again,” she promised. “Not like this, perhaps… but fate doesn’t sever threads that easily. When the time comes, you’ll remember.”

And with a final burst of golden light, Martha disappeared.

All was still.

The forest, once lifeless, began to breathe again.

Birdsong returned. Wind stirred the leaves. A deer wandered into the clearing, unafraid.

The sanctuary was gone.

But the world… was waiting.