The whispers pressed harder.

They scraped against Reith's skull like nails, voices overlapping until grief and rage became indistinguishable. A thousand mouths murmured at once, their tones weaving into a suffocating storm. Some wept. Some laughed. Others breathed her name in broken fragments, as if they had known her in another life.

The air thickened. Cold seeped into her lungs, filling her chest with iron. Her breath fogged before her face, though no wind stirred.

The spirits circled closer. Hollow eyes glowed pale through the trees, their forms flickering, half-shadow, half-flesh. Each step dragged streaks of black across the ground, as though the Stillwood itself bled in their wake. Their mouths stretched wider with every breath, faces twisted in grief too deep for mortals to endure.

Reith's throat locked. She wanted to scream, to run, but her legs rooted to the ground as though bound by the forest itself. The clearing spun, whispers sinking deep into her veins, pulling, draining, hollowing her out.

Mana sparked violently in her palms—wild, unstable, collapsing as soon as it rose. Pain shot through her arms. The whispers swelled louder at her failure, mocking, accusing.

Soran did not flinch.

The forest did not sleep.

He stood at the edge of the pool, red eyes steady, his posture loose but sharp as a blade unsheathed. The storm of voices clawed at the clearing, but he did not bow beneath it.

Reith's chest heaved, her voice breaking into a whisper. "They're... they're watching us."

Soran's eyes narrowed, a faint flare of crimson in the dark. "They always watch."

And then one of them broke forward.

It peeled from the trees in a surge of black, its body a smear of smoke and bone. Its scream tore the silence apart, so high and inhuman that Reith's vision fractured. The spirit hurtled toward her, its hands stretched long and thin, sharp as knives.

She staggered back, heel slipping on wet stone. Mana flared in her palms, a frantic burst—then collapsed instantly, snapping back into her chest with a backlash that tore the air from her lungs. She choked on the pain.

Claws raked the air where her throat had been.

Soran moved like shadow and fire. His arm swept low, lips forming words she did not know—old, heavy, carrying the weight of command. The sound bent the clearing itself. The spirit convulsed midair, shrieked, then unraveled into smoke.

The whispers exploded.

Every tree seemed to scream at once. Dozens of spirits peeled from the Stillwood, their forms dragging free of bark, soil, and shadow. Hollow eyes glowed brighter. Mouths opened wider. The air filled with endless grief.

Reith's body buckled. Her knees struck the stone, fingers clawing at dirt as her mana thrashed useless inside her veins. Each wail pressed heavier against her skull, splintering thought, drowning her in sorrow that was not hers.

"Why—why can't I—" The words tore from her throat, sparks burning her palms raw.

"Stop fighting it."

Soran's voice cut through the storm. Calm. Cold. He did not turn his head. "The Stillwood devours mana. The more you resist, the more it will strip you hollow. Stay behind me."

Reith's throat burned. Tears pricked her eyes—not from weakness, but from fury. From helplessness. I am nothing here. A ghost wearing someone else's skin.

Another spirit surged forward. Then another.

Soran's hand rose. He did not summon a weapon. He only spoke.

His voice rolled low and steady, threaded with a cadence older than the empire itself. Each syllable pulsed through the clearing like a war-drum in her bones.

The spirits shrieked. Their forms convulsed, torn between hunger and fear.

Reith clutched her chest, trembling. He isn't fighting them... he's commanding them. And the worst part is—they listen.

The clearing shook as more spirits burst free, their wails piercing the night. The pool shattered into ripples, moonlight breaking into fragments. Branches groaned overhead, bending as though the forest itself bowed to the storm.

Soran's eyes burned crimson.

He stepped forward, steady, voice deepening into something that made the very air recoil.

And for a heartbeat, the spirits froze.

The whispers fractured, breaking into silence so sharp it cut the clearing in two.

Reith's breath caught. Her chest heaved as she stared at him, trembling. What are you?

The silence shattered.

A chorus of the Stillwood itself screamed, and the spirits surged as one—a tidal wave of rage and grief.

Reith stumbled back, palms raw with pain. Sparks leapt weakly between her fingers and died. Terror and fury knotted inside her chest.

If I had stayed... if I had trained...

The thought struck harder than their wails. She had fled Valdy Manor with nothing—no training, no weapon, no plan. Now the forest had stripped her bare. She was nothing but a frightened girl crouching behind another's shadow.

Her teeth clenched. "Damn it..." The words cracked from her throat. "I should have learned—should have done anything—before coming here!"

"Regret won't stop them," Soran said, his voice as steady as iron.

The first spirit lunged. Its claws slashed toward him, but he only lifted his hand. His voice poured into the storm, each word a chain. The spirit convulsed, shrieked, and dissolved into smoke.

Reith dragged herself to her feet, fists trembling. "I can't just stand here!"

"You can," Soran answered, unshaken. "And you will. If you try to fight, you'll feed them instead."

Her lip bled where she bit down. Shame burned her chest. "So I'm useless. I'm just—"

"You're alive," he snapped, eyes flashing her way for a single heartbeat. "Stay that way."

The words struck her harder than the wails.

The spirits pressed closer, hollow eyes glowing pale. Their grief-laden voices clawed through her skull.

One broke free and rushed her.

Its face twisted, almost human, its mouth whispering her name in a voice like broken glass. Her limbs froze.

"Reith!"

Soran's shout cracked the storm. His hand slammed into the earth, words spilling like fire. The spirit convulsed, shrieked, and blew apart into ash.

The air reeked of smoke. Reith fell back against the stone, shame scorching her cheeks. If I had known even one spell—one defense—I wouldn't be cowering here like a child.

But there was no time.

Dozens more peeled from the trees. Their chorus rose, drowning thought itself. Shadows thickened across the clearing, the pool shattering into black waves.

Soran stood tall, voice low but unshaking. "Stay close. If they reach you, you won't come back."

Her throat closed. Her hands shook. But she crawled closer to him, the weight of her regret heavy as chains.

I ran from one cage straight into another. And I can't even protect myself.

The spirits advanced.

And the battle swallowed them whole.

The battle broke like a storm.

The spirits struck from every side, their hollow mouths shrieking, their clawed hands raking the air. The clearing drowned in grief and rage, the sound splitting the night into shards.

Reith staggered back, sparks flaring uselessly across her palms. Every attempt to summon mana burned her raw, the Stillwood stripping her hollow before she could even shape a spell. Her chest heaved, shame choking her. I can't fight. I can't even stand—

A spirit lunged. Its jaw unhinged wider than human, its eyes two pale holes. She froze, terror rooting her to the ground.

Soran moved first.

His hand rose, his voice cutting through the storm. The words were not human—not even elven. They carried a rhythm older than language, a weight that bent the clearing itself.

The spirit convulsed midair, limbs snapping back, its form twisting like smoke bound by chains. It shrieked as if dragged into invisible shackles before its body ripped apart in a spray of shadow.

But three more rushed forward.

Soran's crimson eyes burned brighter. His voice deepened, threading the air like iron. Shadows recoiled from him, the dead faltering as though bound to the sound.

Reith clutched her chest, trembling. He isn't resisting them. He's commanding them. And the worst part is... they obey.

Another spirit broke the circle and rushed her. Its claw grazed her cheek, icy fire tearing across her skin. She screamed, stumbling back. "Soran!"

He turned his gaze on it.

One word left his lips.

The spirit froze. Its body shattered like glass, fragments dissolving into the night.

Reith fell hard against the stone, clutching her face, her breaths ragged. If I had known even one spell... even one defense... I wouldn't be useless.

The horde screamed louder, the forest groaning with them. Branches bowed inward, roots split the ground, and the pool shattered into black waves. Shadows thickened until no light remained.

And then the largest of them stepped forward.

It was taller than the trees, its body a tower of smoke and bone. Antlers of shadow jutted from its head, its hollow eyes glowing pale blue. Its scream was not like the others—it was lower, heavier, pressing into Reith's chest like stone.

Her breath stopped. The weight of its grief smothered her lungs. It's going to kill me—

Soran stepped past her.

His voice rolled out, not words this time but a command, deep and absolute. The forest convulsed at the sound, the spirits faltering, their screams breaking into silence.

But the giant did not bow.

It raised its claw and struck.

The air split, tearing through the clearing. Reith cried out, throwing up her arms instinctively. Sparks flared and collapsed, her body jolting with backlash. She braced for death.

It never came.

The claw froze midair, caught by nothing.

No—caught by chains.

Crimson chains of light, glowing from the air itself, coiled around the spirit's limb, binding it in place. They clinked faintly as they tightened, burning into the creature's shadow-flesh.

Reith's eyes widened. That isn't magic...

Soran raised his hand. More chains erupted from the earth, lashing around the spirit's legs, its torso, its antlered head. The creature shrieked, writhing, its body unraveling as the chains crushed tighter.

His voice rose, thunder threaded with fire.

The giant spirit collapsed inward, its body shredding into black ribbons, until only smoke remained.

The clearing went still.

The lesser spirits shrieked once more, high and desperate, before scattering back into the trees. Their hollow eyes dimmed, their voices fading into the night until silence pressed once more.

Reith collapsed to her knees. Her body shook violently, her palms seared raw, her throat aching from screams she had never voiced. She pressed her forehead to the dirt, gasping.

She wanted to cry in relief. She wanted to scream in shame.

Instead, she whispered, "I'm useless. I can't even protect myself."

Soran turned, crimson eyes dimming back to faint embers. He studied her for a long moment, unreadable.

Then he said, quietly, "You're alive. That is enough."

Reith's chest clenched. The words cut deeper than if he had called her weak.

Alive. Nothing more.

Aftermath

The forest was silent. Too silent. Even the insects had gone.

Reith pushed herself shakily to her feet, clutching her satchel. Her knees threatened to buckle again, but she forced herself to stand. Anything was better than looking like prey.

Her voice broke the hush. "What... what are you?"

Soran's eyes flicked toward her, crimson dimmed but still smoldering. For a long moment, he did not answer. Then, simply: "Not your enemy."

The words should have eased her, but they didn't.

She bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes. "If you hadn't been here—" Her voice cracked. "I would have died. I can't even lift a hand against them. I should have stayed at the manor. I should have trained. At least then I'd have a chance to protect myself."

Soran's gaze sharpened faintly. "And yet you left."

Her chest tightened. She could not answer.

"You knew you weren't ready. And still, you walked into the Stillwood." He tilted his head, expression unreadable. "Why?"

Reith hugged her arms around herself. The words tangled in her throat. How could she explain the truth? That she wasn't Nahida Valdy, the girl destined for Aetherion Academy, but a stranger wearing her skin? That she had fled because she could not keep living the lie?

Her lips parted, but nothing came. "I... I couldn't stay."

Soran studied her in silence, as though weighing the lie.

Finally, he looked away. "Then live with the choice you made."

The words stung, sharper than any spirit's claw.

She lowered her gaze, staring at her trembling hands. The sparks had burned her skin raw. Her palms throbbed with every beat of her heart.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead, she whispered, "I ran from one cage straight into another."

Soran said nothing.

The silence stretched long between them, broken only by the faint ripple of the pool.

At last, he turned his face toward the trees. "The spirits will return with the next moonrise. This place will never let you rest."

Reith's stomach twisted. "Then where... where do I go?"

Soran glanced back at her. His crimson eyes gleamed faintly, like embers refusing to die.

"Stay with me," he said simply. "For now."

The words landed heavy in her chest.

She didn't trust him. She couldn't. And yet, with the Stillwood pressing in on every side, there was nowhere else to go.

Reith lowered her eyes, clutching her satchel to her chest.

For now.