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G olden shards of sunlight speared through the cave’s entrance, fracturing the dim shadows with their warm glow. The sudden shift in light pried Vivienne from the clutches of sleep. A strange stillness pressed against her senses— too still.

Her pulse spiked. Who was supposed to be keeping watch? Panic surged through her veins as she rolled onto her side, her breath catching in her throat. Owen.

His face was turned toward her, the softened light casting golden hues against his bronzed skin. A shade of warmth had returned to his cheeks—was it real, or was the morning glow deceiving her?

Her hands trembled as she reached forward, pressing two fingers to the inside of his wrist. Wait… wait…

Relief hit her like a crashing wave as she found his—steady, rhythmic, weak but there . Her body sagged with the force of the breath she released, a knot unraveling in her stomach as she closed her eyes.

And then?—

A hand, warm and solid, covered hers.

Her eyelids snapped open.

Vivienne’s gasp caught in her throat as she met a familiar pair of deep espresso eyes, filled with warmth, hazy from exhaustion—but alive . Eyes she had feared she would never see again.

"Hello, Vivienne," Owen rasped, his voice raw, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

A strangled noise—half sob, half laughter—escaped her as her fingers curled instinctively around his. Every fiber of her being screamed to lunge forward, to throw her arms around him and hold him tight enough to confirm this wasn’t some cruel illusion.

“Owen,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're—are you?—"

He gave a weak chuckle that turned into a wince. "A bit worse for the wear, but I’m alive,” he said, shifting gingerly. “I think I have you to thank for that."

Vivienne swiped hastily at the tears spilling down her cheeks, shaking her head. "Group effort," she murmured, trying for lightness, though the weight of all the moments she thought she'd lost him pressed against her ribs. Her voice cracked. “I was so scared you might…”

“Me too,” Owen admitted, shifting to sit up with a pained grunt. His brows furrowed slightly, as though puzzling over something. "I had the strangest fever dream..."

Vivienne blinked, her breath still uneven. “Oh?”

"Spider creatures made bandages, and the goddess—the one with the vines and flowers—she told me it wasn't my turn to cross over," Owen said, his tone distant, as if still half in the dream. "Then, I was surrounded by this… glowing blue light. She sat with me in this cave until I woke up. When I opened my eyes, she was gone. But you were here instead."

Vivienne’s heart thudded against her ribs, her fingers tightening around his.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” His hand wrapped fully around hers.

She smiled, tears clinging to her lashes as she whispered, “No… that makes perfect sense to me.”

* * *

Despite the group’s protests, Owen remained steadfast. No amount of reasoning could dissuade him—he refused to delay their departure from the island any longer. Though his steps were steady, the lingering paleness of his skin and the strain in his jaw betrayed his exhaustion. Still, he pushed forward, and they followed.

The descent was arduous, each step a test of balance against the steep incline and loose rocks beneath their boots. The mountain had no mercy, but at least the sky did. The air was crisp, the sun a merciful companion rather than an oppressor. The absence of rain kept the path dry, though the ever-present humidity clung to their skin.

After what felt like hours, they reached a narrow ledge jutting from the mountainside. The island stretched before them in a breathtaking panorama—rolling hills draped in emerald green, the river slicing through the heart of the jungle, and in the distance, the white-capped waves kissing the shore. A perfect vantage point to plan their next move.

Cirrus adjusted his grip on the rock face and scanned the landscape with a practiced eye. "It looks like our best route is still to follow the river back the way we came," he declared. "Minus the no longer existing canyon."

Florence let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "Yeah... that’s on me. In my defense, Enyo made me blow things up."

Lewis, arms folded, smirked. "I always figured you'd enjoy blowing things up."

Florence’s hazel eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, I do," she admitted, a wicked grin curling her lips. "But I prefer to choose the where, when... and the who ."

Lewis swallowed hard, a mixture of fear and intrigue warred in his eyes. He turned to Cirrus. "Cici, how far is it to the beach where the longboats are waiting?"

Cirrus narrowed his eyes, tracing the winding river with his gaze before exhaling a thoughtful breath. "My estimate would be about twenty miles."

"Twenty miles?" Lewis’ shoulders slumped, his face etched with despair. "It didn't feel like twenty miles on the way here."

"That’s because we’ve traveled in segments," Owen rasped, his voice edged with fatigue. Though his stance remained firm, his breathing was still uneven, his usual bronze complexion several shades lighter.

"Blume," Cirrus quipped, stretching his arms above his head, "Verdance is only one hundred and forty square miles. It’s the smallest of Osimiri's islands." He threw Lewis a cocky grin. "Consider this a warm-up."

Vivienne grimaced. The mere thought of this grueling trek being a ‘warm-up’ made her muscles sore in anticipation. Her gaze drifted across the vast sea of green below, the river weaving like a silver thread through the dense rainforest. Her fingers wrapped around the strap of her satchel. “The river will take us near the Tree of Sorrows.” She hesitated before adding, “I’d like to see it again.”

Cirrus, who had been stretching, stopped mid-motion, his expression unreadable. He exhaled slowly. “We can stop for a few minutes to rest,” he conceded. “But, Banns, we can’t linger.”

"I know," she said softly. As she spoke, something on the horizon caught her eye. A ghostly wisp against the sky. Her pulse stammered.

Her voice was taut when she looked to Florence. “Do you think that’s?—”

"Smoke," Florence growled. Her body went rigid, her hand drifting toward her dagger. “The bastard captain and his cronies are still here .”

"Why would they stay on this deathtrap of an island?" Lewis asked, his face twisting with confusion.

Owen frowned, his dark eyes narrowing. “They might be regrouping before setting sail.”

“If they think we’re all dead, they’re not in any rush.” Cirrus nodded, his expression grave.

Florence let out a low chuckle, a vengeful gleam in her eyes. "They’re probably waiting for Enyo to recover... after Vivienne stabbed him in the leg.” She smirked. “And bit him."

Lewis’ head snapped toward Vivienne so fast she thought he might get whiplash. "You... you what ?"

Owen, to her great horror, let out a laugh . A laugh . A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips as he regarded her with something bordering on pride. “Sounds like you got a head start on your weapons training,” he mused, the amusement in his tone unmistakable.

Heat crawled up Vivienne’s neck. "I—” She brushed a few rogue strands of hair from her face. “I've got a lot to catch you two up on."

* * *

Long before the twisted trunk and skeletal branches came into view, Vivienne felt the tree’s presence—an oppressive weight pressing against her chest, heavy as grief itself. The air here was different, thick. It curled around her skin like ghostly fingers, whispering of sorrow and suffering long past but never truly gone.

“This place feels… wrong,” Florence muttered, shifting uneasily, her fingers twitching toward her dagger.

A silent understanding passed between the rest of the group. She feels it, too.

Owen’s voice was steady but grim. “Hundreds of children’s remains are entombed in the hollow of that tree.” He exhaled sharply, his dark eyes fixed on the cursed wood. “They were burned alive… with everburn.”

Florence’s breath halted in a choking sound. The color drained from her face as horror dawned in her hazel eyes. “Gods,” she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. “Who—who could do something so monstrous?”

"Fendwyr," Cirrus muttered, the single word barbed with contempt. His jaw tightened as he stared at the gnarled tree, his hands clenched into fists. “They slaughtered the elders at the ruins… then came here to erase the next generation.”

Florence paled further, her expression shifting from horror to disbelief. “Fendwyr?” she repeated. “The kingdom we all serve?”

Though no confirmation was spoken, their silent nods said enough. The truth struck her like a physical blow, her body folding in on itself as if trying to reject it. She let out a string of biting words in Castavellan, as she paced the underbrush. Her breath came in quick bursts, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

No one interrupted. Some grief needed space to settle.

Vivienne knelt in the clearing, her fingers brushing the barren, lifeless ground. Elandra must have stood here once, just like this. Regardless of whether the cave paintings were myth or memory, she felt the anguish. She could picture it too clearly—returning home to find nothing left but charred ruins, the laughter of children forever silenced. I would’ve ripped out a piece of my soul, too.

Reaching into her tote, she pulled out one of the glowing Noctilum blooms. Its silver-blue light a gentle, beating heart. With quiet reverence, she placed it at the base of the tree.

“Viv, what are you doing?” Lewis asked, drawing the others’ attention.

“I’m putting a flower on a grave,” she murmured. “It’s the least we can do.”

A tremor rippled through the earth. Vivienne gasped as warmth spread beneath her palms, a soft green glow radiating outward in waves. Then, as if the island itself exhaled, something shifted.

The ground stirred. From the cracks in the barren soil, thick emerald vines erupted, climbing in twisting tendrils up the blackened trunk. The hollow sealed itself beneath their embrace, closing the tomb like gentle hands pulling a blanket over sleeping children. And then—life exploded.

Flowers painted a kaleidoscope of color, blooming in radiant bursts that rippled outward like the tide. Petals of crimson, sapphire, and sun-kissed gold unfurled as though stirred from a centuries-old slumber, carpeting the ground in a breathtaking display. Vines snaked up the ancient, skeletal branches, weaving a tapestry of emerald and gold. They curled around the twisted limbs, softening the once-barren husk with lush tendrils of new life. Buds swelled and blossomed, dotting the branches with jewels of violet and cerulean, their fragrance filling the air with the intoxicating scent of renewal.

The tree, once a tomb of sorrow, now stood as a monument of beauty, draped in nature’s redemption. It shimmered beneath the sunlight, its branches no longer a monument to grief, but a living tribute—a promise that even in the wake of devastation, life would always find a way.

Owen inhaled sharply. “It’s… beautiful.”

“Maybe now they can rest in peace,” Cirrus murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Florence wiped a stray tear from her cheek, exhaling a slow, shuddering breath. “In beautiful peace.”

A sudden prickling sensation burned along Vivienne’s wrist, sharp enough to startle her. She glanced down, eyes widening as something moved beneath her skin. Dark lines, as if drawn by invisible hands, pushed upward from deep within her flesh, curling into delicate patterns.

She watched in fascinated horror as the markings settled—a swirling vine, etched in what appeared to be black ink, spiraling around her wrist in looping tendrils. The leafy design wove twice around her forearm before ending just below her elbow.

"Whoa, Viv," Lewis breathed, pointing at her wrist. “What-what is that?”

“I... I don’t know,” Vivienne admitted, flexing her fingers. The ink didn’t smudge. It wasn’t ink.

Cirrus knelt beside her, his fingers ghosting over the delicate lines. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. “You don’t know what this is?”

Vivienne shook her head, concern creasing her brows.

“It’s a godsmark,” Owen said, awe overtaking his usually steady tone. His dark eyes locked onto the mark, unreadable emotions flickering behind them.

Florence took a cautious step forward, her expression caught between reverence and skepticism. “Impossible,” she whispered. “No one’s been godsmarked in a century.”

Lewis let out an exasperated huff. “You all keep saying godsmark like we know what it means. Someone explain !”

Owen exhaled, shaking his head as if he barely believed his own words. “When a god or goddess deems someone worthy—through devotion, heroism, or favor—they grant them a godsmark. It’s a direct blessing. A bond. A gift .”

Vivienne’s throat felt tight, her mind swimming with questions. “But what does it mean ? What does it do ?”

“According to legend, the mark grants a fragment of the god or goddess' power,” Cirrus said, still tracing the vines on her wrist. “You keep that power by aligning your actions with their values.” He met her gaze. “It seems Elandra is pleased with you, Banns.”

Vivienne swallowed hard. The weight of that statement pressed against her, heavy as the island’s grief.

“Wait a damn minute.” Lewis’ eyes darted between Vivienne’s wrist and the flourishing tree. "So you’re telling me Viv has… plant powers now?" He threw his hands in the air, exasperation written across his face. “Why her ? No offense, Vivs, but plants are my entire life!”

Florence clapped Lewis on the back, nearly knocking him forward. “No one chooses who gets godsmarked, Blume. If there were a checklist, everyone would have one. Banner’s the first I’ve ever seen.”

Owen, who had been studying her silently, finally spoke. “Did it hurt?”

She turned to him, surprised by the soft concern in his voice. “No,” she answered, then let out a shaky breath. “But it shocked the everdark out of me.”

Relief washed across his features.

Florence sighed, wringing her hands. “This has been heartwarming and all, but we need to move.” She gestured toward the rainforest. “We can marvel at Vivienne’s new ink once we’re not on an island actively trying to murder us.”

Vivienne exhaled, forcing herself back to the present. Owen was still weak, and the Zephyrus was still miles away. They had survived so much, but Enyo was still out there.

And she knew he wouldn’t stop until Verdance became her grave.