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The morning sunlight dappled the forest floor when they set off toward the border, the path soft underfoot with new spring growth and the mushiness of saturated earth.

The air smelled of damp and sap, of life pushing through drought's cruel hold in a bid for freedom.

Above them, dark clouds loomed—heavy and slate-coloured, promising more rain before the day was done.

The light filtering through was watery and uncertain, casting shifting colourful shadows along the trail as if through a kaleidoscope.

It was the kind of morning that straddled two moods: the freshness of spring and the threat of another downpour.

They passed the oracle's cottage, its moss-covered roof nearly invisible in the greening woods. She stood at the edge of the path, waiting and then fell into step beside them, joining the journey.

Around them, the forest stirred. A swallow darted overhead, its wings slicing the air with a sharp slash.

A fox froze by a tree root, watching with clever, knowing eyes before slipping soundlessly into the underbrush.

Partridges rustled beneath a thicket, quick-winged and wary as if to escape the wolves in the forest. Insects buzzed in lazy spirals through the warming air, and a single honeybee hovered at the lip of a crocus bloom, drunk on nectar and sunlight.

The buds on the trees were tight fists of green, but they would soon burst open. The entire wood was a breath held between seasons, a hum of promise and return.

Everyone turned their heads to take it in—the quiet wonder of it all—but not Seren. She walked with her eyes forward, her face still. This forest no longer stirred awe in her. Or perhaps, it did, but she had no space left inside to feel it.

Seren walked in silence, but inwardly, she was listening. Not to the others, but to the forest itself. Every rustle, every flicker of movement held meaning. The animals had not forgotten her.

She closed her eyes for a moment to listen, her feet moving instinctively on familiar grounds.

Not forget.

Stay . Wait .

Safe . Home .

Ours.

Vines crept gently toward her boots, brushing her ankles like curious children. Trees bent low as she passed, their branches dipping toward her in a gesture that felt almost like a caress—like the tender pat of an old friend's hand on her head. The forest remembered her. Loved her still.

Her moonlit eyes were calm, reflecting not the dark clouds above, but the deep-rooted peace of the place she loved most in the world.

A vole darted across the path behind her, followed closely by a squirrel with a flicking tail.

Neither startled at her presence. They moved around her as if she were part of the earth itself, despite the predators around her .

Then came the robin.

He swooped down in a cheerful flash of red and brown, chirping as he landed delicately on her shoulder. Seren's lips curved, just barely, into the softest of smiles. Her hand came up instinctively to offer him a perch, but he stayed where he was, content to be close.

The others watched, a little awestruck, but said nothing. This was her world. They were just passing through.

They came to the border just as the clouds began to gather more thickly, a low rumble of distant thunder rolling over the hills.

The clearing held silence like a festering wound.

There was no sign of the bodies now. Hagan had seen the few whole bodies of the Forsaken before they were burned. The attackers had carried the sigil of the Forsaken—but altered. A small line, red and sharp, was added beneath the original mark. Subtle, but deliberate. Every body bore it.

As for the rest, what was left were pieces, mostly. Not enough to call a face or name. Just flesh. Just ends.

No new shoots grew where the fight had taken place. The soil there looked greyed-out, lifeless—as if salted by the horrific violence it had witnessed .

There had been blood. Old stubborn blood, dried in the cracks of stone and bark. The torrents of rain hadn't been enough to wash it all away. Some of it had to be Draken's. And that of the enforcers who had lost their lives.

Hagan stood in the centre of the clearing, eyes narrowed. "They didn't smell like Forsaken," he mused. "They didn't smell like anything."

The others said nothing.

The Oracle, who had trailed behind them most of the walk, suddenly straightened. Her sharp gaze swept the clearing. Something had changed.

She moved to the burial markers—small, rough stones pressed into the soil at the edge of the boundary. The spot where they had laid what couldn't be named as bodies anymore. Something had disturbed them. The ground was turned.

Then Veyr stilled. His eyes locked onto something caught on a low branch—tattered red fabric, frayed and clinging like a warning flag.

He stepped forward, carefully. Plucked it from the branch and held it up.

The others gathered around as the oracle took it from him. Her fingers trembled slightly as she brought the cloth to her nose. She closed her eyes .

"It is true," she whispered as if something that had been on the edges of her mind had just been confirmed. Her voice was thin. Unsettled.

Hagan frowned. "What is?"

Seren could feel the oracle's terror as if it had leapt into her own chest. The cloth, the turned soil, the silence in the ground.

"Not here," the oracle said sharply, her voice breaking its usual hush. "Not here."

They moved quickly, feet crunching softly over leaf and root, the weight of an unseen gaze pressing on their backs.

As they crossed the boundary line, the oracle stopped and turned. Her eyes swept the undergrowth.

Someone or something was there. Watching.

She didn't speak. Just knelt and began to draw the runes—fast, with urgent precision. The symbols to reinforce the border. To keep the tribe safe. To hold back whatever might be stirring beyond.

Seren dropped beside her, hands moving in sync. Drawing protection with each stroke of her fingers.

They didn't speak again. But both of them felt it.

Something had come too close.