The forest screamed.

Not metaphorically, not poetically.

It screamed.

Roots tore from the earth with a sound like bones snapping, the emerald-veined tree ripping upward as if the ground had lost the argument. Soil exploded outward, glowing shards scattering like cursed confetti as the black mass dragging the tree vanished deeper into the forest.

Elythra ran.

She didn't hesitate or think. Her boots barely touched the ground as she sprinted after it, her blade flashing into her hand with smooth, practiced motion.

"STOP!" she shouted, her voice raw.

Luther swore and chased her.

Branches whipped past his face. Roots tried to trip him, as if the forest had chosen a side and decided on violence. The demonic sword howled gleefully at his hip.

OH THIS IS WONDERFUL, it cackled. CHASING UNKNOWN ELDRITCH TREE-THIEVES INTO A CURSED FOREST? TEN OUT OF TEN LIFE CHOICES.

"Shut up and cut something if it jumps us," Luther snapped, leaping over a fallen trunk.

A shockwave rippled ahead of them.

The thing dragging the tree wasn't fast; it was unstoppable.

Each step warped the ground, emerald light bleeding into the soil and corrupting it instantly. Where it passed, leaves blackened, moss withered, and the air grew thick with mana that tasted wrong.

Elythra skidded to a stop at the edge of a ravine.

"Wait!" Luther barked.

Too late.

The thing hurled the emerald tree forward.

The massive trunk crashed into the ravine wall, crystal branches shattering on impact. The emeralds embedded in the bark screamed as they broke, releasing a pulse of green light that blasted outward.

Luther threw up a barrier on instinct.

The impact slammed into it like a hammer.

"NGH!"

He slid back several meters, his boots carving trenches in the dirt.

The sword shrieked. THAT WAS NOT FRIENDLY ENERGY. THAT WAS 'WE ARE ABOUT TO DIE' ENERGY.

Elythra stood unmoving at the ravine's edge, staring down into the mist below.

Her hands shook.

"They took it," she whispered. "They took a living Iuiona tree."

Luther staggered upright. "You keep saying that like it's worse than it sounds."

She turned to him slowly.

Her eyes were no longer gold.

They burned.

"Iuiona trees are not just plants," she said, her voice tight. "They are anchors. They bind ley lines. They stabilize mana flow. They keep things like that—" she gestured violently into the ravine "—from crossing over."

The forest groaned.

Deep below, something moved.

The mist churned unnaturally, spiraling inward like a wound reopening.

The sword fell silent.

…Boy, it finally muttered, that's bad.

Luther swallowed. "Define bad."

"That tree," Elythra continued, "was grown to seal something."

The ground trembled again.

A low, distorted sound echoed up from the ravine—half roar, half laughter.

Luther's stomach dropped.

"…Let me guess," he said flatly. "They just removed the cork."

Elythra didn't answer.

She stepped forward.

Luther grabbed her wrist.

"HEY. No. Absolutely not. We are NOT jumping into cursed mist because some ancient nightmare is having a breakout party."

She looked at his hand.

Then at his face.

"Lord Yieli—"

"Don't."

She stiffened but didn't pull away.

"If that seal breaks completely," she said, "this forest will rot. The corruption will spread beyond Enferi. Villages will fall. Cities will follow."

The ravine pulsed.

Emerald veins lit up along the walls like exposed nerves.

Luther closed his eyes.

"…I hate forests."

The sword perked up. OH? DOES THIS MEAN YOU'RE GOING TO DO SOMETHING STUPID AND HEROIC AGAIN?

"I am not heroic."

YOU ARE LITERALLY STANDING AT THE EDGE OF A WORLD-ENDING HOLE.

"Against my will."

He released Elythra's wrist and stepped forward.

The ground reacted immediately.

The emerald glow recoiled from him, then leaned in.

The air compressed.

The forest fell silent.

Elythra's breath caught.

"…It recognizes you."

Luther opened his eyes slowly.

The ravine answered him.

Something ancient shifted below, responding not to his magic but to his existence.

The sword whispered, its voice no longer joking.

Oh no.

Luther stared into the abyss.

"…Tell me," he said quietly, "that whatever's down there is not calling me by that stupid erased name."

The darkness stirred.

And far below, something spoke.

Not aloud.

Not in words.

But in memory.

Yieli.

The forest shuddered.

The name echoed inside Luther's skull like a bell struck too hard.

His jaw clenched.

"No," he said firmly.

The mist surged.

Yieli.

"I said no."

The ground trembled violently.

The mist exploded upward.

Black tendrils erupted from the ravine like living smoke, whipping through the air with terrifying speed. One lashed toward Elythra—Luther shoved her back just as it slammed into the ground where she had stood, the earth sizzling and blackening on contact.

"Oh come on!" Luther snarled.

He moved.

Fast.

He ducked, rolled, and leapt—his movements sharp and precise, barely avoiding tendrils that snapped at him like hunting serpents. One grazed his cloak, the fabric dissolving instantly into ash.

The sword shouted, LEFT—NO RIGHT—DUCK—JUMP—WHY ARE THERE SO MANY?!

"Because the ravine is a jerk!" Luther barked.

A tendril whipped toward his chest—and hooked the demonic sword instead.

The blade screamed.

WAIT WAIT WAIT—THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE—

The tendril yanked hard.

The sword tore free from Luther's grasp and vanished into the mist below.

Luther froze.

"…No."

The ravine pulsed, mist swallowing the blade whole.

The forest held its breath.

Luther's face went flat.

"Oh absolutely not."

He stepped to the edge, fury cracking through his exhaustion.

"HEY!" he shouted into the abyss. "Give it back!"

The mist churned.

"That sword may be annoying," Luther continued, his voice rising, "it may insult me daily, and it may have terrible timing—but it's MINE."

The ravine answered.

Another tendril shot upward—and wrapped around Luther's waist.

"—HEY!"

It yanked.

Luther dug in his heels, skidding toward the edge. He slammed his hands into the ground, magic flaring as he anchored himself, veins of green light spreading beneath his palms.

"LET—GO!"

The tendril tightened.

The ground cracked.

Elythra screamed his name.

The ravine pulled harder.

Luther growled and forced himself upright, twisting, slashing at the tendril with raw magic—but more surged upward, coiling around his arms, his legs, and his torso.

The abyss wanted him.

"THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF NEGOTIATION!" Luther shouted.

With a final violent yank—the ground beneath him gave way.

Luther disappeared into the mist.

"SIRE!"

Elythra didn't think.

She ran.

She leapt.

Her blade flashed once as she dove after him, her only thought burning clear and absolute.

Protect him.

The ravine swallowed them.

The mist surged upward one last time—

Then collapsed inward.

The blackness sealed shut.

Stone knit together. Soil settled. Roots crept back into place.

The emerald glow faded.

The forest went quiet.

As if there had never been a ravine.

As if nothing had ever been taken.

As if no darkness had ever opened its mouth and eaten two souls whole.

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