We land hard hitting the wet earth, the echo of screams from Greatfall still ringing in my ears. The memory of Baron’s last stand flashes in my mind, the swing of his hammer, the corrupted hound crashing down. I can still smell the iron and smoke. Wint’s breathing is ragged. Pip curses under his breath, a sound more shaken than angry. Roe presses a hand to his shoulder to steady him, though her own trembles faintly. Allura stays quiet, staring at her blood-specked hands as if they’re not her own.
---The Homestead---
The damp air shifts. I lifted my head and see the faint glow of mushrooms, their caps pulsing with soft light. A crooked hut squats in their center, surrounded by hanging charms and tangled vines. The small Cynoce woman from the tunnel, Madam Bassina Birchroot, turns to face us, her mushroom hat glowing faintly. “Well now,” she says with gentle surprise, “seems the Sooth still spits survivors.” She waves her staff, and the ground steadies beneath us. “In you come. Tea will help your souls catch up to your bodies.”
Inside, the hut smells of moss and woodsmoke. Shelves crowd the walls with jars of herbs and old glass bottles. Bassina moves briskly, pouring steaming liquid into clay cups. “Drink. It’ll help you ground yourself.”
I accepted the cup with a shaking hand. The warmth hits my chest like a pulse. For the first time since Greatfall, my thoughts stop spinning.
Pip slumps onto a stool, tail flicking anxiously. “We should’ve stayed with Baron,” he mutters.
Roe cuts him a sharp look. “He made his choice. Ours is to survive long enough to make it matter.”
Wint leans against a post, arms crossed, eyes distant. “We were told to reach Haustrasill. That’s still the mission.”
Allura nods slowly. “If anyone can make sense of what happened in Greatfall, it’ll be the Sayers there.”
I just stare into my cup. The warmth feels wrong. Something stirs deep within me, an echo of a voice that isn’t mine. I hear the faint whisper of stone shifting, like something is calling for me. The air around us hums faintly. I set the cup down, the vibration still in vibrating through my bones.
Bassina notices. “Ah,” she says softly, “you feel it too, don’t you? The pull south of here. From Austruun.”
The others look at me, uncertain.
“Austruun?” Roe repeats. “Never heard of it.”
Bassina sets her teacup down, the clay clinking softly. “Austruun is an old place, southeast of here. Sayers used to travel there to reconnect with the land and restore their balance. But lately, something’s been wrong. The pull that calls the Sayers now drives them away.
I ask, “You think it’s tied to what happened in Greatfall?”
Bassina shrugs. “If the world’s balance is faltering, Austruun’s where the first cracks will show. You might find some answers there.”
Pip scoffs. “I vote we don’t. Haustrasill sounds like it has fewer monsters.”
Wint grunts. “Agreed. We have orders. We must go west.”
I shake your head. “You don’t feel that?” You press your palm to your chest. “Something’s calling. It’s not words. It’s like… the land itself knows me. It wants me there.”
Allura frowns. “Magic like that doesn’t come without purpose. Like Bassina said, maybe it’s not pulling, it’s warning.”
Bassina chuckles, setting her staff aside. “I’d see to it myself if I weren’t old and soft.”
Roe crosses her arms. “You expect us to just follow some mysterious calling because she says the dirt is whispering?”
I meet her gaze. “No. Because I can feel it whispering. I don’t know what’s waiting there, but it has to be connected to what happened in Greatfall. To whatever twisted those hounds.”
There’s a pause. The fire crackles. Bassina watches with quiet interest.
Wint finally exhales, jaw tight. “Fine. But if this pull of yours gets us into trouble, you're on your own.”
Allura speaks up. “We’ll follow the pull. After that, we head to Haustrasill. No detours.”
I nodded. “Agreed.”
Bassina smiles faintly. “Rest a while, then I’ll show you the path.”
---The Ruins of Austruun---
The path south winds through a forest that feels ancient beyond memory. Moss blankets the ground, and the air hums with a faint vibration that pullsing at my chest. The sensation grows louder with each step until it’s almost a rhythm I can feel in my pulse. The ruins of Austruun rise suddenly from the earth ahead, massive slabs of stone half-buried and half-consumed by trees. Vines have crawled through shattered doorways, and broken spires lean like old bones under the weight of time. Strange Daenan carvings trace the walls, glowing faintly with amber light as we pass.
Pip whistles low. “If this place isn’t cursed, it’s at least cranky.”
“Stay sharp,” Roe mutters. “Something’s alive here.”
We moved carefully through what might have been a great hall. The light pulses stronger near the center, flickering across cracked stone tiles. There, among toppled pillars, stood a massive figure, half buried in rubble. An Aradite golem. Its surface is scarred with old runes and Daenan script, once ceremonial, now fractured. The amber crystals within it flicker weakly, unstable, like a dying ember.
Wint steps closer, his hand resting on the haft of his greataxe. “Looks dead enough.”
“It’s not,” I whispered. The pull in my chest tightens. Then the amber glow surges, running through the golem's body like veins waking after centuries of sleep.
With a deep groan, the golem’s head lifts. Cracks in its chest flare bright, runes sputtering into life. Dust cascades down its shoulders as it rises, towering over us.
“All right,” Pip says quickly, “I vote we run!”
The ground shakes as the golem slams one arm into the floor, sending a pulse rippling outward. The shockwave knocks us back, scattering the group. Wint grunts and braces against a fallen column. Roe rolls aside, drawing her daggers. Allura stumbles, clutching her lute. I pull myself up and shout, “Move! Don’t let it trap you!”
The golem’s hand slams down again, grasping chunks of broken crystal shards that rise and float around it. They hover for a breath before it hurls them, smashing against the walls and floor in bursts of debris.
Wint ducks behind a pillar. “We can’t outrun it!”
“Then we stop it from getting a good swing,” Roe shouts. “Distract it, break the crystals, do something!”
I reach out, the magical energy rising throughout my body. “On my mark,” my voice shaking. “We work together. Don’t think, just move.”
The golem turns its burning gaze toward me. I throw out my hand, calling the Thorn Totem. Roots burst from the cracked tiles, piercing one of its legs. It reels back but tears free with a roar, the amber light flickering violently. Pip dashes across the floor, striking low at the wounded leg. Roe follows, her blades flashing. Allura strums sharp notes that pierce the rough exterior of the golem. Wint charges in, his axe ablaze colliding with the creature’s knee in a flaming strike.
The golem glows brightly and unleashes a blast centered on itself, the impact sending a quake through the ruins. I hit the ground hard, ears ringing. “It’s getting stronger!” I shouted. “We need to end this now!”
Allura nods, her melody shifting. A wall of shimmering sound rises, deflecting falling rubble. Pip and Roe dive through the opening, their movements rough but coordinated. Wint grins through the strain. “Not bad—for a couple of strangers.”
I summoned the Shambling Hound Spirit. It bursts from the earth in a growl of roots and thorns, leaping onto the golem’s chest and biting at the glowing crystals. The light flickers and fades, the golem staggering backward. The Hound vanishes, its purpose done.
“Now!” I shout.
Roe and Pip move as one, striking at the exposed chest. Wint’s axe follows, crashing into the runes. The golem lets out a grinding roar as its core collapses inward, the light flaring bright and then dying. It falls forward, shaking the hall as it crumbles into lifeless stone.
The air stills. Dust drifts like mist. In the crater where the golem stood, a monolith rises. Smooth, luminous, its symbols shifting like ripples in water.
I slowly approached, every sense still humming. When my hand met its surface, warmth flooded through me. Suddenly, I'm transported. I'm standing beneath Haustrasill. The great tree is dim, its bark cracked and dried. The air feels thick, every breath heavy with the scent of death. Above it, a huge shadow shifts in the sky. I know the shape immediately—Arad, Haustfyr’s God. His carapace is a dark red, unnaturally lumpy, with an almost fire-like green glow emanating from under his wings. His presence is crushing, sacred, but feels so wrong.
The light around him flickers. The ground darkens where it should glow. Something in the balance is off, but I can’t tell why.
Suddenly, Arad turns his head toward me. The moment his gaze meets mine, the world splits apart. I fell backward into darkness.
I hit the ground, gasping. Allura is there, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder. “Easy. You’re here. What did you see?”
“Arad,” I said. “He was watching. Haustrasill was…dying.”
Roe folds her arms. “Gods don’t just watch for fun. Whatever it means, it’s not good.”
Allura nods once. “Then we move. The longer we wait, the worse this gets.”
I manage to catch breath, the memory of that gaze still burning in my mind.
For the first time, as we rush back to Madam Bassina’s hut, we feel like a group. Uneasy, uncertain, but together.
---Return to the Homestead---
Bassina opens the door before we can knock. Warm air and the rich scent of herbs and broth wash over us. “Well, you’re alive,” she says with a wry smile. “That’s reason enough for my famous Birchroot Stew.”
She ushers us in, and bowls of steaming stew appear before us almost magically. “Old Birchroot family recipe,” she says, tapping her snout proudly. “Best thing to settle the heart after staring at gods or ghosts.”
Wint sets down his axe and takes a bowl, muttering a thanks. Pip and Roe sit across from each other, silent for once. Allura slides onto the bench beside me, not eating right away but watching everyone else.
I replay the vision. The moment I described Arad’s shape and Haustrasill’s decay, Bassina’s playful expression fades. “Arad still walks,” she says softly, “but if what you saw is true, he’s suffering. Haustfyr itself will start to unravel.”
Allura’s brow furrows. “Then it’s not a distant problem anymore.” She turns to me. “Whatever we saw in that ruin was just the beginning.”
Bassina nods. “Exactly. A warning, not a prophecy. The world’s still giving you time to act, but that time is thinning fast.” She pushes another bowl toward me. “Eat. The gods can wait a few bites, but the living shouldn’t.”
Pip burns his tongue again and glares at the stew as if it betrayed him. Roe hides a small smirk. Wint eats without speaking, lost in thought. Allura finally takes a spoonful, sighs, and says, “It’s good. I’ll admit it.”
Later, when the fire burns low, Bassina rests a paw on my arm. “If Arad’s corruption is real, Haustrasill will be the first to fall. You’ll need to reach it before the rot spreads.”
I nod. “We leave at first light.”
“Good,” Bassina says quietly. “Then go, and don’t look back. This was just the edge of what waits for you. The Hollybraid’s temper is never the same twice, and neither are the paths ahead.”
---Crossing the Hollybraid---
The morning mist thickens as we travel west towards the Hollybraid River. The sound of rushing water grows until the Hollybraid comes into view. It is wide, cold, and fast beneath an old Daenan bridge. The stone arches across the river like the spine of some buried creature, its carvings worn smooth by centuries. Moss clings to every joint. The bridge still stands, but the air around it feels heavy, as if the corruption itself has left a mark here.
Wint eyes the structure warily. “Doesn’t look safe.”
“All the more reason to cross quickly,” Roe says, scanning the fog that gathers near the far side.
Pip leans forward with a grin. “Fog’s good for hiding. Bad for ambushes.”
“Then let’s assume it’s both,” Allura answers, adjusting the strap of her pack. She glances at me. “You feel anything?”
I touch the worn stone railing. The Sooth hums faintly beneath the surface, old and restless. “Let’s be on our toes.”
As we step onto the bridge, the river’s roar deepens. The mist thickens, curling around our ankles. Halfway across this 2-mile-long bridge, shapes move in the fog, shifting and laughing low. Three Stonefoot bandits appear. Their armor is mismatched and dull, their eyes sharp. One steps forward with a grin missing half its teeth.
“Bridge toll,” he says, sticking out his hand. “Pay with coin or pay with bruises.”
Pip mutters, “Always pick the latter.”
Wint lifts his axe, calm but ready. “Then let’s make them regret it.”
Roe’s daggers flash in the dim light. “Stay close. Don’t give them the bridge.”
The mist closes around us, hiding the far shore. The bandits spread out, laughter turning to the scrape of steel.
Whatever waits beyond the Hollybraid will have to wait a little longer. For now, the bridge itself becomes the battlefield.
---Battle on the Inner Southern Bridge---
The bandits charge through the fog with a roar. Steel flashes, feet slam against wet stone, and the bridge erupts in chaos. Wint meets the first two bandits head-on, his axe swinging in heavy arcs that ring like thunder against their blades. Sparks leap with each strike, lighting up the mist. Pip darts between them, a streak of motion, landing quick slashes before rolling away. Roe follows close, using Pip’s distraction to slip behind their guard.
Allura steps back, voice low and sharp. “Hold the middle!” She thrusts out her hand and a ripple of sound bursts from her palm, sending shards of magic raining from the sky. The echo lingers in the fog like a warning bell.
I feel the energy rising through the stone beneath you. It surges in rhythm with your heartbeat. The corruption has touched this place. I channel it into focus, drawing up the Flamespit Totem. Whips of flame burst from the cracks in the bridge, striking the nearest attacker. He screams, snarling, before Wint knocks him unconscious with an opportune stomp.
The leader of this small group appears from the fog, a broad-shouldered man with a face cut by scars and an iron club in his hand. “You picked the wrong road,” he growls.
“Not the first time today,” Pip mutters.
The Stonefoot captain charges. His swing slams into the bridge, stone shattering under the weight of his blade. Roe moves to intercept, but the captain twists suddenly, faster than expected, and his sword slices across Pip’s thigh. The cut is deep. Pip stumbles, gasping as blood hits the stone.
“Pip!” Allura’s voice cuts through the chaos. She dives toward him, but another bandit blocks her path.
My heart is pounding, but I summon the Barkskin Totem on Pip. Its thick roots twisting around him in a living shell. Splinters of hardened bark seal any remaining openings and shield him from the next strike. The bandit’s blade skitters off the wooden sphere, sparks flying.
Wint sees an opening and roars, slamming his axe into the captain’s shoulder. The man staggers, snarling, before Roe darts in low and drives her daggers under his ribs. The blow drops him hard against the stone.
The remaining Stonefoot break and run, their shouts swallowed by the mist.
I dismiss the totem with a flick of your hand. Allura is already beside Pip, pressing her palms over the wound. Her song is low and steady like a healer’s rhythm. The bleeding slows. Pip winces but manages a weak grin. “He got lucky.”
Roe shakes her head and grins. “You’ll live.”
Wint wipes his axe on the captain’s cloak. “And now they know we’re not worth the toll.”
I smirked, though my gaze drifting to the water beneath the bridge. For a moment, the current darkens, twisting with black ichor that seeps like smoke through the riverbed. I blink, and the water is clear again.
---The Western Bank---
The fog thins as we step off the bridge, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and moss. The river churns below, dragging branches and broken debris downstream. Ahead, near the bank, a figure lies half-buried in reeds.
Wint signals the others to stay back and approaches cautiously. “Someone’s down.”
We move closer. A man in ranger leathers lies on his side, his leg twisted and bruised, a crude splint of thin twigs and dirty fabric bound around it. His cloak bears the faint crest of the Arcury. Blood darkens the edge of his sleeve, though his eyes remain sharp and aware.
When he spots us, he raises a hand weakly. “Hold there. Don’t suppose you’re Stonefoot.”
“Last time I checked, no,” Pip mutters.
The man exhales, a shaky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good. Then I’m in luck. Name’s Orwin. I’m one of the Arcury, though not with them anymore.”
Wint tilts his head. “You’re a ranger?”
“Was,” Orwin says, voice strained. “They pulled the Arcury back to Caladhel months ago. Sat us behind their walls while Haustfyr burns. I couldn’t stomach it. Thought I’d do my part on my own.” He gestures toward the bridge. “Ran into a few Stonefoot thugs trying to make it across. They won and I fell into the river, broke my leg on the rocks. Crawled here before the current took me.”
Roe kneels beside him, assessing the injury. “It’s bad, but he’s lucky to be breathing.”
Allura kneels too, quiet but focused. “We can splint it properly.” She glances to Wint, who tears a fresh strip from his cloak to bind the limb. Pip finds thicker branches, and together they work to secure it. Allura hums softly and Orwin’s leg begins to glow, easing his pain.
When she finishes, Orwin exhales in relief. “Feels like I might live to limp another day.” He digs into his cloak and pulls out a small sigil carved of riverstone. “For your trouble. It’s an Arcury token. Won’t get you out of every scrape, but it’ll open some doors among friends.”
I take the token and stow it in my bag.
Orwin adjusts his splint, grimacing. “If you’re headed toward Haustrasill, I’d be grateful to tag along. Underoot’s healers can see to what your songs can’t.”
Wint nods once. “We can use another set of eyes. Even injured ones.”
Roe smirks faintly. “As long as you can keep up.”
Orwin chuckles. “I’ll hobble fast enough.”
The group helps him to his feet, supporting his weight as we move along the river path. The sound of rushing water fades behind us, replaced by the steady rhythm of footsteps and Orwin’s quiet gratitude. The bridge disappears into the mist, another danger left behind.
The world tree looms far ahead, massive even at this distance, its crown vanishing into clouds. Whatever hope remains awaits there.
