The sun did not set in the Dark Forest; the purple canopy simply turned to black.

  They marched at dusk, leaving the safety of Varkhul’s obsidian sanctuary. It was a strange procession. Mira Silverwind took the lead, her bow drawn, eyes scanning the gloom. Behind her, Arin, Sarah, and Quinn walked with nervous energy, constantly looking over their shoulders. Kaelen and Lyra walked in the center, flanked by the twitching, muttering form of Fenric.

  And surrounding them all was the Shadow Army.

  Varkhul’s spectral soldiers moved in perfect silence, gliding through the trees like smoke. They were terrifying, faceless destroyers, but right now, their presence was the only thing keeping the group calm.

  As they walked, the silence became too much for Fenric. The Spirit Seeker tilted his head, listening to the wind, and suddenly burst into a high-pitched giggle.

  "The trees are whispering funny things," Fenric said, covering his mouth. "They say the shadows are trembling. They say... the Gods didn't walk this path to conquer. They say the Gods ran."

  Fenric pointed a bony finger at Varkhul’s back. "Run, run, run! Like rabbits from a wolf! Maybe the Great Lord Varkhul isn't leading us to a battle. Maybe he is just visiting the place where he soiled his robes!"

  Arin snorted. The image of the terrifying God of Death running away like a scared child was too ridiculous not to laugh at. "A tactical withdrawal? Or just fleeing for his life?"

  Quinn chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Imagine him tripping over his own hem."

  Even Sarah cracked a smile.

  But Lyra didn't laugh. She kept her hand on her dagger, eyes darting to the trees. Kaelen remained stone-faced, feeling the heaviness of the air. Mira didn't even turn around; she knew better than to mock a God in his own domain.

  The laughter died instantly when Varkhul stopped.

  The temperature dropped ten degrees. The shadows around Varkhul flared, twisting into jagged spikes. He turned slowly, his silver eyes burning with a cold fury that made Arin swallow his laugh and step behind Quinn.

  Varkhul loomed over Fenric, who just grinned back with madness in his eyes.

  "You find fear amusing, little madman?" Varkhul’s voice was like grinding stones.

  "I find truth funny," Fenric whispered.

  Varkhul stared at him for a long moment, then the anger in his face faded, replaced by something far worse: old, weary sadness.

  "He is right," Varkhul said, his voice low. "I have only walked this path once before."

  Kaelen looked up, surprised by the admission. "You’ve never been to the river?"

  "I came from it," Varkhul corrected, turning back to face the south. "Centuries ago. When the world broke. Aureon and I... we did not just seal Seravar in a hole. We left a home."

  Varkhul pointed a pale finger toward the deep south, past the roaring sound of water that was getting louder with every step.

  "Beyond the River Gaya, hidden in the densest part of the wild, lies the Palace of Echoes. It was Seravar’s seat of power. It is where we ruled. It is where we... laughed."

  Varkhul’s face hardened. "When we betrayed him, we locked him deep beneath the earth, far below the Palace foundations. Then Aureon and I fled across the river. We ran, just as the madman said. And we never looked back."

  Arin cleared his throat, looking awkward. "Is the palace empty? Big spooky castle? Probably full of riches?"

  Varkhul looked at Arin with a gaze that made the thief wish he had stayed in Oakhaven.

  "It is not empty," Varkhul whispered. "There were... servants. Courtiers. Those who could not leave, or those who refused to believe their King was gone. If they still live, they will not welcome us."

  Before Arin could ask more, the trees broke open.

  They had arrived.

  The River Gaya was a violent scar cutting through the forest. The water wasn't blue; it was a luminescent, milky white, glowing with a pure, blinding intensity that lit up the riverbank. The roar was deafening.

  Suddenly, the Shadow Army stopped.

  The spectral soldiers reached the tree line and froze. They did not take another step. They looked at the white water with fear.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "They cannot go further," Varkhul stated. "The water of the Gaya flows from the planet's core. It is pure life. To a creature of the Void, it is acid."

  Varkhul took a deep breath. He looked at the river, then at his own hands.

  "And now... the price."

  The God of Death stepped forward, crossing the invisible line of the riverbank.

  The change was instant and violent.

  Varkhul gasped, doubling over. The shadows that formed his cloak evaporated into mist. The darkness that hid his face melted away. For the first time, Kaelen saw Varkhul clearly—he was a tall, incredibly thin man with pale skin, sunken eyes, and grey hair that hung limp around his face.

  He didn't look like a God. He looked like a dying grandfather.

  Quinn rushed forward, catching Varkhul before he collapsed into the mud. "I got you, old man."

  Varkhul grabbed Quinn’s arm, his grip weak and trembling. "The silence," he wheezed, his eyes wide with panic. "I cannot hear the dead. I... I am alone."

  "You're not alone," Lyra said softly, stepping up. "You're just mortal. Welcome to the club."

  "We need to cross," Mira shouted over the roar of the water. "The Null Zone weakens him. If we stay here, he dies."

  She pointed ahead. Spanning the raging white river was a massive, sturdy-looking wooden bridge. It was covered in vines, but the timbers looked thick as iron.

  "The bridge," Arin yelled, squinting through his goggles. "The timber is solid. It is the logical path."

  Mira nodded and moved toward the bridge.

  But suddenly, a flash of red stopped them.

  From the glowing brush, a Red Fox trotted out. Its coat was vibrant, unnatural crimson against the pale light of the river. It had intelligent, amber eyes that fixed immediately on Kaelen.

  "Wait," Kaelen said, freezing. "I know that fox."

  Lyra reacted instantly. In a blur of motion, she whipped her bow off her shoulder, drew an arrow, and aimed it right between the fox's eyes.

  "That thing," Lyra hissed, her voice tight with anger. "It was in the granary. It tried to snap at me. It’s one of the monsters, Kaelen!"

  She pulled the string back to her cheek, ready to loose the arrow.

  "Lyra, no!" Kaelen shouted, shoving her bow downward just as she fired. The arrow thudded into the dirt inches from the fox’s paw. The animal didn't flinch. It didn't run. It just sat there, staring at them.

  "It was watching me," Kaelen breathed, lowering his hand. "Even back then. It wasn't attacking... it was waiting."

  Fenric shuffled forward, twitching. He giggled, leaning down to the fox. "Hello, little spy. You have a loud heart. Thump-thump."

  Fenric looked up at the group, his smile fading into a confused frown. "It is not a ghost. It is not dead. But... it is hollow. The spirits say it was not born from a womb. It was woven. But it has old eyes."

  He scratched his head, looking at the animal suspiciously. "It feels... new. Like fresh ink on an old page. It hasn't been in this world very long."

  The Fox barked—a sharp, commanding sound. It looked at the sturdy bridge, then looked at Kaelen and shook its head clearly.

  Then, the Fox turned and trotted downstream, hopping onto a slick, moss-covered log that had fallen across the wildest part of the river. It was narrow, wet, and looked like a death trap.

  The Fox sat on the log, looked back, and barked again.

  "It wants us to use the log," Quinn said, struggling to hold Varkhul up.

  "That's madness," Arin argued, waving his hands. "Look at the bridge! It's right there! The log is slippery. Varkhul can't walk. The bridge is sturdy, Kaelen. Use your head."

  Kaelen stepped forward. He felt the Twin Bands humming on his wrist—not in pain, but in recognition.

  "The bridge is a lie," Kaelen said suddenly. He didn't know how he knew, but he felt it. "We follow the fox."

  "Kaelen," Arin groaned. "It's a rodent. I am a scholar. Trust the scholar."

  "We trust the Key," Mira overruled, stepping away from the bridge. "Move to the log."

  They made their way to the fallen tree. It was terrifying. The white water crashed inches below their boots, spraying cold mist. Quinn had to carry Varkhul over his shoulder, balancing carefully on the slick moss.

  Arin brought up the rear, muttering about "logic" and "stupid beasts."

  When they were halfway across, a loud CRACK echoed through the valley.

  They all froze and looked upstream.

  A large deer had stepped onto the "sturdy" wooden bridge, likely following them. As soon as its weight hit the center, the bridge didn't just break—it snapped. The wood exploded, revealing that the beams were hollow, filled with writhing, glowing maggots that had eaten the core.

  The bridge collapsed into the river, taking the deer with it.

  Arin stood on the log, his mouth open. He looked at the wreckage, then at the Red Fox waiting patiently on the other side.

  "Alright," Arin swallowed, clutching the wet bark. "The beast was right."

  They scrambled the rest of the way, leaping onto the solid earth of the far bank. Quinn lowered Varkhul to the ground. The former God of Death lay panting in the grass, shivering uncontrollably.

  "We made it," Lyra said, breathing hard.

  Kaelen looked back across the river. On the other side, the Shadow Army stood in a silent line at the tree line. They could not cross. They bowed once, then dissolved into the night.

  They were on their own.

  The Red Fox stood up, swished its tail, and looked deep into the southern woods—toward the Palace of Echoes. It waited for them to follow.

  Varkhul pushed himself up, his bones prominent through his skin, his hands trembling as they gripped the wet grass. He looked at the dark treeline ahead—not with the pride of a God, but with the hollow eyes of a man who knew he could no longer protect them.

  "We stop here," Varkhul wheezed. The effort of speaking made him wince. "The river has stripped us bare. Beyond these trees... there are eyes that have waited a long time for us to return."

  He looked at Kaelen, then at the Red Fox sitting silently in the shadows.

  "Sleep," Varkhul rasped, leaning his head back against a stone. "Tomorrow… we enter the grounds of the king."

  He closed his eyes, looking older than the trees themselves. The roar of the Gaya was the only sound in the dark.