Blood soaked the inner canals of their ears. Dizziness gnawed at the edges of consciousness. They were a group again—barely—but Erasmus was gone.
Riven clenched his jaw against the ringing in his skull, forcing his vision to stabilize as another red sinewy vine slithered toward him from inside the ink-black pond. "Let's move. Head for the other side of the tavern," he growled, slashing the plant away. "I trust the boy'll find his way out—or not. Either way, we've got our own mess to deal with."
Behind him, Mira's gaze lingered on where Erasmus had once been, her breath visible in the frigid air. A silent shudder rolled through her bones. She had no love for the madness the boy carried—but something human still tethered her heart. "May the gods be with him," she whispered, barely audible.
Even Caelum faltered, guilt creeping into the space where spite used to live. It had all happened so fast. One moment the boy was pacing in circles in the water, muttering about divine whispers—the next, he was gone. Swallowed by whatever cosmic horror lived beneath their feet.
Sir Calden swung his sword in a wide arc, carving apart another red tendril before it reached his neck. "Yeah… survivability odds aren't great," he muttered. "Whatever made that hell-scream wasn't made to be understood. What chance does a boy like him have?"
"I mean," Brin added while slicing through a cluster of writhing vines alongside Mira, "I wouldn't mind if the little psycho pulled through. Kinda rooting for him now."
Then—silence.
The red sinewy plants froze mid-lash, motionless in the air like time had buckled. Slowly, as if responding to some unseen command, they began to retreat—slipping back into the black pond like guilty thoughts returning to the subconscious.
No one moved. No one breathed. The group stood frozen, ears still leaking, hearts thumping loud enough to echo inside their skulls. The tension thickened until the air itself pulsed.
Then—crack.
The right side of the tavern wall split open with a deep, marrow-rattling sound.
And every single one of them felt it. Not just heard—but felt. Deja vu, crushing and cold.
Because they knew that presence. Had walked its roots. Had bled in its shade.
The Crimson Forest… had returned.
Tens of creatures spilled from the fissure—inhuman things on all fours with humanoid bodies and gnarled tree trunks for heads. Red familiar leaves sprouted along twisted limbs. The air warped around them, oppressive and heavy with the weight of memory.
Mira's pupils dilated. Brin's breath caught. Even Caelum, normally so composed, took an involuntary step back. Sir Calden's hand trembled at his side, while Riven—Riven twitched, but stood his ground. If he was afraid, he refused to show it.
The creatures reached the edge of the water and stopped. Silent. Watching.
Then—they turned their heads.
No eyes. No mouths. Just bark and ancient growth. And yet, a low guttural groan vibrated from within their trunks, not spoken but offered. Like a greeting. Or a summoning.
"The forest's welcoming us back," Brin whispered, voice barely his own.
Mira turned to swim back—but Brin caught her wrist.
The tree-creatures began crawling—down the walls, into the pond, across the ceiling like spiders of wood. Dozens more spilled from the cracked tavern wall. A tide of grotesque, mute watchers.
Riven exhaled slowly, then turned to Caelum. "Start thinking of a Vow. We might need a miracle."
Caelum nodded grimly.
With practiced precision, Riven fastened his helmet. The others followed—clicks and clanks echoing in grim readiness.
"It's time to end this cursed forest," Riven said. His voice didn't rise. It settled—like a final verdict.
And then—light.
From behind the slits of Riven's helm, a red glow ignited. Caelum's eyes responded in kind—his gold flickering like a dying sun reignited.
Riven drew his longsword and gripped it with both hands. "Everyone, square formation!"
They trudged in the chaotic ink with drilled efficiency. Top right—Riven. Bottom left—Caelum. Top left—Mira. Bottom right—Brin. At the center, Sir Calden, sword drawn and ready to defend.
It was a formation they hadn't used since their earliest training days—a last-stand tactic meant to protect the vulnerable and attack from all angles. One defender in the center to support the corners. The final line.
Riven scanned the field, crimson light gleaming off steel. "Mission commence." His voice lowered to a whisper, filled with unleashed fury. "The Battle for the Lost."
Because they remembered.
There were supposed to be seventy-seven participants in the Trial. Where were the others? Forgotten. Erased. Devoured by the crimson. They had no names left. No graves. No memories.
Only vengeance.
Mira's eyes glistened. Brin's lip trembled. Sir Calden reached up and wiped away their tears with a calloused thumb.
"It's just our lucky day," Calden muttered, "that these monsters are too dumb to think."
A tree-creature lunged—its trunk-head snapping forward like a hammer.
Riven met it head-on, his red aura blooming outward, a smoldering flare of belief forged into wrath.
He didn't scream.
He just swung—and the creature's head flew clean off.
Green blood erupted into the pond, but something stranger happened.
The red aura that shimmered from Riven's blade flickered—then danced across the necks of three other tree-creatures.
Their heads dropped in unison.
It was as if the monsters were chained, and Riven cut the links.
Caelum watched in awe. After all, their Instructors let them use their Creeds rarely. "He's not just fighting," he whispered. "He's… replicating the strike."
Riven's movements became fluid—mechanical, almost euphoric. He wasn't just slashing. He was punishing. For every swing he made, others fell—echoes of his intent radiating like curses cast through the water.
For every swing, every unknown person who died who be avenged in his mind
He let himself free. Of all the stress. Of all the guiltiness. Of all the anger.
"You little pathetic creatures," Riven whispered to himself, stepping forward, deeper into the pond. "Die. Die. Die."
His mouth twisted into a wide, terrible smile.
"I hope your forest burns. May it never rise from ashes again."
Caelum, watching, swallowed hard. There was something different about Riven now. Something that hadn't been there before.
Power. Rage. Bliss.
Still, he didn't stop him.
Maybe Riven could wipe them all out.
He only hoped… that when the blood stopped flying, his friend would still be standing.
And not become something worse.