[Crysthorn's Cliffside – Ancient Lichen Pathways]
Elias walked silently beside Elowen. Above them, the cliffs of Crysthorn loomed like fractured teeth, laced with vines of silver moss and thick sheets of stone-carved fungus. The wind here was colder—alive with memories.
"We're close," Elowen said, running her fingers along a glyph hidden beneath a curtain of ivy. "The Lichstone's echo pulses strongest beyond this ravine. We'll need to pass through the Singing Crevasse."
Elias tightened his grip on the vine-wrapped hilt of the fungal knight's sword. "What's waiting for us in there?"
"Echoes... and perhaps, the ghosts of the spores."
He stopped, forcing her to meet his gaze. "And you're still with me?"
"I never stopped. I just... changed shape." She offered a rare smile. "And so did you."
They pressed onward, unaware that far below, Sam and Emma were closing the distance.
---
[Fernroot Trail – Just Past the Dead Willow Ridge]
Lang Straw pushed through the dense tangle of brush, rifle in one hand, pulse pounding. Sam and Emma moved just ahead, their breath visible in the growing chill.
"Sam," Lang called out. "Wait up."
Sam turned. Relief flickered in his eyes. "Lang! You made it!"
"Damn right I did. Almost got swallowed by a spore cloud back there, but—"
Before Lang could finish, the earth cracked.
A low growl emerged. Roots twisted and split open, forming a circular mouth with dozens of sharp, bark-tipped fangs. Out rose a monstrous figure: The Root Dweller. A guardian of ancient woods, awoken by the king's will.
Lang raised his rifle. "Back! Stay behind me!"
Emma and Sam readied their weapons. But the creature struck fast—its tendrils lashed like whips.
Lang fired.
Twice. Three times. Bark and sap flew, but the Dweller was relentless.
It lunged for Sam.
Lang moved instinctively—shoving Sam out of the way.
The root-fangs pierced Lang's chest.
"LANG!" Sam screamed.
The ranger gasped, blood pouring into the moss. He looked at Sam, a faint smile on his cracked lips.
"Told you I'd watch your back, partner. Now finish this...for both of us."
The creature yanked him into the ground with a roar.
Silence.
Sam collapsed to his knees, fists clenched in the dirt.
Emma fell beside him, tears streaking her cheeks.
"We—we couldn't save him..."
Sam's voice broke. "He saved me. Just like always. I should've—"
Emma pulled him close, her voice firm despite the tears. "Then we make sure it wasn't in vain. We take everything we've learned, everything we've lost—and we burn it into that king's bones."
Sam nodded slowly, wiping his eyes. His grief hardened into purpose.
---
[Rotwald Throne – The Spire of Rot and Flame]
Vrathkul watched the events unfold in his soulmirror—a parasitic scrying fungus that absorbed memories.
He reclined on his spore-woven throne, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Ah... such beautiful sorrow," he mused. "Sacrifice, pain, love turned to vengeance."
He rose, robes of flowing mycelium dragging along the floor.
"Come to me, children of resistance. Let your rage bloom. I am the soil where fury roots... and all things rot in time."
He smiled.
And somewhere, far away, the roots twitched.
[Crysthorn Outskirts – Fractured Silence]
The wind whispered through the lichen-hung cliffs like a mourning song. After Lang's death, the air around them felt heavier, charged with both grief and fury. Sam stood motionless near a broken spire of stone, staring down at the crushed remnants of Lang's ranger badge.
Emma approached him slowly, her steps careful, like she feared shattering what little strength he had left.
"We need to keep moving," she whispered.
Sam didn't answer.
He crouched beside Lang's body, already covered in a blanket of moss that had begun to grow over his chest. The Roots Dweller had been a monstrosity of vine and bone, a creature born of Vrathkul's corruption—a hunter of travelers, silent and brutal. Lang had held it back long enough for Sam to drive a fireseed knife into its throat, but it had cost him everything.
"He was supposed to make it back home," Sam muttered. "We promised."
Emma knelt beside him, touching his arm gently. "He gave us time. That has to count for something."
Sam clenched his jaw, his fists tightening. "It doesn't feel like enough."
Emma looked at Lang's face, peaceful now despite everything. "He believed in you. I do too."
Sam finally turned to her. His eyes, wet and glassy, showed a spark of resolve. "We'll make it matter. We'll make him pay."
Emma nodded. "Then we find Elias and Elowen. And we tear that throne of decay apart."
---
[Throne of Decay — Vrathkul's Fortress]
Vrathkul sat on his throne of twisted sporewood, eyes half-lidded with cruel amusement. In one hand, he held a soulflame orb, pulsing faintly. Through it, he had watched Lang die.
"A valiant death," he murmured. "But valiance is a currency that buys nothing in my kingdom."
He rose and walked to the edge of his balcony, where fungal towers loomed and spore bats flew in spirals.
"Let them come," he whispered into the wind. "Let grief make them brave. The braver they are, the louder they'll scream."
One of his lieutenants—Veilthorn, clad in silken mycelium—stepped forward and knelt. "The Crysthorn guardians stir, my king. They may no longer serve the lichen spirit, but their memory remains intact."
Vrathkul chuckled. "Excellent. Send the broken ones. Let the past greet the present... with teeth."
---
[Farther Ahead – Crysthorn's Heart]
Elowen knelt before a grove of fossilized lichen pillars, her hand outstretched over a pool of still, silver water.
"This is it," she said. "The Grove of Echoes. The Lichstone's last memory sleeps here."
Elias stood guard, his eyes scanning the cliffs. "Do we have time?"
"We have no choice."
As Elowen began her ritual, ancient glyphs awakened around the pool, glowing faintly. The air turned cold, and the cliffside seemed to lean in closer, as if the land itself were listening.
And miles behind them, fueled by rage, grief, and a vow made under weeping trees, Sam and Emma pressed forward—toward reunion, toward war.
TO BE CONTINUED