The earth shivered as the twin Seers rose.
They emerged not from tombs but from memory—shaped by moonlight and time, wrapped in silks that shimmered like liquid dusk. Their eyes opened as one, each a mirror to the other, reflecting starlight and secrets.
"I am Lira," said the first, voice like the hush before a dream.
"And I am Lys," said the second, her tone darker, like the moment before waking.
Rose instinctively took a step back. There was something unsettling about them—how they moved in tandem, how they seemed to see through her rather than at her.
"We've been dreaming of you, Stormbearer," Lira whispered.
"And of him," Lys added, nodding toward Basil. "The warrior torn between shadow and duty."
Basil tensed, his hand drifting toward his sword. "You're not wrong."
Nimbus, for once, stayed quiet.
The Last Dreamer gestured for calm. "The twins walked the dreamscape for centuries. They will help you navigate the Crimson Mire."
Rose frowned. "What exactly is the Crimson Mire?"
Lira smiled. "A place where truth sinks."
Lys added, "And lies float."
"It was once a sacred forest," the Dreamer continued. "Now it is cursed and drowned in sorrow. The Mire remembers everything. It does not forget. If Mortain passed through, his footprints will linger—echoes in the roots."
Rose nodded, steel in her eyes. "Then we'll find those echoes and crush them."
But Lira stepped forward, her pale fingers brushing Rose's temple. "You must guard your thoughts. The Mire feeds on fear. If you carry too much regret…"
Lys finished for her, "You won't come back the same."
The Dreamer stepped aside, revealing an ancient arch overgrown with vines and glowing mushrooms. Beneath it, the air shimmered like water.
"Portal," Basil muttered. "Let me guess—one way?"
"Unless you enjoy being dream-bled and root-bitten," Nimbus quipped.
Lira turned to Rose one last time. "In the Mire, the dead speak softly. Listen to them. They know what the living have forgotten."
Rose swallowed hard, then looked at Basil and Nimbus.
"You with me?"
"Always," Basil said without hesitation.
Nimbus gave a long-suffering sigh. "I've regretted every part of this journey so far, so what's one more horror swamp?"
Rose smirked. "That's the spirit."
Together, with the twins behind them, they stepped through the arch.
Cold air washed over them, thick with moss and the scent of something long rotted. The world around them twisted, bending light and time. Trees leaned in too close, and the ground squelched underfoot like something breathing.
They had entered the Crimson Mire.
Almost immediately, whispers rose from the brambles—soft voices calling names, promising warmth, asking for help.
Rose clenched her fists. "Ignore them. They're not real."
But one whisper curled against her ear and said:
"Rose… you left me behind."
She froze.
That voice—it had been her mother's.
And the Mire smiled, unseen.