The Mire pressed inward, thick as breath and heavy with old sorrow.
The trees here were wrong—too tall, too thin, their bark rippling like it remembered being skin. Vines draped everything, but they weren't growing; they were listening. Every step the group took was muffled, swallowed by wet moss and a silence too intentional.
Rose hadn't spoken since hearing the voice.
Basil noticed. "What did you hear?"
"Nothing," she said, too quickly.
Lira and Lys glided across the mire like shadows dressed in silk. They didn't leave footprints. They didn't blink. "The Mire tests everyone," Lira said softly.
"It preys on your guilt," Lys added. "If you linger in memory, you become one."
They passed the husk of a fallen statue—its face cracked, its body wrapped in root and moss. Words etched on the base had long been scratched away, but Rose felt something familiar in the curve of its jaw.
A crown. A sword.
A god, long forgotten.
Nimbus floated lower, unusually quiet. "This place gives me chills, and I'm literally a cloud."
Suddenly, the swamp growled.
Not a beast, but the land itself.
Black water bubbled up in front of them, rising into a vaguely human form—skeletal and shifting, with bark for ribs and mud for eyes.
It whispered, "Why do you come here, stormborn?"
Rose stepped forward. "We seek Mortain's trail. We're trying to stop what's coming."
The creature hissed, its voice like cracking branches. "You seek to stop inevitability. The storm was always meant to break."
Behind her, the Mire shifted again. Shapes flickered in the trees—people from Rose's past. Her mother, arms folded in disappointment. Her mentor, turning away. Even herself, younger, terrified.
"You failed them," the creature said.
Rose's hands clenched. "I've failed a lot of people. But I'm not done yet."
She raised her hand, and the Breaking Sigil glowed faintly on her skin. Light crackled—stormlight, defiant and wild. It sizzled across the roots beneath her feet, and the specters hissed, recoiling.
The creature shrieked.
Rose took a step forward. "We came for the truth. You're going to give it to us."
The figure shuddered and collapsed into black water.
In its place, a path appeared—thick with brambles, but glowing faintly with red threads woven through the undergrowth.
"The Crimson Trail," Lira murmured. "Mortain passed through here."
Lys added, "And he left more than footprints."
They continued, warier now.
Basil walked beside Rose. "That thing—it knew your fears."
"They're not hard to guess," she said, but her voice trembled. "The Mire just shows you what you try to bury."
He looked at her for a long moment. "We'll bury it together. When this is over."
Rose met his gaze—something raw and real flickering between them.
Then she turned toward the path.
"Let's find out what Mortain left behind."
And as they vanished into the red-lit trail, the Mire whispered after them:
"Even roots rot in time."