The Crimson Trail wound like a vein through the Mire, pulsing faintly beneath their feet. Every step forward felt like a step inward—into memory, into myth. The trees here bled red sap that shimmered in the dark, and the vines twisted as though they were trying to remember how to strangle.
Rose kept one hand on the hilt of her wand and the other on the warmth of the sigil glowing faintly on her palm.
"We're close," Lira whispered. "His residue lingers."
"More like festers," Lys added, her expression tense.
A clearing opened ahead, circular and unnaturally still. At its center stood a broken stone altar, ringed by candles made of bone and hair. The trees surrounding it leaned inward like spectators, frozen in the act of breathing.
Nimbus hovered above the altar. "Yeah, okay, I vote we torch this place and run."
"Wait," Basil said, his eyes fixed on the markings carved into the stone. "These symbols… they're not just magical. They're a map."
Rose stepped beside him, tracing one with her fingertip. The line flared, revealing a trail of red light that stretched from the altar into the darkness beyond the clearing.
"This was a summoning site," she murmured. "Mortain called something here."
"And then buried it," Lira said. "The Mire protects his secrets with rot and shadow."
Suddenly, the light on the altar flared—and a figure emerged from the mist behind them.
It wore no face. Its cloak was sewn from memories: bits of voices, fragments of laughter, shattered glass and screams. Where its eyes should be, there was only a storm.
"Mortain's Warden," Lys breathed. "He left a sentinel."
The creature raised one jagged hand, and the Mire reacted violently. Roots surged from the ground, snaring Basil and Nimbus. Rose spun, lightning flashing from her fingertips, searing through one of the vines—but more kept coming.
"You cannot erase what has already begun," the Warden intoned. Its voice was a dozen voices stitched together—some hers.
Rose stepped forward, her voice sharp. "I don't care what Mortain began. I'm ending it."
She raised both hands and let the storm loose.
The sigil burned like a miniature sun. Bolts of raw magic danced around her, lighting up the swamp in jagged flashes. The Warden screamed—a sound like a thousand regrets—and the vines loosened as it staggered back.
Basil broke free first, slicing through the last root, then yanked Nimbus from the mud.
"We need to break the altar!" Rose shouted.
Basil didn't hesitate. With one mighty swing, he drove his sword through the stone.
It cracked with a sound like thunder, and the entire clearing convulsed.
The Warden let out a final cry before it exploded into ash, scattered by the wind.
The red glow along the trail dimmed.
Lira stepped forward, eyes wide. "You've shattered his anchor here."
"But not his presence," Lys said grimly. "He's watching. He'll know."
Rose stared at the ruins of the altar.
"Let him watch," she said. "I want him to see everything fall apart."