Leaving the Mire felt like waking from a fever dream. The moment Rose and the others crossed the boundary, the air cleared, lighter and crisp. Even Nimbus swirled higher, his form regaining fluff and bounce.
"Thank the skies," he muttered. "I was starting to smell like guilt and mushrooms."
Behind them, the Crimson Mire pulsed one last time, as if watching them go.
Lira and Lys did not follow.
"We cannot leave," Lira said, drifting just shy of the threshold.
"The Mire is our prison, and our penance," Lys added, tone almost wistful.
Rose met their eyes. "You knew Mortain personally, didn't you?"
"We did," Lira said softly. "Once, we believed in his sorrow."
"He was very good at crying," Lys sneered.
Rose hesitated, then said, "Thank you—for guiding us."
Lira smiled. "Beware the place where gods pretend to be human."
And with that, the twins melted back into the mist.
The group pressed on, guided now by the journal's clues. They followed a winding forest trail through moss-covered ruins and starlit glades, until at last they arrived at a clearing unlike any other.
No wind. No sound.
At its center: a single stone pedestal, weathered by centuries, with a bowl carved into the top. Rainwater had collected inside, still and black.
Around it were carvings—old and broken, but not forgotten.
A face.
A name.
Mortain.
"This is it," Basil said, lowering his hood. "The place where he wept."
Rose stepped forward slowly. The sigil on her hand pulsed in time with her heartbeat. She reached toward the water.
A voice rippled from its surface.
"Do you understand me now?"
Everyone froze.
Rose didn't flinch. "Show yourself."
The water shimmered—and from it rose an image. Mortain's face, younger and unscarred, before rot took him. He looked human. Gentle. Eyes filled with sorrow so convincing it made your bones ache.
"You've come far, child," the voice said. "But you still don't see. I didn't choose this fate. I was made into it."
Rose narrowed her eyes. "You killed the Seers. You cursed the Mire. You brought back the war."
"I tried to love the world," Mortain said, voice heavy. "But the world asked too much. When you give your heart and it's crushed… what remains but ruin?"
Rose clenched her fists. "Love isn't ruin. It's risk. And you made your pain everyone else's punishment."
Mortain's image faltered. "And you? What will you do when love costs more than you can bear?"
Behind her, Basil stepped forward. "She'll fight for it. With it."
The water darkened.
"You will regret this," Mortain said, voice cold now. "The heart is the softest target. And I know exactly how to wound it."
The image collapsed. The water stilled.
Silence returned—but heavier.
Nimbus exhaled slowly. "Well, that was cheerful."
Rose stepped back from the pedestal, jaw set. "He's not broken. Not yet. But he's afraid."
Basil met her gaze. "Afraid of you."
She nodded. "Good. Then we're finally getting somewhere."