Reyha and Kaiya pulled Dante from the pool, the water still rippling where his body had floated moments before. His skin was cold to the touch, almost clammy, and his weight sagged heavily between them.

  He tried to stand, forcing his legs to straighten, but they trembled and buckled under him. His eyes stayed half closed, still trapped between waking and the dream that had held him. His breath came shallow, fogging faintly in the cool air, as if even the act of breathing weighed too much.

  “Hey, I got you,” Kaiya assured him calmly. She grabbed his arm and chest, ignoring the soaking of herself while doing so, bracing him as if she could anchor him back into the world by will alone.

  Valerik pushed himself up from where he had been sitting, rolling his shoulders and shaking the lingering tremor from his limbs. He walked to the cave mouth, boots crunching on grit, and climbed into the open. His voice carried a tired rasp.

  “What’d you do now, boy?” Valerik sighed.

  The air outside felt wrong.

  The forest beyond the grove was not simply dying. It was dead.

  Bark peeled away from skeletal trees in long, curling strips. The trunks themselves were pale and brittle, their cores hollow. Grass lay flat and grey, breaking into dust under his steps. The air tasted faintly of metal, dry and sharp, and it clung to the tongue like a bad memory that refused to fade. Even the silence seemed starved, no insects, no birds, only the distant groan of wood collapsing in on itself.

  The grove’s perimeter became an invisible barrier that was still holding, though only barely. It was no solid wall, but an old, stubborn shield. Slowly draining life from every flower and leaf to keep the rot at bay.

  Petals dulled and crumbled in the breeze. Leaves browned at the edges even while still clinging to their branches. The beauty was dying by inches, even as the blackened forest pressed closer from every side. The shield hummed faintly at the edge of hearing, like glass straining against a hammer that had not yet fallen.

  A shape moved in that shadowed line. Then another.

  “What the hell is that?” Angel asked, her brow furrowed.

  Figures emerged from the dead forest, stepping into the thinning light of the grove.

  Shambling bodies, clearly not alive.

  But these were not fresh corpses either.

  Their bodies had been claimed by time long ago. Slouched, twisted, and brittle. Bone showed through parchment skin. Moss clung to ribs like wet cloth. Fingers curled like dry twigs. A stink rolled ahead of them, a mix of mildew and sweet rot that clung to the nostrils.

  They moved without sound except for the slow scrape of feet through lifeless grass. Each step cracked the brittle stalks, leaving powder where they had walked.

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  Angel stepped forward first.

  “Obviously not friendly,” she called out, striding to meet the threat head on.

  Her grip tightened on the steel-like wooden staff, spinning it once before she swept low. The end caught the nearest shambler’s decaying knees, sending it sprawling toward the ground. Angel looked down and saw the remains of its legs still in front of her, disconnected and twitching faintly.

  “Ew. Gross,” she muttered, kicking them away with a sick, soft thud.

  Another mossy corpse came toward her, stumbling but direct.

  She kept her staff moving in tight, sharp arcs to keep them back. Spinning it in circles to either side of her. Knocking away their clawing arms, even knocking fingers and scraps of bone loose, sending them scattering across the dead grass.

  More and more necrotic flesh came from the desecrated forest.

  Valerik met the next with his daggers. His movements were measured, each cut precise, his footing heavier than usual but still balanced. His shoulders ached and every swing dragged a little more than the last. He did not have the energy left in him for shadows of his own, so blades would have to be enough.

  He carved a thin line through its chest, then another across its neck, but the corpse only staggered. Instead of blood, a dry puff of dust drifted from the wounds, stinging his throat. He coughed, eyes watering, and cursed.

  “This isn’t working,” Angel shouted, twisting her staff from another’s grasp. “Some help would be great.”

  From the cave mouth, Kaiya appeared, leading Dante into the light.

  Her face dropped. A flood of emotions and memories crashed through her chest at the sight before her. She kept her body between him and the fight, one hand steadying his arm, though her own hands shook with the effort. Every muscle in her body wanted to draw steel, but she forced her grip to stay on him.

  Dante’s eyes tracked the moving shapes ahead, but his steps were slow, uncertain. Still dazed and trying to remember who he was, let alone where. The world seemed blurred to him, voices echoing as if from underwater.

  Xander came swiftly behind them, his hooves clopping against stone as he emerged. His tail flicked, ears pricked forward. His mouth was still damp from the apples he had been eating, but his head lowered now, the soft sound of his breath growing deeper, nostrils flaring at the stench of decay.

  One of the dead lurched too close to Dante, nearly barreling into him.

  From the cave Reyha’s hand lifted. Static bounced from cracks in the stones, racing toward her palm. In an instant it gathered into her hand. She threw her arms forward.

  A bolt of lightning cracked through the air. It punched through the corpse’s chest, burning moss and bone to ash in an instant.

  The smell hit all at once. Scorched wood, charred rot, and something faintly sweet, like burnt flowers left too long in the sun.

  Angel froze mid-step, her eyes fixed beyond the first wave.

  More figures were moving in from the treeline. These were fresher. Their wounds were still ragged and wet. Armor hung dented and rusted from their frames, but intact enough to recognize them.

  Valerik’s next swing faltered.

  Kaiya’s eyes widened.

  Dante’s brow furrowed as his gaze caught on a familiar split skull. He remembered the flash of a crossbow bolt slamming into his stomach, the sharp agony that bent him in half, the sneer of the man who had loosed it.

  The thugs who attacked them this morning.

  They should have stayed dead.

  But now they had returned.

  The bandit corpses moved with more intent than the brittle shamblers, their weapons clutched tight. Blades dragged along the dirt, leaving deep lines in the brittle grass. Cuts that should have stopped them only slowed them for moments before they pressed forward again. Their eyes, glazed and clouded, still carried a glint of malice.

  Another shadow shifted beyond the bandits. A cluster of smaller shapes broke off from the treeline and began weaving through the gaps, faster, less human. Their limbs bent at odd angles, their heads jerking side to side as they moved. The sound of their claws scraping earth joined the chorus of groans.

  The grove’s protective line was shrinking. The dead crossed invisible ground they could not have touched minutes before. Grass flattened under their weight and crumbled to powder. The dry crunch of each step was joined by the low groans of others still approaching. The shield flickered and hissed, dimming like the last breath of a candle.

  Valerik’s breathing grew heavier. Each stab and slice added weight, his arms burning.

  Angel’s swings shortened, the cracks of her staff losing some of their sharpness. Her bravado lingered in her voice, but her shoulders strained, sweat matting the hair against her brow.

  Dante swayed, gripping Kaiya’s sleeve when the world tilted, and she locked her grip tighter on him.

  Reyha stood still, watching the treeline. More shapes kept appearing, a slow trickle becoming a steady stream.

  “Enough,” she said.

  Her voice carried through the clash of wood and metal, through the scrape of feet and the groans of the advancing dead. For a moment it did not sound entirely her own, deeper and edged with thunder.

  Lightning crawled over her blue arms, sparking around her black eyes, and gathered at the curve of her horns. She slammed her palm into the soil.

  The ground shook. Static burst outward, racing along roots, stones, and streams in every direction. The nearest undead instantly exploded from the lightning arc, scattering ash and bone in a blinding spray.

  The light raced toward the treeline. The shadows beyond it shifted, and something larger seemed to stir as the glow swallowed them.