Ivy stumbled to the base of the great tree, her bare feet sinking into the cool, mossy earth. The cacophony of snarls, screeches, and the sickening thud of bodies against the ward made her heart race. The glowing barrier pulsed with each impact, casting the grove in flickering light, but it was the creatures themselves that wrenched her soul.

  A massive stag, its once-majestic antlers twisted into jagged spirals, reared back and crashed into the ward. Its blackened flesh crackled where it met the glowing surface, chunks of corrupted hide falling away like ash. Still, it pushed forward, its glowing, empty eyes unblinking. Behind it, a twisted fox slammed its body repeatedly against the barrier, its thorny fur snapping like brittle branches.

  “Stop!” Ivy cried, her voice breaking as she ran forward. “Please stop! You’re hurting yourselves!”

  The creatures didn’t flinch. They didn’t falter. Their movements were mindless, driven by some unseen force, and their mangled bodies betrayed no recognition of pain. Another creature—a boar with its face half melted into a grotesque mask of bone and muscle—charged the barrier with a guttural roar, only to collapse as its legs gave out. It twitched once before rising again, its body sagging under its own weight as it resumed the assault.

  Ivy fell to her knees just feet from the ward, her hands shaking as she extended them toward the creatures. “Let me help you,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. She closed her eyes, focusing on the magic coursing through her. Green light sparked at her fingertips, spreading outward like tendrils of ivy, reaching for the nearest creature.

  The magic wrapped around the stag’s broken antlers, trying to mend the unnatural cracks. For a moment, the glow of corruption dimmed, and Ivy’s heart leapt with hope. “I can save you,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

  But the moment shattered as the corruption surged back, its dark tendrils swallowing her light. The stag reared again, snapping the delicate vines as if they were nothing. Its hollow eyes locked on Ivy, unseeing yet full of eerie purpose, before it lunged again at the barrier. The ward flared brightly, sending the creature sprawling, its body collapsing with a wet thud. Ivy let out a choked sob, her hands falling limp at her sides.

  “Why isn’t it working?” she cried, her voice raw with desperation. She turned to Nirva, who had followed close behind, her pale eyes narrowed with grim understanding.

  “Because they’re already gone,” Nirva said, her voice cold but steady. She stood a few steps back, her staff gripped tightly as if holding herself in place. “There’s nothing left to save, Ivy.”

  “No!” Ivy screamed, shaking her head. “They’re not gone! They can’t be! I just need more time!”

  She turned back to the creatures, her hands glowing once more as she pushed her magic forward, her body trembling from the effort. The light spread across the ground, seeking the corrupted forms, but the creatures only thrashed harder, their bodies breaking apart under their own relentless movements. A fox’s leg snapped mid-charge, but it still crawled forward, dragging itself toward the barrier.

  The futility of it all weighed on Ivy like a crushing tide. Her magic flickered, faltering under the weight of her own despair. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, stop …”

  The creatures didn’t listen. They couldn’t. They weren’t creatures anymore—just shells driven by the corruption’s will. As Ivy collapsed to the ground, the stag let out one last unearthly bellow before crumpling, its body disintegrating into ash.

  Nirva stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “You can’t save them,” she said, her voice softer now but no less firm. She knelt beside the younger woman, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “But you can protect what’s left. That’s what matters now.”

  Ivy turned to Nirva, her tear-streaked face a portrait of anguish. “I don’t want to lose them,” she whispered.

  “You’ve already lost them,” Nirva said, her tone carrying the weight of hard-earned truth. “But you haven’t lost the sanctuary. Don’t let them take it, too.”

  Above them, a black shadow circled, letting out a screech echoing through the grove like a grim omen. Ivy didn’t know who, or what, was responsible for the decay spreading through the forest, but she could feel its malice in every breath of air.

  She knew one thing for sure. If she wanted to save what remained of the forest, and perhaps even the lands beyond it, she would have to uncover the source of this corruption … and she would fight back.

  ? ? ?

  Dawn approached, the first rays of sunlight spilling over the jagged peaks of the distant mountains. The golden light crept across the sanctuary, casting long, pale shadows against the ancient trees. The air was still, save for the faint rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.

  Ivy remained seated, her legs tucked beneath her on the cool earth. She hadn’t moved since the creatures fell silent, their lifeless forms scattered across the barrier’s edge. The once-twisted stag lay closest to her, its grotesque antlers now brittle and ash-like, crumbling at the slightest touch of the wind. Its hollow eyes stared into nothingness, yet Ivy couldn’t tear her gaze away.

  Her fingers curled into the grass at her sides, trembling as she tried to steady herself. The forest, so often alive with whispers and movement, felt unbearably empty. The absence of life pressed on her chest like a weight she couldn’t lift.

  “I should have done more,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. Her eyes stung, not just from exhaustion but from the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Each drop left a faint, wet mark on the soil, quickly absorbed by the thirsty earth.

  Above her, the sky shifted from deep blue to faint orange, streaks of lavender cutting through the horizon. The sun’s warmth brushed against her skin, but it brought no comfort.

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  Nirva’s voice was low, steady, but carried an edge of something unspoken. “Ivy. You should come inside.”

  Ivy shook her head, her gaze fixed on the stag. “I can’t. They deserve better than this.”

  Nirva moved closer, standing over Ivy with her staff planted firmly in the ground. Her pale eyes swept over the lifeless forms, her expression unreadable. “They’re gone. Mourning them won’t bring them back.”

  It was a simple truth, yet Ivy could hardly bring herself to accept it. How could this be happening? How could something so dark, so vile, have the power to bring the great forest to its knees?

  “I should have saved them,” Ivy said, her voice cracking. Her hands tightened into fists, pulling at the grass as if it might anchor her to something, anything. “I was supposed to save them.”

  Nirva knelt beside her, her staff clinking softly against the ground. Her voice softened, her usual sharpness replaced with an unexpected gentleness. “You can’t save everything. No one can. But you can try to stop this from happening again. That’s what matters now.” Nirva rose, brushing the dirt from her cloak. “Come,” she said firmly, though her tone carried no malice. “We have work to do.”

  Ivy hesitated, her gaze lingering on the fallen stag. She reached out, her fingers brushing its brittle fur. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and finally, she stood, her movements slow and reluctant. As she followed Nirva back toward the sanctuary, the sunlight grew brighter, casting its glow over the forest. But for Ivy, the warmth felt hollow, a reminder of what had been lost.

  Ivy and Nirva stepped inside the great tree, the air heavy with the faint hum of its ancient magic. The warm glow of the sanctuary’s interior seems dimmer than usual, a reflection of the unease that clung to them both.

  Nirva moved toward the balcony, her dark cloak trailing behind her. She leaned against the wooden railing, her sharp eyes observing the endless expanse of trees stretching beyond the sanctuary. “Right now, we need more observations,” she said pragmatically, her tone firm.

  Behind her, Ivy stood motionless. Her mind replayed the haunting images of the corrupted animals—their cries of pain, their bodies twisted into unnatural forms. Her chest tightened, and her nails dug into her palm as anger bubbled to the surface, hotter and fiercer than she’d ever felt before. Ivy could hardly focus on the words spilling from Nirva’s mouth.

  Fragments reached her—“Neeko can … and the crow … I think …”—but they blurred together, distant and hollow, like echoes underwater. Each sound seemed to scrape against her nerves, sharp and grating, until the noise became too much to bear.

  Her hand clenched into a fist, and before she realized it, she slammed it down against the table in front of her. The impact sent a dull thud through the quiet room, and the air trembled with the force of her frustration.

  “I say we go straight for the source—now!” Ivy shouted.

  Nirva turned, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

  “Ivy …” Her voice softened, but she quickly composed herself. “I understand how you feel. I do. But rushing into the forest without a plan, reacting to every shadow or bad feeling, will get us nowhere. We can’t fight this blindly.”

  Ivy’s fists clenched tighter, her nails pressing into her skin. “They were innocent. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. I can’t just sit here while that thing spreads its poison, and we wait while we make observations!”

  Nirva stepped closer, her tone deliberate but laced with the faintest hint of empathy. “And we won’t. But think about it, if this corruption is connected, there must be something guiding it. Charging in recklessly won’t stop it. It’ll only get us killed. Who’s going to save the forest then?”

  Ivy’s shoulders slumped slightly, her anger giving way to doubt. She looked down at her trembling hands, her voice quieter now. “When I tried to heal it … I felt something. A connection, like a thread leading somewhere. But before I could follow it, it snapped—like something didn’t want me to see.”

  Nirva tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “A connection?” she repeated, her gaze flicking back to the balcony as if searching for answers in the forest. “If you could sense it once, maybe you can again. But this time, we need to do it with intent. We find another corrupted area, but instead of just trying to heal it, you focus on that connection—follow it to the source.”

  Ivy looked up, meeting Nirva’s eyes. There was still anger simmering beneath the surface, but a glimmer of determination began to take its place. “You think it’ll work?”

  Nirva nodded, her tone steady. “It’s the best chance we have right now. The corruption isn’t going to stop on its own, but neither should we. You’re stronger than you think. Use that connection, and make it lead us to what we’re fighting.”

  ? ? ?

  Ivy knelt in the damp soil, her fingers digging gently into the earth, her focus entirely on the unseen rhythms of the forest. The faint hum of life coursed through her fingertips, a melody of roots and whispers beneath the surface.

  Neeko sat beside her, his bright eyes watching intently. Tilting his head to one side, he broke the silence. “Find anything?”

  “Let her focus,” Nirva interjected sharply, her voice calm but commanding. Her staff stood planted firmly in the ground, her pale fingers wrapped tightly around its polished wood. Her white eyes glowed faintly, unblinking as she channeled her crow’s vision into her mind.

  Neeko frowned at Nirva’s scolding but quickly turned his attention back to Ivy. With a theatrical huff, he mimicked her movements, pressing his tiny paw into the soil beside her. “How hard can this be?”

  The moment his paw touched the ground, his eyes went wide. A massive, interconnected web of roots and vines exploded into his mind—a rush of energy and information all at once. The network pulsed with life, each strand carrying faint whispers of the forest’s secrets. Overwhelmed, Neeko yelped and pulled his hand back, shaking it as though the sensation might fall away.

  Ivy opened her eyes, a gentle smile spreading across her face. “Here, let me help you,” she said softly, taking his paw in her hand.

  As their hands touched, the chaotic expanse of roots in Neeko’s mind began to calm. Ivy’s presence filtered the noise, allowing the intricate web of the forest to settle into clarity. Together, they searched through the vast network of roots, trees, and fauna, their minds tethered to the earth’s rhythms.

  “What’s that?” Neeko asked, his voice quieter now, his gaze darting to Ivy for reassurance.

  A small blip of darkness appeared, hiding deep within the web. Its presence was subtle but unmistakable, like a shadow festering among the light. Ivy’s brows furrowed as she focused on the disturbance, her hand tightening slightly around Neeko’s paw.

  “Good find,” Ivy said, her voice warm with genuine praise. A smile broke through her concentration as she met Neeko’s wide-eyed gaze. He puffed out his chest slightly, his earlier nerves forgotten in the glow of her approval.

  They opened their eyes simultaneously, the connection fading, but the image of the dark blip lingered in their minds.

  “We found something,” Ivy said, standing up. She brushed the dirt from her hands, glancing at Nirva, who had already shifted her attention back to them. “And I think it’s going to help us.”