The clearing felt suffocating as the dim light of dawn crept through the twisted trees. The remnants of the night clung stubbornly to the forest, wrapping the air in a cold, heavy stillness.
Kieran stirred, letting out a groan as he rubbed at his neck. "We should move," he muttered, his voice groggy. "The longer we sit, the worse it'll get."
Sarina, seated with her back against a twisted log, didn't look up. "Move where? Tyris can barely breathe. If we push him too hard, he won't make it."
Eron didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Tyris's pale face, watching his chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven breaths. His lips were chapped, his face slick with sweat, and yet there was something fierce in the way his fingers occasionally twitched, as though still clinging to some unseen thread of will.
"We move carefully," Eron said at last, his voice calm but firm. "If we stay, the Bastion will finish him off."
"Great plan," Kieran muttered, standing and slinging his pack over his shoulder. "I'll just carry him then, shall I?"
"You'll carry him when I can't," Sarina shot back, rising to her feet. Her tone was sharp, but her movements betrayed her concern as she crouched beside Tyris, adjusting the cloak they had used to keep him warm through the night. "You said you wouldn't let him die."
"I won't," Eron replied evenly, pulling his hood tighter.
But none of them moved yet. Not yet.
Their gazes turned toward the base of a nearby tree, where the still forms of Mira and Ryn rested beneath the shelter of its massive, gnarled roots. The two bodies lay close together, as though even in death they were protecting one another. Ryn's head was slumped against the bark, his once-mischievous grin gone forever. Mira's arm reached toward her fallen dagger, her fingers inches from the hilt.
"Someone will come for them," Sarina murmured, breaking the heavy silence.
Kieran turned to her, brow furrowing. "Who? No one's coming here, Sarina. Not until the Trials end. By then..." He trailed off, looking away.
"They deserve better," she said, her voice tight but resolute.
Eron crouched beside Mira, studying her peaceful face. "They deserve more than we can give them right now," he said quietly.
After a long moment, Sarina reached into her satchel, pulling out four pale-blue flowers. The petals shimmered faintly in the soft light of the Flowlines, delicate but unyielding.
"They're from the Hollow," she said, more to herself than to the others.
She knelt beside Ryn and placed a single flower in his open hand, then another in Mira's.
"Two for them," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She hesitated, then pressed the final two flowers into Mira's grasp, arranging them carefully. "And two for Tyris. For the ones who can't carry their own."
Kieran shifted uncomfortably, his arms crossed over his chest. "Think that'll be enough?"
"It's all we have," Sarina replied sharply, standing and brushing dirt from her knees.
Eron remained crouched for another moment, his gaze lingering on the flowers. He gave a slow nod, then stood. "Let's hope it's enough."
Kieran exhaled heavily, looking over his shoulder as though half-expecting the forest to swallow the bodies. "We're not coming back here, are we?"
"No," Eron said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "We're not."
Sarina's fingers curled into fists at her sides, but she didn't argue.
They had barely taken ten steps when Tyris stirred. His body shifted in the sling, and his head lolled to the side.
"Wait," Sarina said sharply, lowering Tyris's legs carefully to the ground. "He's waking up."
Eron knelt beside Tyris, who let out a low, shuddering groan. His eyes fluttered open briefly, unfocused and glassy. "Vael," he rasped, the word barely audible.
Eron leaned closer. "What did you say?"
"Vael," Tyris repeated, his voice cracking like dry bark. His lips moved again, but his words were a jumble of incoherent murmurs.
"What's he talking about?" Kieran asked, his tone edged with unease.
"Shh," Eron said, his focus on Tyris. "Let him speak."
The Abyssal leader's body twitched, his breathing shallow but urgent, as though struggling to force the words out. "Everywhere… the Flowlines…" His voice wavered, faltering with each syllable.
Sarina crouched closer, her amber eyes wide with alarm. "What's he talking about? Who's 'him'?"
Tyris's hand twitched weakly, curling into a loose fist. "He's Watching… Always watching…" His words trailed off into a faint wheeze.
Eron's jaw tightened. "Who, Tyris? Who is Vael?"
The question hung in the air, but Tyris didn't—or couldn't—answer. His head rolled back against the sling, his body going limp once more.
Kieran exchanged a tense look with Sarina. "You think he's just raving? Maybe it's the Flowline energy messing with his head."
"Maybe," Sarina muttered, though her voice was uncertain.
Eron stood, his expression grim. "It doesn't matter if it's real or not. Whatever he's afraid of, it's enough to keep him alive this long." He turned his sharp gaze back toward the treeline, where the shadows seemed to shift and twist. "We need to keep moving."
Kieran hefted Tyris's legs again with a frustrated grunt. "You think Vael's just some kind of ghost story?"
"Let's hope so," Eron replied, though his voice lacked conviction.
Sarina glanced back at the tree where Mira and Ryn's bodies lay, her jaw tight. "If someone finds them… they'll know what to do about all of this. About Tyris. About whatever's waiting ahead."
Eron didn't respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the treeline. Finally, he said, "Keep moving. The only answers we'll get are ahead."
They moved slowly, pausing often to adjust Tyris or check his breathing. Each step deeper into the Bastion made the air feel heavier, the forest darker. The oppressive silence pressed in from all sides, broken only by the occasional crackle of Flowlines beneath their feet.
The First Scroll
It was just past dawn when Eron froze mid-step, his sharp eyes narrowing.
"What is it?" Sarina asked, lowering Tyris's legs carefully to the ground. Her voice was wary, edged with fatigue.
Eron held up a hand, motioning for silence. The hum of the Flowlines beneath their feet had shifted, growing stronger and steadier. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to a sound just beyond their reach.
"There," he said, pointing through the dense trees.
Kieran stepped forward, his sharp gaze following Eron's direction. At first, he saw nothing but twisted branches and shadows. Then a faint golden glow flickered in the distance, pulsing in time with the Flowlines.
"Looks promising," Kieran said evenly, though his tone held a note of caution.
The three of them moved cautiously toward the light, with Sarina taking point while Kieran and Eron carried Tyris. The glow grew brighter as they approached, revealing a grove unlike anything they had seen before.
The trees were tall and ancient, their gnarled trunks forming an almost perfect circle around the grove. At the center stood a stone pedestal, weathered but intact, and above it hovered a golden scroll. Its light was warm and steady, illuminating the grove like a solitary beacon.
Sarina exhaled sharply. "A scroll."
"Seems like it," Kieran said, his expression calm. "But let's not forget where we are. This place doesn't give gifts."
Eron nodded, his gray eyes scanning the ground. The Flowlines beneath their feet pulsed brightly, but the energy felt… wrong. Uneven. "Nothing in the Bastion is easy," he murmured.
As they stepped into the grove, the air shifted. The temperature dropped sharply, and a faint hum filled the clearing, vibrating through their bones.
Sarina shivered, clutching her dagger. "This place feels—"
The grove shuddered, the trees creaking as though they had come alive. Shadows began to seep from the ground, pooling and twisting into unnatural shapes.
"What now?" Kieran asked, his voice calm but edged with tension. He adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, his eyes following the movements of the shadows.
Eron's voice was steady. "They're distractions."
The shadows moved closer, their forms twisting into distorted reflections of the group. Kieran's shadow stepped toward him, its smooth, featureless face tilting in mock curiosity.
"Distractions?" Sarina asked, her dagger raised defensively. "They're coming right at us."
"They're feeding off us," Eron said firmly, his gaze locked on the scroll. "Off our hesitation."
Kieran's shadow spoke, its voice cool and deliberate—a mirror of his own. "You can't save anyone. Not your clan, not your brother. And certainly not him."
Kieran's hand tightened around his sword, but his expression remained calm. "I've heard better taunts," he said evenly, taking a deliberate step forward.
The shadow hesitated, its form flickering as Kieran pushed past it without breaking stride.
"They react to us," Kieran observed, glancing toward Eron. "They falter when we don't engage."
"Exactly," Eron said. "Keep moving."
Sarina hesitated as her shadow loomed closer, whispering in a voice that sounded too much like her own. "You'll always be a shadow. You'll never measure up."
She froze, her breathing quickening.
"Sarina," Kieran said, his voice firm but calm. "Ignore it. It's not real."
"It's—" she started, her voice trembling, but then she caught his steady gaze. Something in his calm broke through the panic threatening to overtake her.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself forward, her shadow flickering and dissolving as she reached the pedestal.
Eron followed closely, his movements deliberate. Together, they reached the pedestal, and Sarina reached out, her fingers brushing the scroll.
Light erupted from the pedestal, flooding the grove with a blinding glow. The shadows let out a collective hiss before dissolving into mist. The grove returned to its natural state, the twisted trees once again silent and still.
Sarina collapsed to her knees, clutching the scroll in trembling hands. "That was awful," she said, her voice shaking.
"You handled it," Kieran said simply, his tone calm but edged with a faint note of approval.
Sarina blinked at him, surprised. "You… think so?"
"You didn't let it stop you," Kieran said. "That's what matters."
Eron gave a small nod of agreement. "Good work," he said quietly.
The Second Scroll
Hours later, deep in a rocky canyon, they found the second scroll. The Flowlines converged here, their energy pooling into a glowing, rippling current. At its center hovered the scroll, its golden light flickering faintly.
"It's there," Kieran said, his tone measured. He glanced at Eron and Sarina, then at Tyris's slumped form.
Without hesitation, Kieran stepped forward.
"Kieran, wait—" Eron began, but Kieran held up a hand.
"This one's mine," Kieran said calmly, his gaze steady as he approached the narrow platform that stretched over the Flowline pool.
The air grew heavier with each step, the Flowlines vibrating beneath him. As he reached for the scroll, the world around him shifted. The canyon blurred, and the platform beneath him trembled.
A chasm opened beneath him, filled with writhing faces and venomous whispers.
"Failure," a voice hissed. "You always fail. You'll fail again."
Kieran's jaw tightened, but his steps didn't falter. "I've already heard worse," he muttered.
The platform crumbled beneath him, but he lunged forward, his fingers closing around the scroll.
The chasm vanished, and the canyon returned to normal. Kieran staggered back, breathing heavily but steady, the scroll clutched tightly in his hand.
Sarina looked between the two scrolls and Tyris, her amber eyes blazing with frustration. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and when she finally spoke, her voice was tight, edged with disbelief.
"We've got two scrolls… but there are three of us."
Kieran knelt beside Tyris without a word. His movements were calm and deliberate as he placed the second scroll gently on the Abyssal leader's chest, securing it within the folds of the sling.
"What are you doing?" Sarina asked, her tone sharp with confusion. "That's your scroll. You earned it!"
"He's going back," Kieran said simply, his voice measured. "He fought harder than any of us. He deserves it."
The words landed like a blow, and for a moment, there was silence.
Eron frowned, his sharp gray eyes narrowing. "You don't have to do this, Kieran. We'll find a way to get all three of us through."
Kieran met Eron's gaze, his expression calm and resolute. "We both know that's not true. This isn't about us anymore."
Sarina's disbelief turned to anger. "You're serious."
Kieran stood slowly, brushing dirt off his knees. "Completely."
Sarina took a step toward him, her eyes blazing. "Do you even hear yourself? You're giving up your chance—your only chance to qualify! And for what? Some noble gesture?"
Kieran met her glare evenly, his tone quiet but firm. "It's not a gesture. It's the right thing to do."
Sarina's hands flew up in frustration. "Since when do you care about the 'right thing'? This is the Trials, Kieran! You're supposed to fight for yourself, not throw it away for someone else!"
"And what do you think Tyris was doing when he stayed behind to fight that Wraithbound?" Kieran shot back, his voice sharp but still calm. "He didn't fight for himself. He fought so the rest of his team might have a chance. They didn't make it, but he's still here. Barely." He gestured toward Tyris, his tone softening. "Do you really think we should let that mean nothing?"
Sarina hesitated, her anger faltering. She glanced at Tyris, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His pale face was slick with sweat, his body limp in the sling.
Eron spoke then, his voice low but steady. "Tyris gave everything, Sarina. If we leave him here, he won't survive. And if he doesn't, what are the Trials worth?"
Sarina's jaw tightened. "That's not fair. You're both making this sound like I want to leave him behind. I don't. But if we all die chasing some stupid idea of 'honor,' what's the point?"
Kieran crossed his arms, his tone calm but unwavering. "The point is that we don't leave people behind. Not when we can help it."
"You're giving up too much!" Sarina snapped. "For once in your life, stop acting like you're above it all and think about yourself!"
Kieran gave a small, humorless chuckle. "You think this is about me?" He shook his head, looking down at Tyris. "I've spent years thinking about myself, Sarina. And you know what? It doesn't get you far. Not really."
Eron watched the exchange silently, his gaze flicking between them. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but cutting through the tension like a blade. "This isn't about who qualifies or who doesn't. It's about who we want to be at the end of this."
Sarina opened her mouth to argue but stopped. Her expression flickered—anger giving way to something more vulnerable. She turned away sharply, her shoulders tense.
"You've got no right to pull this 'hero' act," she muttered, her voice quieter but still heated. "You're the one who's always mocking everyone else. Always acting like nothing matters to you."
Kieran smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. "Guess I've been wrong about a few things."
Sarina spun back toward him, her amber eyes narrowing. "And what if I'm right, huh? What if this is your only chance to shut me up? To prove you're not just some useless Stormhollow dropout?"
Kieran tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "I'd say that's all the more reason to make it count."
Sarina stared at him, her anger draining into something closer to disbelief. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
"Dead serious," Kieran said simply.
Eron stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "Sarina, you're the fastest of us. The most resourceful. If anyone can get Tyris back to the village center safely, it's you."
Her eyes widened. "You're sending me back? What about you two? How are you going to handle the Bastion without me?"
"We'll manage," Eron said, his tone steady. "But we can't do this without knowing Tyris will make it. That's why we need you to go."
"You don't need me," Sarina muttered, her voice low. "You just want me out of the way."
"Sarina," Kieran said, his tone firm but calm. "This isn't about what we want. It's about what you're capable of." He glanced at Tyris, then back at her. "You've got a chance to save someone who gave everything for his team. To prove to yourself and everyone else that you're more than just a shadow. Don't waste it."
Sarina's lips pressed into a thin line. She looked away, her fists clenched. "I hate this. I hate all of this."
Eron placed a hand on her shoulder, his gray eyes meeting hers. "We trust you, Sarina. Get him back."
Sarina's shoulders slumped, but she nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But you two had better come back alive, or I'll kill you myself."
Kieran smirked faintly. "Deal."
With one last glance at the two of them,
Sarina hoisted the sling over her shoulder, adjusting it carefully around Tyris. She paused for a moment, her amber eyes lingering on Kieran. "This doesn't make you noble, Kieran. Just… don't screw up, okay?"
Kieran smirked faintly, his usual edge of humor still intact, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He hesitated, his fingers flexing briefly on the hilt of his sword, as though weighing something unsaid. "I wouldn't dare," he replied lightly, though his voice carried a hint of something deeper—something unspoken.
Eron gave her a small nod. "Good luck, Sarina."
Sarina glanced back at Kieran one last time, her expression softening. "You're impossible, you know that?"
He didn't respond, simply nodding toward the path ahead.
"Take care of yourselves," she said, her voice firm but tinged with worry.
As she disappeared into the distance with Tyris, Eron turned to Kieran, his gray eyes sharp but quiet.
"You surprise me," Eron said.
Kieran arched a brow. "That a compliment?"
Eron smirked faintly. "Might be."
"Don't get sentimental," Kieran replied, his tone light but his expression unreadable.
Eron turned toward the forest, his sharp gaze scanning the trees. "Let's finish this."
"Lead the way," Kieran said calmly, his sword resting lightly at his side.
And together, they stepped into the shadows once more.
"Seven scrolls claimed," a disembodied voice echoed faintly through the Bastion, reverberating like the pulse of the Flowlines. The announcement carried a sense of finality, a reminder of how little time remained.
Eron's jaw tightened. "Sarina and Tyris will make it eight and nine when they get back," he said quietly, his voice calm but edged with determination.
"That leaves three," Kieran noted, his tone level.
"Enough for us—if we move fast."