They crested the hill and the Dead Forest opened before them like a mouth. Trees hung low, sharp vines tangled carcasses of animals and the stiff forms of soldiers. Some looked as if sleep had taken them rather than death — armor unbroken, faces strangely preserved beneath moss and fungus.
Jimothy peered through the carriage window, voice tight. "I've heard stories about this place. Why does it feel… different?"
Anon shrugged, steadying the reins. "Most who survived the wars here came out changed or not themselves. Most tales come from the edge of it, not from inside."
Chromdome's hands trembled around his bag. He did not try to hide it.
Vman forced a smile, but his tone had an edge. "We should move. It's early. Best time to travel when everyone's got a full stomach and decent sleep." He sounded cheerful, but the lie showed in the way his fingers curled into his palms.
Jimothy's answer was simple and sharp. "I don't want to go in there."
"If what Anon says is true," Vman said more quietly, "something in there matters." He fell silent, watching the trees.
Anon glanced back. "If I'm pushing us through, I can't fight inside. Don't worry—only basic drift users and knights usually lose themselves here. You're tougher than that." His voice tried for encouragement; it landed somewhere between promise and command.
Chromdome looked at the dark line of trunks and swallowed. "I am not able to handle myself," he whispered.
"You are in good hands," Anon said. "Hold on. We'll get through it."
The carriage moved again, slower now, each wheel crunching along a thin path. A mist hung in the treetops, thick with spores and pollen that made the day feel like dusk. Light came in thin, sickly shafts.
"This place is darker than it should be," Vman said, squinting.
"The canopy is full of spores from the plants' reproduction," Anon replied, breathless as he adjusted his grip. "It keeps the light out."
Chromdome swallowed and pointed toward the trunks. "There's a trace of id in the air. Like a Drift is shaping it." He folded his hands over his knees. "If you can read the wavelength you can tell what kind of Drift it is. I don't recognize this one. Either it's masking itself, or it's complicated. Either way, things here are powerful."
Not far ahead, a shape hunched by the roadside made Jimothy start. "Hey! Who is that? Stop the carriage!" he called, voice tight with alarm.
"No," Anon snapped. "Stopping in this forest is a bad idea. Nowhere's safe." But Jimothy had already slid from the carriage and leapt toward the figure.
Vman vaulted down after him. "Jimothy! What are you doing?"
The man was a guard of Celdrom — by his armor and the old style of his sword — slumped, vines eating into his mail. Jimothy reached the man and shook him. The guard's head rolled up; where eyes should have been, there were pale mushrooms, wet and pulsing.
Vman stepped back, the word tearing from him. "What the—"
"Pestilence," the guard breathed, voice thin and empty. "Those who tread…"
Anon hustled down and crouched, scanning the armor. "This is from another war. Old alloy. Someone dragged him here." He rose, more careful than panicked. "Use your heads."
The guard lunged, one arm flashing with a greatsword. Jimothy barely had time to raise his forearm; the blade struck and rang against bone and rust. The clash sent a shower of green spores into the air.
Leaves rustled all around them. Vines writhed. C2's metallic shell unfolded — a shifting dome of hammered steel that slid over Chromdome like a second skin. She braced, fingers locking into place.
"Anon, Vman, Jimothy — deal with the ensnared," C2 said. Her voice was flat. "I'll protect Chromdome."
"On it!" Vman called. He thrust out his hand. "Zeliot, I call you — Rational's Edge!"
A blade of light answered, a weapon that took shape from the air itself. It cut the dull light of the forest like a bright line. Vman's sword flashed; the guard parried with a strength that made the air scream. The metal on metal rang hollow through the trees.
The forest answered with a sound like a thousand throats. The trunks shuddered. A voice rolled through the trunks, older than the men in the carriage.
"Do you think my subjects will sit quiet?" the forest boomed. "I felt Seiku's presence. I felt the awakenings. The One is here. Perfect."
"Are you one of the four great Drifts?" Vman shouted into the shaking leaves.
A laugh, low and wet, filled the air. "Great Drift user?" the forest mocked. "I am greater. The old titles mean nothing now. You are weak."
Anon's face tightened. "Then I was wrong," he admitted. "This is something else." He clenched his fists and looked like a man ready to break himself.
He cracked every joint in a slow, deliberate motion, chest rising as if drawing in the world. Then he lunged, arms sweeping in a motion that tore a great swath across the trees. Half the forest exploded away in a cloud of bark and earth. For a moment, they stood in a wide, dusty arena, stumps and torn vines littering the ground.
"Now show yourself!" Anon roared.
The forest answered with fury. Roots jerked and bunched; leaves formed into a blinding flare and took shape within it — a figure tall and lithe, hair falling like green ropes, ears pointed, features sharpened like thorned leaves.
"I am Pestilence," the form said, voice like rot and rain. "A Drift born into flesh."
"So you're a druid," Anon said, studying him.
Vman frowned. "What's a druid? I've never heard of that."
Chromdome adjusted his glasses, voice shaky but certain. "A druid is when a human's Drift is encapsulated, and a compatible source takes over its traces of id. They call themselves something new, but every druid still comes from a human's old Drift." He paused, glancing toward C2. "Come to think of it… doesn't that make you a druid too?"
"In the literal sense, yes," C2 answered. Her tone was steady, almost sarcastic. "But my id and spirit were so strong that my memories and whole life force were captured inside my capsule. Realistically, any source could have been compatible with me."
"Enough talk!" Vman snapped. "There's a dangerous man in front of us. He wants to kill us."
Pestilence smiled, a slow, cruel curve. "Yes. I will take action." He raised his arms and called, "World Piercer!"
A weapon bloomed from the light — sharp and impossible, a bow that cut the air like two-dimensional glass, string taut and ready. The forest held its breath. The battle was beginning.