The forest that stretched beyond the Forbidden Ground was not mapped, not spoken of in songs or stories. It was older than the kingdoms of men and deeper than the dreams of witches. No moonlight touched the floor here. Even time seemed to hold its breath between the gnarled trees. The very air tasted of earth and shadow, of long-forgotten things that once ruled the night.
Lucien led Seraphina carefully, each of his steps measured, every motion a silent prayer. She followed close, the pulse in her body still out of rhythm since the awakening at the Sanctum. Her skin was sensitive to the air itself, her senses wide open. The whisper of wind across leaves became a thousand hushed voices. Every movement in the dark sang warnings through her blood.
"What is this place?" she asked softly.
"This... is the Veilwood," Lucien murmured. "Named for what it hides, not what it shows. Even wolves avoid it. Even I never walk here unless I must."
The trees were massive, their trunks like stone towers. Vines spiraled upward like veins on giant limbs. Phosphorescent fungi clung to bark in patches, casting a sickly green light that shifted unnaturally with each step. The ground was soft and uneven, like walking on buried bones.
Seraphina paused, pressing a hand to a nearby tree. It felt alive, not just in the way trees live, but sentient. Watching.
"Something's here," she whispered.
Lucien didn't respond immediately. His gaze swept the treetops. "Many things. But one in particular watches closely."
A flicker of movement. A pair of glowing amber eyes blinked in the branches above. Then vanished.
Seraphina turned sharply. "What was that?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "A Sentinel. They've followed us since we stepped through the threshold. They answer only to the Shadowborn."
She stepped closer. "You mean they're servants of the Cradle?"
"Worse," he said. "They're echoes of it. Fragments. Left behind when the Cradle shattered into the world. No flesh. Just instinct and hunger."
Before she could speak again, the air turned colder.
A chorus of low, guttural growls echoed through the Veilwood. Seraphina spun in a slow circle, heart pounding. Dozens of eyes blinked open in the dark. Red. Blue. Yellow. Each pair watching. Waiting.
Lucien stepped forward. "Hold your breath. Don't move unless I say."
A sharp hiss cut through the air, and suddenly a beast lunged from the shadow—a creature made of mist and claw, with bones like armor and no face, only a hollow where eyes should be.
Lucien met it mid-air, transforming in a blink. His body stretched, fur erupting from skin, his jaw elongating into a massive maw. He struck the creature down with a swipe of his claws. It vanished into ash, but more surged forward.
"Run!" he barked.
Seraphina didn't hesitate. She darted through the trees, ducking branches, leaping over twisted roots. The ground pulsed beneath her, the rhythm of the earth echoing in her bones. Behind her, the snarls and clashes of Lucien's battle rang through the dark.
A sharp turn brought her to a clearing. But it wasn't empty.
In the center stood a figure—tall, cloaked in shadows, with eyes that glowed silver.
"Seraphina," it said, voice like wind through a grave.
Her blood froze.
"Who are you?" she asked, already gathering fire at her fingertips.
"I am what was promised. What the child's scream awakened. You walk the Cradle's path, but it is not yours to claim."
She fired a bolt of flame at the figure, but it dispersed like smoke. A whisper of laughter followed.
"You bear the mark, but the mark bears you as well. Do you know what it truly means?"
Seraphina clenched her fists. "It means I survived. It means I'm stronger than the gods who tried to kill me."
"No," the figure replied. "It means you are chosen to die for something greater. The Cradle does not give. It prepares."
Lucien appeared, blood on his claws, chest heaving.
"Back away from her," he growled.
The figure turned its head toward Lucien. "Wolf king. Still breathing, still bleeding. You cannot protect her from herself."
A wind surged through the clearing, and the figure dissolved into nothing.
Lucien rushed to her side. "You saw it, didn't you? The Seer?"
She nodded slowly. "It spoke of the Cradle. Of dying."
He wrapped his arms around her. "Ignore its riddles. It feeds on fear. We keep moving. We don't stop."
They continued through the Veilwood, deeper into the roots of the world. And behind them, where the clearing once was, the figure stood again, unseen.
Its eyes glowed brighter now.
It whispered, "Soon."
And the eyes in the dark blinked in unison.