The forest didn't welcome me.
It swallowed me.
Every step I took into Virelyn felt like walking deeper into something's throat. The trees arched above like black ribs. The soil was too soft, like it remembered bleeding. And overhead, the moon Loud and low gurgled laughter that only I seemed to hear.
I didn't know what I hated more: the sound, or the fact that I wasn't sure it was laughter.
"Smell that?" said a voice from over my shoulder. "That's the aroma of destiny. Or maybe rotting squirrel. I'm not great with the difference."
I sighed and adjusted the strap digging into my collarbone. Grimpel, a half-shattered skull mounted on a crooked stick, bobbed behind me like some deranged torch.
"Grimpel," I said, "If I impale you upside down, do you think your jokes would come out less stupid?"
"You wound me," he said, with mock offense. "But you know, technically, I'm already impaled. So really, you'd just be rearranging the scenery."
I didn't laugh.
I hadn't laughed in years.
We pressed deeper. Trees loomed like prisoners in chains, their branches twisted into gestures that looked too much like pleading hands. The further we walked, the louder the moon got. Not with noise, something worse. Emotion. It felt like it was leaning closer, amused and waiting.
The Wyrmstone around my neck pulsed. Cold. Familiar. Almost reassuring.
I held it tight.
That stone was the only thing that hadn't betrayed me. Not yet.
"You sure you're ready for this?" Grimpel asked suddenly, voice quieter.
"No," I answered. "But it's the only thing left to do."
I didn't tell him the truth—not fully. That I hadn't just come to get my soul fragments back.
I came to find Maedra.
To end her.
Even if it killed me.
Especially if it killed me.