The fire had burned down to coals. No one added more wood.
Raif moved along the perimeter of the clearing, his boots soft against the dirt. Eloin walked beside him, carrying a branch with one end darkened from recent burning. It gave off a faint scent of resin.
They didn't speak at first. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything had already been said in looks and silences.
"She's not going to make it through the morning," Eloin said eventually. He didn't say Syl's name.
Raif nodded slowly. "I know."
They stopped near the edge of the wall. Moonlight filtered down through the leaves, silvering the edges of the barkwood fence. Raif pressed a hand to one of the newly patched panels, then looked down. Spore rot had already touched the outer edge. A faint line of dark green, like moss growing in the grain.
"We fix one thing," Raif muttered. "Something else rots."
Eloin didn't answer. He just shifted his weight and glanced back toward the shelter.
Inside, the silence was heavier.
Mira sat cross-legged beside Syl. Her hand rested gently on the girl's wrist, two fingers monitoring the weakening pulse. A bundle of softened moss steamed beside her, freshly boiled. The stump of a cracked bone knife lay on a folded bark mat.
Syl's skin had lost its tone. Her breathing came shallow and slow. The corruption had spread beyond the shoulder now, staining her collarbone and creeping toward her chest. Grey-green veins pulsed softly beneath the skin. Every so often, her eyes flickered beneath closed lids. Her mouth twitched like she was trying to speak in dreams.
Mira didn't move. Her face was calm, but her jaw was tight. Watching. Measuring.
Outside the shelter, Goss sat beside the fire pit. His hands worked mindlessly at a strip of bark cord, twisting it again and again. He wasn't looking at anything.
Lira sat across from him, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes were fixed on the shadows dancing inside the shelter.
Naera leaned against the wall just outside, dozing in fits, her hand still loosely wrapped around her spear. Hennick was nowhere to be seen. He'd gone to check the southern fence hours ago and hadn't come back. No one had gone looking.
The clearing held its breath. Every sound felt distant, the insects dulled, the leaves unmoving.
Raif turned back to Eloin. "We'll talk to them at first light."
Eloin gave a small nod. "Might be too late."
"I know," Raif said again.
And for a moment, he let himself feel the weight of what would come next.
Mira stepped out from the shelter just before dawn. Her sleeves were rolled, forearms streaked with dried moss stain. Her expression didn't shift, but the way she stood, shoulders squared, gaze locked, spoke enough.
"She won't last until midday," she said flatly.
Raif looked up from the fire, where he'd crouched to stir what little warmth remained in the coals. The others were already gathering: Goss and Lira approached from opposite sides of the clearing, Eloin a few steps behind them, silent as ever.
Goss ran a hand over his face. "There's nothing else you can do?"
"She's burning from the inside," Mira said. "The infection's deep. It's fungal, systemic. If it reaches her chest, lungs, we won't be able to slow it. Let alone stop it."
"So, what," Goss snapped. "You want to carve off her arm and hope that fixes it?"
"Yes," Mira replied. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
Lira paled. "Have you... done that before?"
Mira didn't look at her. "Once. It wasn't clean. It didn't end well."
A silence settled, heavier than the one that preceded it.
Raif broke it. "But it's the only chance."
"She's unconscious," Mira said. "We won't be able to ask her. But if she were awake, I think she'd choose to fight."
"I don't know," Goss muttered. "You're not asking her to fight. You're asking her to survive something no one here even knows how to do."
"We know enough to try," Eloin said. He stood tall, arms folded. "We have what we need. Bone blade, binding, moss. We've done more with less."
Raif looked around the group. No one met his eyes. Lira's voice came next, low but steady. "She'd want us to try."
Another silence. Then Raif said, "We do it."
Goss lingered at the edge, arms crossed. "And if this kills her?"
Raif didn't look away. "Then at least we tried."
Goss shook his head, quiet but fierce. "That's not enough for me."
Mira gave a single nod, then turned and re-entered the shelter. The others followed in grim quiet.
Inside, the shelter had been cleared as best it could. A mat of bark and moss had been laid out flat in the centre. Syl lay atop it, her body small and shivering despite the warmth in the air.
Mira worked quickly. A bone shard had been honed to a rough edge using a strip of sandstone. It wouldn't be precise, but it would cut. Eloin placed a flat stone near the fire, heating it red-hot with care. Goss prepared layers of moss pads and boiled barkleaf to wrap afterward. Lira didn't speak, she just tightened the vine bindings around Syl's wrists and ankles.
Raif hovered near the shelter's entrance, arms crossed, jaw tight. He wasn't helping directly, just watching, absorbing everything. As if making the decision had tied him to the outcome.
He glanced at Syl's face, pale and still, then at Mira's shoulders as she hunched over her tools. He didn't know if they were saving her, or simply prolonging the suffering. He didn't know if leadership meant choosing, or just carrying the cost of the choice.
"I'll cauterise after," Eloin said, nodding to the stone.
Goss fumbled with the moss pads, hands moving too fast. He packed the layers unevenly, muttering to himself. "It's not going to work," he said again, too quietly for anyone to acknowledge. His fingers trembled as he smoothed one layer down. "She's going to scream. She's going to hate us."
When Mira asked for the bark wedge, he almost dropped it. His grip was too tight. "I'm not built for this," he whispered, handing it over.
"I'll cut," Mira replied. "Fast. One motion, maybe two. Then pressure. No hesitation."
She kept her voice flat, but her mind raced ahead. She walked herself through the motions again. Grip the bone shard tightly, angle the edge just beneath the rot line, commit with full pressure. No sawing, no faltering. Last time she had hesitated. The girl had screamed until her throat gave out.
Mira blinked, forcing her hands to stop shaking. "Fast," she murmured again.
"She's going to wake up," Goss muttered.
"I know," Mira said. "Hold her still."
They finished the last of the prep. Mira crouched beside Syl, hand on her shoulder. "You're strong," she whispered, barely audible. "Don't let go."
Goss placed a piece of bark between Syl's teeth. Lira kept her grip steady on the lower half of Syl's legs. Hennick braced her opposite shoulder. Naera sat back, eyes wide but focused, clutching her spear like a talisman.
Mira took a breath.
Lira leaned down close to Syl's ear. "We've got you," she whispered. "Don't you dare let go."
She cut.
The bone shard sank through skin and muscle with more resistance than she'd hoped. It wasn't clean , it couldn't be. The edge grated through tendons like fraying rope. Blood burst hot against her wrist, and Syl arched violently.
A muffled scream tore from Syl's throat. The bark between her teeth slipped, and for one second her eyes snapped wide open.
"Rina-!" she shrieked. "Stop! No! Don't cut me again! Please!"
Her limbs jerked against the bindings. Goss flinched, nearly letting go. Mira's voice cut through the chaos. "Hold her!"
Lira pressed down harder, grimacing. "She's fighting!"
"Good," Mira snarled. "Means she's still in there!"
Syl thrashed again. Blood poured in sheets across the mat. Her head turned, eyes wide, unfocused, then locked on Lira.
"Don't leave me," she choked out.
Lira froze. Her hands didn't move, but something in her face broke.
And then Syl slumped.
Her body sagged against the restraints. The light in her eyes dulled. Mira moved fast, pressing moss down over the stump, shouting for Eloin.
He dropped the stone, red-hot, into her waiting hand.
"Do it!"
Mira pressed the searing edge against what remained. The sizzle filled the shelter, thick and acrid. Syl didn't move.
When it was done, Mira dropped the stone and sat back, shoulders shaking.
No one spoke. Only the wet sound of blood-soaked moss shifting beneath them remained.
Mira sat frozen, one hand still hovering over the stump. Her breath came shallow, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Blood stained her wrists to the elbow. Her mind ran blank and frantic, cycling through what she'd done. Too slow. Too much blood. The cut had caught bone. Had she angled it wrong? Had she waited too long?
Outside the shelter, Raif hadn't moved. He stood in the doorway, half-shadowed, hands gripping the frame. He hadn't stepped in, hadn't spoken, hadn't stopped it. The decision had been his, but now every scream echoed as if it belonged to him. He stared at Syl's limp form, face pale.
The room stank of blood, scorched bark, and flesh. The steam from the stone still drifted upward, curling like a ghost.
Goss wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, then again, harder, like he could scrub away the smell. "She saw something," he muttered hoarsely. "She remembered something."
No one responded.
Lira remained by Syl's side, unmoving. Her hands had left bruises on Syl's legs from where she'd held her down. She stared at the girl's face. "Don't leave me," Syl had said.
The words didn't vanish. They clung to the inside of the shelter, heavier than the heat.
Eloin picked up the stone with a forked stick and dunked it in a bowl of boiled water. The hiss was sharp, violent, like something being sealed into silence. He didn't speak. Just watched the steam rise until it stopped.
Then, finally, Mira leaned back and exhaled. Her shoulders slumped, and her hands dropped to her lap, still shaking.
"She's alive," she said.
But it didn't sound like a victory.
Outside, the wind had picked up. Leaves whispered along the canopy, branches tapping softly against bark.
Raif stepped out of the shelter, needing space, needing air. The world beyond felt no different than it had an hour ago. But he did. And so did they.
He crouched by the orb, not to activate it, just to be near something that didn't bleed. The fire had burned low again. No one moved to feed it.
Then, a shift.
From the treeline, two figures emerged.
Rix stumbled forward first, sweat-slicked and panting, his eyes wide with something that wasn't quite fear, urgency, maybe. His cloak was torn along one side, stained with mud and green pulp. Kael followed behind him, quieter, hunched, his eyes scanning every shadow in the clearing.
Raif stood slowly. "You're back."
Rix didn't wait. "We found something. It's... worse. Deeper than we thought."
Kael didn't speak. He never did. But he moved forward, eyes lingering on the blood-darkened soil, his posture taut with something unreadable, tension, maybe, or dread. His nostrils flared. Then he knelt without a word and raised one hand, slowly opening his fingers.
In his palm was a clump of black soil, spongy, wet, threaded through with something fibrous and unnatural.
Raif stared at it.
Behind him, the shelter creaked. A soft cough. A breath. Syl was still alive. The cost had been paid. But there would be no pause, no time to mourn.
He looked at the soil, at the faces of the two who had brought it.
Whatever peace they'd hoped for was already over.
He didn't know who Rina was, but Lira hadn't moved from Syl's side since.
They had cut what they could. But the root of it all still lay ahead.