The mossy path narrowed as they left the dueling ground, branches arching overhead like the ribs of a colossal beast.
No one spoke at first. Breath came slow and uneven, weapons still in hand. The quiet between them was not peace—it was the taut silence of people who knew they hadn't survived so much as been allowed to leave.
The Codex's map in Eliakim's arm pulsed faintly in the dim light. The routes that had been steady before were now jittering—lines thickening, fading, and sometimes darting into jagged shapes like nervous scribbles. It almost felt alive in his hands, and not in a way he trusted.
They were twenty steps into the next stretch when the first attack came.
A flicker of motion at the edge of the path—Caleb turned just in time to knock an arrow from the air. The blue flame hissing from its shaft licked across his sleeve, burning a small hole before vanishing.
No attacker in sight.
They moved faster, boots whispering over moss.
Fifteen steps. This time, it was Malachi—his mace snapping up to block a chain-flail that lashed from above. The spiked head withdrew into the leaves before he could grab it.
"Same opponents," Gideon muttered. "They're not done with us."
The third strike was for Ezra. A staff swept for her blindfolded head, and she met it without flinching—bark and crystal colliding in a spark of mana before the enemy faded back into shadow.
Her stance didn't waver. Instead, she breathed out slow, lowering her staff with deliberate calm.
"That's three in less than a minute," Caleb said. "We're being herded."
"No," Ezra murmured, tilting her head as if listening to a far-off bell. "We're being tested… still."
They pressed forward. Every curve of the path brought another strike—a glaive from the side, arrows from above, blades darting from behind trunks. None of the dark elves lingered after striking. None of them spoke.
By the time they reached a narrow section where moss gave way to roots, they were all breathing hard—not from exhaustion, but from the steady trickle of adrenaline that never quite stopped.
Ezra finally slowed, letting Malachi walk beside her.
"I owe you something," she said, her voice quiet enough that only he heard. "In the hut… when I couldn't control it, and you told me to stop before I tore myself apart—I didn't understand then. I do now. This… control… isn't about holding back. It's about knowing when to spend."
Malachi gave a small, approving nod. "You're learning the difference between a flood and a river. Both move water—but only one shapes the land."
A small smile flickered on her lips. "Thank you. For that. And…" Her steps slowed again as Eliakim passed ahead of them, the Codex in his arm. "…I need to say something else."
She quickened her pace to catch him.
"Eliakim."
He glanced over his shoulder. "Hmm?"
"In the hut… I said things I shouldn't have. When I was… angry. It wasn't fair. I was lashing out." She hesitated. "…I'm sorry."
He studied her for a moment, the green-filtered light painting strange patterns across his face. Then he gave a single nod—not dismissive, but final. "Apology accepted. Just don't make me regret it."
That almost pulled a laugh from her. Almost.
The path widened slightly as they approached what the Codex marked as the central section—a hollow-like basin surrounded by roots thicker than houses.
That was when the harassment attacks began to change.
The dark elves didn't just strike and vanish now—they struck in pairs, one drawing attention while another tried to slip behind. Gideon's glaive-wielding foe aimed for his back while Eliakim fought his hook-blade rival. Caleb's flaming-arrow opponent tried to pick off Ezra when she turned to defend Malachi.
It was coordinated. Too coordinated.
And with each exchange, they seemed to look at someone—not just glance, but really look. A lingering, measuring stare before fading into shadow again.
No one said the name aloud, but everyone noticed it.
Once, Gideon caught the gaze and muttered under his breath, "Why them?" Then he shook his head, saying no more.
By the time the root-basin loomed ahead, the light was darker than before. Not just shaded—dark, like the air itself had been thickened with shadow.
The Codex's map lines trembled violently now, and a faint red glow traced one single path inward.
Eliakim stared at it, jaw tight. He knew what it meant.
The forest wasn't just hunting. It had chosen its prey.