The forest did not breathe anymore.It pulsed.
The roots writhed beneath the soil like veins carrying black blood, beating in time with the whispers that had chased them since the Wolf's belly. Red clung to Cipher's sleeve as the earth split open ahead of them, a gnarled trunk tearing itself free from the ground. Its bark was not wood, but flesh bound with thread, like a page sewn shut.
The Automaton buzzed uneasily on Cipher's shoulder, wings half-folded, light dimmed. Its tiny voice cut through the growing hush:"Something here remembers. And it does not want to forget."
Red's breath caught. "The tree—why does it look like that?"
The thing towered over them, branches stretching wide and sagging low, hung with scraps of parchment instead of leaves. Each sheet bore words scrawled in dripping ink. When the wind shifted, Cipher saw they were lines—fragments of the same sentence written over and over:
The girl is eaten. The girl is eaten. The story ends.
Cipher raised his scythe, the runes across its length flaring faintly. "Because the forest isn't just alive. It's the archive. The story roots itself here, again and again. Every telling, every retelling. This is where it feeds."
Red shook her head violently. "I don't want to see it—I don't want to hear it again—"
Her hands went to her ears, but the branches bent lower, whispering just above her hair. The parchment rustled like laughter, like teeth chewing through her courage.
The Automaton clutched Cipher's collar, eyes flickering. "If she falters here, the ending binds tighter. Teacher—this tree is the cage. Cut it, or it cuts her."
Cipher didn't swing. Not yet. His eyes narrowed on the tree's heart, where the bark split into a hollow. Inside was no wood, but a face, old and pale, stitched shut with black thread. Its empty sockets wept ink that dripped down the trunk.
The face whispered, louder than the rest:She is eaten. She is gone. Why resist? The story is written. It has always been written.
Red staggered back, tears streaking her mud-stained cheeks. "It's right. It's always right. Every time, the Wolf—every time it ends—"
Cipher stepped between her and the tree. His voice was low, steady, the calm a teacher uses when the panic in the room threatens to spill. "Red. Look at me."
Her eyes flicked up, trembling.
"You told me once you had no courage." He angled the scythe downward, planting its blade into the earth like an anchor. "But you were wrong. You're standing here, breathing, even when the forest says you shouldn't. That is courage."
The tree hissed, parchment whipping in a frenzy, words tearing themselves off their sheets to circle like wasps. The whispers grew unbearable.
Eaten. Eaten. The girl is eaten.
Red shook her head, clutching her cloak. Her voice was a broken whisper. "I can't—I can't fight this—"
Cipher's hand closed over hers, guiding it to grip the scythe with him. The runes brightened at her touch.
"You don't fight alone. Say it again. Say you're not food."
Her lips trembled, but she forced the words through her fear. "I… am not food."
The whispers tore louder, violent now. The stitched face in the tree groaned, the black thread straining.
Cipher pressed. His eyes burned with conviction, and his voice cut through the storm. "Say it like you mean it, Red. Tell the story it's wrong."
Her cry split the forest like a blade:"I AM NOT FOOD!"
The world shuddered.
The parchment leaves burst into flame, burning without smoke. The stitched face screamed as the black thread snapped, mouth yawning open in a howl of endless hunger. Roots ripped free from the soil, whipping through the air like whips.
Cipher wrenched his scythe from the ground, swinging in a wide arc. Fire met steel. The blade carved through roots, scattering sparks and shadow alike. The Automaton screamed in warning, "It won't die here—it only resists change!"
The tree lunged, its hollow mouth gaping wider, trying to swallow them whole. Red's cloak flared crimson, her fear burned into defiance. She raised her arms, and the light from her cloak surged outward, forcing the branches back.
Cipher caught her glance. A flicker of pride crossed his face. "Good. Hold that. Don't let it take the words from you."
The stitched face bellowed, cracks spreading across the trunk. From those fractures, shadows poured like tar, spilling into the forest floor. They didn't vanish. They formed.
Figures rose, tall and thin, draped in black. Faceless but not formless. They swayed like puppets on invisible strings, their heads jerking toward Red in unison. Their mouths opened, and whispers poured out in a single voice:
Stay in your ending. Obey your script. Be eaten. Be gone.
The Automaton's light dimmed to a sharp pinprick. Its voice was ragged, almost frightened. "The Fades… Teacher—they come."
Cipher spun his scythe, steadying himself. His voice was iron."Then let them learn. Not every story belongs to them."
The first Fade stepped forward, and the forest leaned with it.