The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving the world washed and heavy with silence.Water still dripped from the tips of giant leaves, each drop echoing in the dark like a slow, patient clock.
Fern adjusted her pack, glancing at the others. "We should move before dawn. The air feels wrong here."
Noah nodded, tightening the strap of the Sword of Roots across his back. The blade hummed faintly, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Sprint lit his golden mushroom lantern — its soft amber glow spilling over their faces, reflecting in puddles that shimmered like molten bronze.
They began to walk.
The ground squelched beneath their boots. The storm had flattened the undergrowth, making the path easier but eerie. Every sound — the crunch of wet leaves, the quiet creak of their gear — felt louder than it should.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then, Sprint said quietly, "It's too quiet."
Fern nodded. "No crickets. No moths. Even the night flowers have closed early."
Noah didn't answer. His eyes scanned the darkness beyond the lantern's edge, where the shadows pressed close, too thick and too still.
They pushed through a stand of tall grass.At first, it looked normal. But as they moved deeper, Noah noticed the color shift. The blades around them were yellowed, their edges dry and curling despite the rain. The soil beneath was sticky — not from mud, but something tar-like.
He reached out to touch a blade of grass. It crumbled at his fingertips.
Fern crouched beside him, brushing the ground with her palm. "This place is sick," she murmured. "The roots are starving."
Sprint frowned. "Can roots starve?"
"Yes," she said. "When the soil dies, everything dies with it."
Noah looked closer. The dew clinging to the grass shimmered faintly in the lantern light — not clear, but oily, reflecting dull colors like rainbows trapped in grime. The scent in the air shifted too. Beneath the sweetness of wet earth was something sour, metallic, and wrong.
"Pollution," Noah whispered. "Just like the spot near Grandma's fence."
He remembered the patch of land he'd seen from the car window that first day — wilted trees, patchy ground, no birds.This was it. The same rot, only deeper.
They pressed forward until the grass thinned and the world opened into a barren clearing.
The ground here was dark, almost black, split by deep cracks that oozed moisture like open wounds.Fern knelt again, resting both hands on the soil. She closed her eyes, calling to the vines. For a heartbeat, a faint green shimmer flickered around her fingers — then sputtered and vanished.
Her breath hitched. "It's no use."
Noah crouched beside her. "What happened?"
"The earth doesn't answer me anymore," she said softly. "There's no life left to listen."
The silence pressed heavier now. Even Sprint's usual jokes died on his tongue. He kicked at the dirt, grimacing when his boot came away black. "Feels like tar."
Fern's voice was tight. "Corruption seeps into everything — soil, air, roots. Even the wind avoids this place."
Noah stared at the cracked earth. "And this is just the edge?"
She nodded. "The heart lies ahead. Malga's domain."
The air thickened the deeper they went. A faint shimmer clung to it, like invisible dust motes reflecting the lantern's glow. Every breath burned faintly in their throats.
Fern coughed first. Then Sprint followed, doubling over with a wheeze.
Noah felt it next — a crawling itch spreading across his skin, heat prickling under his sleeves. The air smelled sharp now, almost chemical.
Fern clutched her satchel, fumbling for the pouch of honey Nela had given them. She tossed one of the resin pots to Noah. "Drink!"
He bit the seal off and swallowed the thick golden syrup. It coated his throat, cooling the burn instantly. The coughing eased. Sprint leaned back, panting, and wiped his mouth. "Okay," he said weakly. "That… works fast."
Fern smeared some of the resin across her forearms, then tossed the jar to the others. "The resin keeps it from seeping through the skin. It's what protects the hive."
Noah rubbed the resin over his arms and neck. It left a faint pine scent, sharp and clean. His skin stopped burning almost immediately.
Fern glanced at him. "Stingless bee honey has natural antibiotics," she said quietly, her tone half-explanatory, half-grateful. "It cleanses what's tainted. The resin purifies the air itself."
Sprint grinned faintly. "Guess that makes bees better healers than most doctors."
Noah looked out over the dead soil. "And yet they're so small."
Fern nodded. "Sometimes the smallest things keep the biggest alive."
They rested briefly under the shadow of a bent root. The lantern light flickered weakly, reflecting on the black puddles that dotted the clearing.
Then Noah stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. "We keep moving."
They moved into what was no longer a forest but a graveyard.Trees stood twisted and skeletal, bark flaking like charred paper. Their roots rose from the ground like claws frozen mid-reach.The ground was dry now, but when the wind shifted, the air carried the scent of burnt wood and rot.
Fern stopped walking and closed her eyes. "I can't feel the flow of the roots anymore."
Sprint's hand hovered near his bowstring. "You mean… no magic?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. The corruption's too strong here. My power fades."
Noah drew the Sword of Roots. Its silver edge caught the lantern's light and seemed to shimmer faintly, defying the dead air. The glow spread softly across the ground, and for the first time since entering the clearing, a faint patch of moss stirred — weak, but alive.
Fern's eyes widened. "Your sword… it carries life."
Noah looked at it, then at the dark forest ahead. "Then maybe it can guide us through."
Sprint adjusted his bow and smiled grimly. "Guess that makes me rear guard."
They kept walking — step by step, deeper into the decay.
Eventually, even the faint glimmer of moss disappeared.The light from the lantern dimmed, its glow swallowed by a creeping haze.They could taste ash on the air now, and something else — a faint vibration beneath their feet, like a distant heartbeat.
Fern pointed forward. "Look."
Through the haze, a shape emerged — vast and uneven, a mound rising from the cracked earth. At first, Noah thought it was a hill. But then he saw the pattern: roots twisted together, hardened and blackened like iron. Faint red veins pulsed between them, glowing dimly in the dark.
The structure was alive — but barely.
"The fortress of Malga," Fern whispered. "His lair."
Noah's grip on his sword tightened. Sprint raised his bow.
A hot wind blew across the clearing, carrying the smell of decay and ash. The sound it made was almost a whisper — the faintest trace of laughter woven into the breeze.
Noah shivered.
"This is it," he said quietly.
Fern nodded. "The point of no return."
They stood together at the border of death and life — three small figures staring into the heart of corruption.
The Sword of Roots flickered once, as if in warning.
And then, slowly, they stepped forward — into the dying world. Behind them, the forest held its breath. Ahead, the blight waited.