Spirefall's promise shimmered like a mirage on the horizon, the city's crooked towers spearing the twin-sunned sky. But between Rin and Elira lay the true wilds of Ethelara—the dense Loamheart Wood, infamous for its shifting paths and the hungry things bred in the Weaver's shadow.They walked quickly, fatigue heavy after their earlier fight. Every shadow seemed to stretch with latent menace, and the echo of the Thread in Rin's chest made him flinch with each pulse of the forest's unnatural heartbeat.Elira stopped beside a gnarled tree wound with luminous vines, her staff poised and eyes shut in focused concentration. "The Phageborn aren't just beasts," she murmured. "They're mutations—fragments of Echoed who lost themselves. Avoid their gaze, and never let them touch your Thread."Rin exhaled shakily. "What happens if they do?"She grimaced. "They'll feed on your essence. Become stronger."A distant, rattling screech shattered their conversation. The ground trembled beneath, and something immense prowled just beyond sight. Shapes began to appear, stitched together by loss and hunger. Claws scraped at bark, and bone masks gnashed—more intelligent and nimble than before."They've smelled us," Elira said, bracing herself.The attack was swift. Three Phageborn dashed from the ruin, all sinew and horror and burning green eyes. One lunged for Elira, but her staff sang with searing white magic, forming a shield that splintered and melted the monster's flesh. Rin ducked as another swept at him, old instincts useless in this new reality.In panic, his Thread responded. He felt the concept of "distance" stretch—instinctively he warped space between himself and the beast, blurring their separation so the claws could not reach. The air snapped cold, and the Phageborn twisted in confusion as the world bent.But with every exertion, he felt memory slipping. The street he grew up on vanished from his mind; the taste of miso soup faded to gray. The forest seemed to feed on his loss.Elira spun gracefully, chaining attacks together as she manipulated the forest's bioluminescent energy. Spears of living wood erupted from the ground. The last creature dodged, but Rin—numb, half-drifting—focused his Thread again.He imagined "silence," forcing it into the monster's mind. And suddenly the beast paused, unable to roar, deaf to its own rage. Elira finished it with a blinding blast.When the madness passed, Rin fell to his knees, sweating, dizzy. Elira knelt beside him, her voice low with concern. "Your Thread… it's powerful. But you're burning too fast."He stared at her, frightened by the gaps in his memory. "Will I—""No," she cut in. "I'll teach you restraint. If you don't learn it, the Spire scholars will use you until nothing remains."As they recovered, the world felt changed—a little emptier, but safer for now. The forest glowed brighter, and the path to Spirefall opened, winding between luminous roots.That night, Rin stared into the unfamiliar stars overhead, his mind haunted by the day's cost. Elira watched him, singing softly as she told tales of old Echoed and their victories—and failures.In the distance, Spirefall awaited, its lights a beacon of civilization. But as they crossed the threshold, Rin was certain: survival depended not just on strength, but on mastering the fragile balance between power and memory.
