The Clearing. Night.
Mirena sat alone at the edge of the clearing, the creature's body before her.
The others were asleep—or trying to sleep. Grog lay on his bedroll, his hand on his sword, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Lira sat with her back to a tree, her bow across her knees, her eyes on the darkness. Aldric was propped against a boulder, his leg stretched out, his cane beside him. William lay on his back, staring at the stars. Gwen curled beside the fire, her cloak pulled tight.
None of them were sleeping. None of them could sleep.
Mirena pulled back the tarpaulin.
The creature's body had shrunk further, its limbs folded in ways that shouldn't be possible, its skin gray and dry. The too many eyes were clouded, the needle teeth visible behind lips that had pulled back from the gums. It looked like something that had been dead for weeks, not hours.
She touched its chest.
Cold. Hard. The skin was like leather, tough and dry. She pressed harder, feeling for something—she didn't know what. A mark. A symbol. Something that would tell her where it had come from.
Nothing.
She moved her hands down its body, over its ribs, its stomach, its limbs. Nothing.
She reached its chest again. Paused.
There was something there. A lump. Small, hard, beneath the skin.
She pressed. The lump shifted.
She took out her knife.
---
The blade was sharp—she had sharpened it herself, before they left the palace, before any of this had started. She cut carefully, slowly, not wanting to damage whatever was inside.
The skin parted. Gray flesh, dry, crumbling. Beneath it, something glinted.
She reached in. Her fingers closed around a small, hard object.
She pulled it out.
A stone.
Dark, smooth, warm. It pulsed in her hand, faintly, steadily, like a heartbeat.
She stared at it.
She had seen something like this before. In Lira's quiver. The mana stones that powered her arrows. The ones that had come from the rings, from Kevin's order, from a time before the kingdom.
But those were different. Those were clear, bright, full of light. This was dark, warm, pulsing with something that felt like heat.
The creature had grown this. Inside its body. Inside its chest.
She looked at the creature's body. At the gray skin, the too many eyes, the needle teeth.
If it could grow mana stones, what else could it do?
She tucked the stone into her pocket. It pulsed against her hip, warm, alive.
She didn't tell the others. Not yet. Not until she understood.
---
She sat for a long time, staring at the creature's body.
The wound in its chest was dark, empty, the stone gone. The flesh around it was already beginning to crumble, to dry, to fall away.
She thought about the portal. About the crack in the world. About the thing that had come through.
She thought about Grog's wound. The infection. The blackened flesh. The thing that was spreading through his blood.
The creature's claws had done something to him. Something that wouldn't heal. Something that was still in him.
She looked at the stone in her hand.
They were connected. She could feel it. The stone, the creature, Grog's wound. All of it was connected.
She needed to understand how.
---
Lira found her at midnight.
She walked to the edge of the clearing, her bow in her hand, her eyes on Mirena's face.
"You've been there for hours."
Mirena nodded. "I was looking for something."
"Did you find it?"
Mirena hesitated. Then she held out her hand. The stone lay in her palm, dark and smooth, pulsing faintly.
Lira stared at it. "What is that?"
"A mana stone. Like the ones in your quiver." Mirena met her eyes. "But different."
Lira took it. Turned it over in her fingers. It was warm, heavier than it looked, pulsing in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
"It's alive," she said.
Mirena nodded. "The creature grew it. Inside its body."
Lira looked at the creature's corpse. The gray skin, the too many eyes, the needle teeth. "What else did it grow?"
Mirena shook her head. "I don't know."
---
Grog woke at dawn.
His chest was on fire. The wound had spread overnight—the blackened flesh was larger now, the pain deeper, the infection spreading through his blood. He sat up slowly, his hand on his sword, his face pale.
Lira was beside him. "How do you feel?"
He met her eyes. "I've been better."
She didn't smile. "We're leaving in an hour. Can you ride?"
He nodded. "I can ride."
She looked at his chest, at the bandages, at the blood that had seeped through during the night. "You're lying."
"I know."
---
They broke camp at first light.
The horses were saddled, the packs were loaded, the creature's body was left where it had fallen. There was no time to bury it, no time to burn it. They needed to move.
Grog rode at the front, his face pale, his hands steady on the reins. Lira rode beside him, her bow across her back, her eyes on the trees. Aldric rode behind them, his leg propped, his cane tied to his saddle. William rode beside him, his sword in his hand. Gwen rode beside William, her eyes on the trail ahead.
Mirena brought up the rear, her staff in her hand, the stone in her pocket pulsing against her hip.
She didn't tell the others. Not yet.
---
The journey back was slow, painful, silent.
The forest was still wrong—no birds, no animals, no wind. Just the sound of the horses' hooves on the soft earth, the creak of leather, the breath of the riders.
Grog's chest ached with every step. The wound was burning now, the blackened flesh spreading, the pain radiating through his side, his back, his arm. He didn't complain. He didn't slow. He just rode.
Lira watched him. She wanted to tell him to stop, to rest, to let the wound heal. But she knew he wouldn't. She knew he couldn't.
They needed to get back.
---
They reached the edge of the forest as the sun began to set.
The palace was visible in the distance—golden stone, green gardens, the towers dark against the sky. But something was wrong.
Smoke rose from the village below.
Lira saw it first. She raised her hand, and the company stopped.
"What is it?" William asked.
She pointed. "The village. It's burning."
Grog's jaw tightened. "The creature?"
She shook her head. "I don't know."
They rode on.