The portal tore itself shut with the sound of ripping silk, leaving behind the scent of wildflowers and rain-soaked earth. Oakhaven. It stood as I remembered, a city sleeping under a blanket of time. Blossoms burst with such impossible vibrancy they seemed to bleed color into the air itself. On every stone and archway, the elegant script of the Old Tongue coiled like dormant vines, humming with a latent power.

My gaze swept over the familiar, silent architecture. I needed a sanctuary for the scroll, a place of significance, but nothing felt right. It wasn’t until I crossed the ancient stone bridge, its surface worn smooth by the footsteps of ghosts, that I saw it. An immense, gnarled oak whose roots clawed at the earth as if to hold the city in place. It wasn’t just a tree; it was an anchor. It called to me.

I knelt, plunging my fingers into the cool, dark soil. The grit beneath my nails was a welcome, grounding sensation. Once the hole was deep enough, I summoned the scroll from its dimensional storage. The box that held the scroll felt impossibly heavy in my hands, weighted not by its material but by its purpose. I laid it within its earthen cradle and gently covered it, smoothing the soil until it looked nearly undisturbed. Then, I settled myself against the trunk, a silent sentinel facing the town square where they would arrive.

Drawing on my mana, I wove a cloak of invisibility around my form, muffling my scent, sound, and presence from the world. Time became a slow river. Minutes bled into an hour. Anxious energy thrummed through me, a frantic rhythm against the patient stillness of the oak. Where were they? I stood up. My pacing wore a faint path in the grass before I forced myself into stillness.

Then I felt it—not with my eyes or ears, but with my very soul. A sharp, violent tear in the fabric of mana.

At the city’s entrance, the air twisted and ripped open, revealing a swirling, violet vortex that pulsed with raw energy. I instinctively glanced at my hands, a flicker of confirmation—still unseen, still unfelt. My gaze snapped back to the portal, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. This was it. The group that held the fate of a broken world in their hands. The final, desperate gamble against K’tthar.

The first to emerge was the swordsman; he had storm-dark hair, and intense green eyes were just as I’d seen them in the Crescent Moon Theater. He moved with a coiled, predatory grace. He was followed by a scholar, his brown hair tied back, his gaze already devouring the city’s secrets. Then a woman whose brilliant smile seemed to challenge the city’s somber beauty. Next, the one with hair like spun shadow and unnerving violet eyes.

And right behind him… Lyra.

The breath I’d been holding escaped in a silent, pained rush. They were all here.

I watched, a statue carved from shadow, as they moved deeper into the city. Their voices, though hushed, were sharp and clear in the profound silence. The scholar—the one with his hair tied back—spoke first, his eyes alight with an explorer’s fever.

Turning in a slow circle. “I’d trade a year of my life to see the libraries in this city. Imagine the lost knowledge…”

A melodious chuckle came from the smiling woman. “Honestly, Finn,” she teased, “only you would walk into a living dream and immediately start looking for dusty books.”

Finn nudged her playfully. “Knowledge is its own adventure, Liora.”

They were nearing the bridge, their path taking them directly toward me. My focus narrowed, locking onto the swordsman. I poured all my intent into a single, needle-sharp point of pressure, a psychic weight against the back of his neck. Feel me. You are the shield. You have to feel me.

It worked. Noctis stopped dead in the middle of the bridge. His head snapped up, those piercing green eyes sweeping across the empty square.

“Hold,” he commanded. His voice was a low, sharp thing that cut through the air.

The others froze, their playful mood vanishing like mist. They searched, but they saw nothing. I held my breath, my very being clamped down into a point of perfect stillness.

For one calculated, heartbeat-long moment, I let the illusion drop. I didn’t become visible—I coalesced. The air around me thickened, weaving itself into a figure of pure, depthless shadow, a humanoid shape that drank the light.

Four pairs of eyes locked onto me. I saw the flash of shock, the glint of steel as Lyras hand went to her hilt, the scholar’s gasp. Before a single one of them could react, I willed the shadows to dissolve, snapping back into perfect concealment. I saw Finn murmur something, his words lost on the wind, his face pale.

“We should search that spot.” the violet-eyed man ordered, his voice a calm, commanding current in the river of their shock.

As they cautiously approached the tree, I melted back another fifteen paces into the deeper gloom. The man with violet eyes circled the ancient trunk, his brows furrowed.

“That wasn’t a random event,” he mused, his gaze tracing the path of the roots. “That felt… deliberate. Or a warning.”

“Could something be buried here?” Liora asked suddenly, her eyes glinting. “Finn and I used to hide treasures under the Whispering Oak back home.”

At her words, Noctis crouched, his focus absolute. He’ll find it, I knew with a surge of grim satisfaction. His gloved hand swept over the soil, once, twice.

“You’re right, Liora,” he murmured. “The ground here… it’s been disturbed.”

“Then dig!” she urged.

Noctis didn’t hesitate, clearing the fresh earth with swift, efficient movements. Moments later, his fingers brushed against wood. “Here,” he said, unearthing the small, rune-etched box. He rose and offered it to Lyra. “You open it. Your hands are cleaner.”

She took it, a slight tremor in her fingers as she worked the latch. Carefully, she lifted out the contents and began to unroll the ancient parchment. Finn drew close, peering over her shoulder.

“The Old Tongue,” he breathed, his voice a reverent whisper.

Lyra looked to the scholar. “Finn? Can you read it?”

“I can,” he confirmed, taking the offered scroll. The others gathered around him, their faces illuminated by the faint, magical glow of the parchment.

My attention was violently ripped away as I saw it—a flicker of corrupt, sickly violet energy arcing between the violet-eyed man’s fingers. It was unnatural, a dissonant chord in the symphony of Oakhaven’s pure mana. It sparked for less than a second before vanishing. A human soul cannot always contain such power, Cassius had warned me. My gut tightened.

I forced my focus back to Finn. “It’s a journal entry,” he was saying, his voice strained. As he read it to them.

“Wait,” Lyra cut in. I saw a fine tremor run through her. She was afraid. “K’tthar,” she whispered, the name a venomous thing on her tongue. “He’s the entity bound in the Void for eternity, isn’t he?”

If only it were that simple. I watched them debate, their voices a low murmur of dawning horror. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. I was the weapon forged to break the lock. They were the final blade, the last hope should I fail. The truth of their purpose, of what was truly being asked of them, would shatter them before their journey even began. The weight of my silence was a mountain on my shoulders.

“I can’t get the image of that… thing out of my head,” Lyra murmured.

“Nor I,” Finn admitted, carefully re-rolling the scroll.

Noctis broke the spell. “We need to keep moving.” His gaze was already locked on the silent, colossal building. He started toward it, and the others, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.

All but one. Finn remained under the gnarled oak, his expression lost.

Liora noticed. She paused, turning back. “Finn? What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered, his voice distant. His eyes were fixed on the colossal structure ahead. “It’s… a pull. A resonance. As if a piece of my own soul is already inside those walls, waiting for me.”

The violet-eyed man offered a wry, unreadable smile. “Convenient, since that’s where we’re headed.”

With that, Finn rejoined them, his hesitation replaced by a strange, new resolve. I watched them cross the last stretch of grass, their figures shrinking against the sheer scale of the building until the great doors swallowed them whole.

A fragile spark of hope flickered within me. Let this be enough. Let this place hold their focus long enough for me to do what I must.

With them safe for now, my thoughts finally turned from my mission to Cassius. Days had passed since I had last seen him. Being here reminds me of when we were here. I wondered how he is doing—how the elves are. My duty here is done, for now. I want to go to Aelindoria.