Reality’s Collapse

The air inside the chamber hung thick with the aftershocks of the recent battle, charged with remnants of the intense magic that had been unleashed. Lysander and Branwen stood amidst the ruins of Malindra’s ritual chamber, their breaths ragged and their bodies trembling from exhaustion. The walls, once covered in pulsating symbols, now lay cracked and broken, while the ground beneath them still pulsed with residual energy.

“Is it over?” Branwen asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her hand still gripping the remnants of a vine that had been torn apart by Malindra’s final outburst.

Lysander didn’t answer immediately. His mind was racing, his connection to the Aetheric Currents buzzing with lingering instability. He could still feel it—the chaotic tremors deep within the currents, as though the energy of the world itself was struggling to find balance.

“It’s not over,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the chamber. “The currents are still unstable.”

Branwen stepped closer to the center of the room, where the vortex had spun with malevolent fury only moments before. The swirling Aetheric energy that had once been bent to Malindra’s will now flickered and warped erratically. Though the immediate threat had passed, the damage she had done remained. The natural flow of magic was twisted, tangled into knots that were rapidly unraveling—and if they didn’t act soon, the entire structure of the currents could collapse.

“We need to stabilize them,” Branwen said, already reaching out with her senses. Her connection to the natural world was weak, strained by the intensity of the battle, but the earth beneath her feet still responded to her call. She could feel the pulse of life, though faint, and she drew on it to center herself.

Lysander knelt by the swirling currents, his staff glowing faintly as he closed his eyes and extended his senses. The raw energy of the Aetheric Currents flowed through him like a rushing river, its once-harmonious rhythm now fractured. His brow furrowed in concentration as he reached out, carefully weaving strands of magic in an attempt to calm the storm.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Lysander said after a moment, his voice grim. “Malindra didn’t just tap into the currents—she corrupted them. The damage goes deep, far beyond this chamber.”

Branwen’s eyes widened. “How far?”

Lysander shook his head. “I don’t know. But if we don’t stop it here, the corruption could spread beyond this place. The currents could unravel across Valandor.”

The weight of his words settled between them like a heavy fog. The Aetheric Currents were the lifeblood of the world, their flow sustaining the balance of magic and nature throughout Valandor. If they were disrupted beyond repair, the consequences would be catastrophic—not just for the natural world, but for all life.

Branwen knelt beside him, her hands brushing the floor as she summoned what remained of her strength. The earth responded slowly, its energy sluggish, but she could still feel the power lying dormant beneath the corruption.

“We can fix this,” Branwen said, more to herself than to Lysander. “We have to.”

Lysander gave a small nod, though his face remained etched with worry. He knew the task before them was immense—perhaps more than they could manage in their current state. But there was no alternative. If they didn’t stabilize the currents now, the collapse of magic could spiral out of control, and there would be no coming back from it.

They worked in silence, their magic flowing in tandem as they reached deep into the currents, unraveling the corruption that Malindra had sown. Branwen focused on grounding the energy, drawing strength from the natural world to anchor the currents in place. Lysander’s magic was more precise, methodically repairing the fractures in the delicate threads of the Aetheric flow.

As they worked, the air around them began to settle. The chaotic energy that had once crackled with instability started to calm, its wild fluctuations softening into a more manageable rhythm.

But just as it seemed they were making progress, a surge of resistance hit them—a sudden jolt of chaotic energy that lashed out from the currents, pushing back against their efforts.

Lysander grunted, nearly losing his balance as the wave of power washed over him. “There’s something deeper,” he said through gritted teeth. “Something… wrong.”

Branwen’s eyes widened as she too felt the disturbance. It wasn’t just the result of Malindra’s meddling—it was something older, more primal. Something that had been awakened by the disturbance in the currents.

“It’s not just the currents,” Branwen murmured, her voice thick with realization. “The balance of the world is shifting.”

Lysander’s expression darkened. He had felt it too—a greater disturbance, something rippling beneath the surface of reality. Malindra’s ritual had triggered something far more dangerous than either of them had realized. And now, that dark force was stirring.

“We need to seal this off,” Lysander said, urgency creeping into his voice. “If we don’t contain it now, it could spread across Valandor.”

Branwen nodded, steeling herself for the final push. Together, they focused their magic once more, channeling every ounce of power they had left into stabilizing the Aetheric Currents.

The chamber trembled as the magic surged around them, but slowly, the wild energy began to settle. The currents, though still fragile, were starting to regain their natural flow, the chaotic disruptions fading away.

The chamber trembled as the magic surged around them, but slowly, the wild energy began to settle. The currents, though still fragile, were starting to regain their natural flow, the chaotic disruptions fading away.

Lysander’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling from the strain of maintaining the complex weaves of magic. He glanced over at Branwen, whose eyes were shut tightly, her lips moving in silent incantation as she continued to channel the energy of the earth. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and the roots she had summoned earlier quivered, barely able to maintain their form under the pressure of the corruption they were combating.

“It’s working,” Lysander murmured, though his voice held little relief. He could sense the progress they were making, but it was tenuous at best. The underlying force they had sensed earlier—something far older than Malindra’s meddling—still lurked beneath the surface. Stabilizing the currents was like trying to sew together a tapestry that was unraveling at the edges while an unseen force tried to pull the threads apart.

Branwen opened her eyes, the emerald glow fading slightly as she let out a breath. “For now,” she replied, her voice strained. “But I can feel it—something else is stirring in the deep currents. It’s like the corruption Malindra triggered has awoken something that should have remained dormant.”

Lysander frowned, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the chamber. The immediate danger seemed to be passing, but Branwen was right. There was still a sense of unease that clung to the air, like the calm before a storm. Whatever force had been disturbed by Malindra’s actions wasn’t going to simply fade away.

“We need to figure out what it is,” Lysander said, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the fragments of knowledge he had about the Aetheric Currents. “This isn’t just about Malindra anymore. She’s damaged the very fabric of the world, and if we don’t find a way to stop it, the entire magical balance of Valandor could be at risk.”

Branwen stood slowly, her legs shaking from the effort it had taken to ground the wild magic. She wiped the sweat from her brow and gave Lysander a tired nod. “I agree. But we won’t be able to do anything more from here. We need to get back to the others, regroup, and figure out what our next step is.”

The thought of rejoining the rest of their companions was a welcome one, though Lysander couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He and Branwen had gone in alone, hoping to stop Malindra before she could cause irreparable damage. And though they had succeeded in driving her away, they hadn’t been able to stop her from unleashing this deeper disturbance. Now the whole world was at risk.

“We’ll need their help,” Lysander said, his voice firm. “We can’t face this alone.”

Branwen nodded. “But first, we need to make sure the currents are stable enough to hold until we can figure out what’s going on.” She extended her hands once more, her connection to the natural world flaring to life as she did one final check of the Aetheric Currents. She could feel the way the magic pulsed around her, still fragile but no longer on the verge of collapse.

“It should hold for now,” she said after a long moment, her voice quieter than before. “But we can’t leave it like this for long. The damage runs deep, and if the currents aren’t properly healed, this corruption will return—and when it does, it’ll be worse.”

Lysander nodded grimly. “Then let’s move quickly. The others will need to know what’s happened.”

The two of them began to make their way toward the exit of the chamber, the oppressive atmosphere finally beginning to lift. But as they walked, Branwen couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the dark corners of the room. The shadows seemed to writhe, as though the dark magic Malindra had unleashed had left a lingering stain on the very air itself.

“Do you feel that?” Branwen asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Lysander paused, turning to follow her gaze. His grip tightened on his staff as he reached out with his senses, probing the currents for any sign of lingering danger. After a moment, he nodded.

“I do,” he said quietly. “Something’s still here.”

They both stood still for a moment, the tension between them growing as the oppressive presence seemed to press in on all sides. It wasn’t Malindra—that much was clear. Her dark magic had been a storm, wild and chaotic. This was different. This presence felt old, ancient even. And it was watching them.

Lysander raised his staff, the faint glow intensifying as he cast a protective ward around them. “We should leave,” he said, his voice calm but urgent. “Whatever this is, we aren’t in any shape to fight it. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Branwen nodded in agreement, though her gaze remained fixed on the shadows. As they began to move again, the sense of foreboding only grew stronger. It was as though the very air was alive, whispering dark secrets just beyond their hearing.

When they finally reached the exit of the chamber, Branwen cast one last glance over her shoulder. The shadows seemed to pulse with life, the dark magic Malindra had left behind still clinging to the edges of reality.

“We’ll have to come back,” Branwen said softly. “Whatever this is, it’s tied to the currents—and we can’t leave it unchecked.”

Lysander didn’t respond, but the grim expression on his face said enough. They had driven Malindra away, but they hadn’t stopped the greater threat that lay beneath. And until they could figure out what that threat was, the entire world was in danger.

As they stepped out of the chamber and into the dim light of the corridor beyond, the weight of their task pressed heavily on their shoulders. The battle against Malindra had been hard-fought, but it was only the beginning. Whatever dark force had been awakened by the corruption of the Aetheric Currents, it was still out there—waiting.

Lysander and Branwen moved swiftly down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The flickering light of Lysander’s staff cast long shadows on the cold stone walls, but neither of them spoke. The weight of their discovery was too great, and the implications of what they had felt in the chamber hung heavily between them.

As they approached the exit that led back to the surface, the air grew cooler, and the faint scent of fresh earth and moss replaced the suffocating stench of dark magic. Branwen let out a small sigh of relief as they neared the open sky, her connection to the natural world growing stronger with each step away from the corrupted chamber.

“I never thought I’d miss the feeling of solid ground,” Branwen muttered, her voice strained but tinged with a touch of humor. She cast a glance at Lysander, who smiled weakly in return.

They emerged from the underground lair, the cold wind biting at their skin as they stepped into the overcast light of the late afternoon. The sun, though hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, still offered a faint warmth, and the contrast between the outside world and the stifling atmosphere of Malindra’s lair was like a breath of fresh air.

Waiting for them outside was the rest of their group—Archer, Darian, Selene, and a few other warriors who had stood guard, ready to defend their position if reinforcements arrived. Archer was the first to spot them, her sharp eyes narrowing in concern as she hurried over, her bow slung across her back.

“Are you both all right?” she asked, her voice laced with worry as she took in the exhausted expressions on their faces. “What happened in there?”

Lysander and Branwen exchanged a glance before Lysander spoke. “We drove Malindra away,” he said, his tone heavy. “But she managed to unleash a greater threat than we anticipated. The Aetheric Currents… they’ve been damaged, and something else has been disturbed. Something older. It’s still lurking in the deep currents.”

Darian, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. “Something older? What do you mean?”

Branwen shook her head, her expression grave. “We’re not entirely sure yet. But whatever it is, it’s dangerous. We felt it watching us in the chamber, like it was waiting for something.”

Selene crossed her arms, her face a mask of grim determination. “And Malindra? Is she still a threat?”

Lysander nodded. “She’s still out there. We weakened her, but she retreated before we could finish her. She’s not gone—not by a long shot.”

Archer frowned, her fingers twitching toward the hilt of the dagger at her side. “So we’re facing two threats now. Malindra and this… other force.”

Branwen sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Unfortunately, yes. And if we don’t act soon, both of those threats could merge into something far worse than we’ve ever seen.”

The group fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the gravity of the situation. The victory they had hoped to celebrate was now overshadowed by the realization that the danger was far from over.

“So what do we do?” Darian asked quietly, his voice steady despite the uncertainty in his eyes.

Lysander glanced at Branwen, then back to the rest of the group. “We need to stabilize the currents first. Whatever this other force is, it’s tied to the damage Malindra caused. If we can heal the currents, we might be able to contain it before it spreads.”

Archer nodded, her expression resolute. “Then we focus on that first. The rest can wait.”

Selene, ever pragmatic, added, “We’ll need supplies and rest before we head back. You two look like you’ve been through hell.”

Branwen smiled faintly. “It wasn’t a picnic,” she admitted. “But you’re right. We need to regroup before we can make our next move.”

As the group began to discuss their next steps, Lysander turned his gaze to the horizon. The sky was still overcast, the clouds dark and heavy, as though reflecting the unease that weighed on them all. But somewhere beneath the surface, in the deep currents of Valandor, a darkness was stirring—a force older and more malevolent than anything they had faced before.

And it wasn’t going to wait long before it made its move.

“We have to be ready,” Lysander murmured to himself, his grip tightening on his staff. “Whatever comes next, we have to be ready.”

Tempest’s Echo

The night dragged on with a weighty stillness that made every creak of the wind and rustle of the trees feel like an omen. Darian and Selene kept watch as the others tried to rest, though sleep came reluctantly. The barrier Branwen had woven shimmered faintly, holding the corruption at bay, but everyone knew it was a temporary solution. Time was running out, and with every passing minute, the darkness beyond seemed to press closer.

Branwen sat cross-legged near the center of the camp, her eyes closed as she tried to steady her breath. She had given everything she had to create the barrier, and the drain on her magic left her feeling hollow, as if part of her had been ripped away with the effort. Yet even now, as her mind wandered, she could sense the instability growing around them. The currents, the very lifeblood of magic in Valandor, were trembling. She could feel it in the earth beneath her, a deep, rhythmic pulse that seemed to falter with each beat.

“Branwen?”

Lysander’s voice pulled her from her meditation. She opened her eyes to find him standing beside her, his staff glowing faintly in the darkness. His face was drawn with fatigue, yet his eyes held the same determination that had carried them through countless battles before.

“How are you holding up?” he asked softly, crouching down beside her.

Branwen exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll be fine. It’s the land I’m worried about. The corruption... it’s not just spreading. It’s... alive, almost. Like it’s feeding off something deeper.”

Lysander nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “The currents?”

She nodded. “I can feel it. The damage Malindra did wasn’t just to the land itself. The currents are being twisted—corrupted at their very source. And the more they’re disturbed, the more this corruption spreads.”

Lysander let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. “This is worse than we thought, then.”

Branwen met his gaze, her expression grim. “If we don’t find a way to stop it, the entire magical balance of Valandor could collapse. It won’t just be this region—it will spread across the entire land. Magic itself could be lost.”

The weight of her words settled between them like a heavy stone. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Lysander broke the silence. “We’ve faced worse odds before. We’ll find a way.”

Branwen smiled faintly, though the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. “I hope you’re right.”

Before Lysander could respond, the air around them seemed to shift. A sudden, cold breeze swept through the camp, carrying with it the faint sound of whispers—barely audible, yet unmistakable.

Lysander’s grip tightened on his staff, his body tensing as he scanned the area. “Did you hear that?”

Branwen nodded, rising to her feet. Her magic flared instinctively, reaching out to the earth around them. The ground beneath her feet pulsed in response, but something felt wrong. The natural rhythm of the land was being drowned out by something darker, something twisted.

“Lysander,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “The corruption... it’s moving.”

Before they could react, a low rumble echoed through the ground, growing louder with each passing second. The trees around them began to tremble, their leaves rustling violently as the wind picked up. And then, in the distance, a crack of thunder split the sky, though there were no clouds.

“What the hell is that?” Darian’s voice cut through the rising noise as he hurried over, Selene close behind.

Lysander’s eyes were locked on the horizon, where a faint, pulsing glow had begun to appear—a sickly, unnatural light that seemed to radiate from deep within the forest.

“It’s the currents,” he muttered, his voice tight with tension. “Something’s wrong. They’re... collapsing.”

Branwen’s heart raced as she reached out with her magic once more, trying to sense the flow of the currents. What she felt sent a chill down her spine. The currents, normally a steady stream of energy flowing through the land, were breaking apart—shattered by the corruption that had taken hold.

“We need to move,” she said quickly, her voice urgent. “If the currents collapse completely, this whole area will be swallowed by the corruption.”

Selene drew her sword, her eyes narrowing. “We can’t let that happen. What’s the plan?”

Branwen looked to Lysander, her mind racing. “We have to stabilize the currents, or at least contain the damage. If we can get close enough to the source, we might be able to redirect the flow—slow the collapse.”

“And if we can’t?” Darian asked, though the edge in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

Branwen’s expression hardened. “Then this entire region will be lost.”

The group moved quickly, gathering their belongings and preparing to set out. The glow on the horizon grew brighter with each passing minute, and the ground beneath their feet trembled as if the earth itself was struggling to hold together.

As they made their way through the corrupted forest, Branwen couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of time. The currents were unraveling faster than she had anticipated, and the corruption that spread from them seemed to be growing stronger, feeding off the chaos.

“We’re close,” Lysander said, his voice tense as they neared the heart of the disturbance. The air around them crackled with energy, and the ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse with each step.

The source of the disturbance was a sight unlike anything they had ever seen. At the center of a clearing, the Aetheric Currents had fractured, their once-flowing energy now a chaotic storm of raw magic that swirled violently in the air. Tendrils of corruption snaked through the currents, twisting them into unnatural shapes as they tore through the earth and sky.

Branwen’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the scene. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Lysander stepped forward, his staff glowing brightly as he began to chant an incantation. The air around him shimmered as he reached out to the currents, trying to steady the flow of energy. But the currents bucked against his control, the corruption resisting his efforts.

“This... this is going to take everything we’ve got,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Branwen stepped beside him, her magic flaring as she reached out to the natural world. The trees, the earth, the very air around them responded to her call, but even as she drew on their strength, she could feel the corruption pushing back, trying to overwhelm her magic.

“We need to work together,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice strained with the effort. “If we can bind the currents long enough, we might be able to cut off the corruption at its source.”

Lysander nodded, his focus never wavering. “Let’s do it.”

Together, they began to weave their magic, their combined power wrapping around the fractured currents like a net. The air hummed with energy, and the ground beneath them trembled as the currents fought against their control. For a moment, it seemed as though the currents might stabilize, the corruption receding as their magic took hold.

But then, with a deafening roar, the corruption surged, tearing through their spell and sending shockwaves through the clearing. Branwen and Lysander were thrown back, their bodies slamming into the ground as the currents exploded in a burst of raw magic.

For a moment, everything was chaos. The air crackled with energy, and the ground shook as the currents spiraled out of control. Branwen struggled to her feet, her vision blurred and her body aching from the impact. She could hear Lysander’s voice, distant and muffled, calling out to her, but she couldn’t make out the words.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos stopped.

Branwen blinked, her vision clearing as she looked around. The currents were still, the corruption seemingly... dormant. But there was something wrong—something she couldn’t quite place.

Lysander staggered to her side, his staff glowing faintly. “What happened?”

Branwen shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t know... but whatever it is, it’s not over.”

The silence that followed the chaos was suffocating. Branwen and Lysander stood in the eerie calm, the twisted remnants of the Aetheric Currents flickering faintly around them. The glow of their magic had dimmed, and the air still buzzed with residual energy, but the feeling of imminent danger hadn’t abated—it had only deepened.

Lysander leaned heavily on his staff, trying to catch his breath. The currents had stopped their violent outburst, but Branwen was right—something wasn’t right.

“Do you feel that?” Branwen asked, her voice hushed.

Lysander nodded, his grip tightening on his staff. It was a subtle sensation, but unmistakable—the currents weren’t healing. Instead, they felt fractured, as though they were being held together by sheer force of will but could unravel at any moment.

“I think we only managed to stall it,” Lysander murmured. “Whatever Malindra did, it’s still eating away at the very fabric of the currents. We didn’t stop it.”

Branwen took a deep breath, her hands still tingling with the remnants of her magic. She reached out to the natural world once again, hoping to find some solace in the connection she had always relied on. But even the land felt... distant. Disconnected.

“Whatever this is,” she said, her voice low, “it’s bigger than we thought. This corruption isn’t just in the currents. It’s seeping into the earth, the trees... it’s spreading everywhere.”

Lysander closed his eyes, trying to steady his thoughts. They had fought so hard to stop Malindra, to contain the damage, but it seemed their efforts had only scratched the surface of a much larger threat. A threat that wasn’t going away, no matter how much magic they poured into it.

“We need to regroup,” he said finally, his voice resolute. “Tell the others what we found. This isn’t something we can fix alone.”

Branwen nodded, though her mind was already racing ahead. They had bought themselves time, but how much? Days? Weeks? The corruption was relentless, and unless they found a way to stop it at its source, Valandor would be lost.

The thought weighed heavily on her as she turned back toward the camp. The others were waiting, but Branwen couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted in the world—something irreversible.

Back at the camp, Darian and Selene were waiting, their expressions tense as they watched Branwen and Lysander approach. Archer stood beside them, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon as though expecting an attack at any moment.

“You’re back,” Darian said, relief evident in his voice. “What happened?”

Branwen shook her head, her expression grim. “We tried to stabilize the currents, but it’s not enough. Whatever Malindra did, it’s corrupted them on a level we didn’t anticipate. It’s spreading, infecting the land itself.”

Selene swore under her breath, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “So, what’s the plan then? We can’t just stand around and watch the world fall apart.”

Lysander rubbed his temples, exhaustion clear on his face. “The only plan we have is to track the corruption to its source. If we can find where it’s strongest, we might be able to cut it off—destroy it before it spreads too far.”

“And Malindra?” Archer asked, her voice steady but with an edge of concern. “She’s still out there.”

Lysander exchanged a glance with Branwen, and for a moment, the weight of the situation hung between them. “She’s weakened, but not gone,” Branwen said quietly. “We pushed her back, but she’ll return—and when she does, she’ll be stronger. We have to deal with this corruption before she can regroup.”

Archer nodded, her expression hardening. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We deal with the immediate threat, and we hunt her down before she can do more damage.”

Darian stepped forward, his gaze focused on Lysander and Branwen. “You said it’s spreading. How far are we talking?”

Branwen hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth was, she didn’t know how far the corruption had reached. It was like a creeping shadow, seeping into every crevice of the land. “I can’t say for sure,” she admitted. “But it’s not just limited to this area. The more the currents fracture, the more it spreads. And the longer we wait, the harder it will be to stop.”

A heavy silence fell over the group as the reality of the situation sunk in. Valandor, the land they had fought so hard to protect, was unraveling before their eyes. And with Malindra still lurking in the shadows, they were running out of time.

Archer was the first to break the silence. “Then we move. We can’t afford to sit still while the world burns. Branwen, Lysander—you lead the way. We follow the corruption to its source and stop it, whatever it takes.”

The determination in her voice was enough to reignite the spark of hope that had been dwindling. One by one, the others nodded in agreement, their resolve hardening. They had faced impossible odds before, and though this battle felt different, the stakes higher than ever, they would fight with everything they had.

“Let’s move,” Archer commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. “Time’s not on our side.”

As the group set out once again, the tension hung thick in the air. Every step they took felt heavier, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them. Branwen could feel the currents shifting beneath the earth, their once steady flow now a chaotic tangle of magic that pulsed erratically. The land was sick, and with each passing hour, the corruption grew stronger.

Lysander walked beside her, his staff glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest. He had been silent for most of the journey, his mind clearly occupied with the gravity of what they were facing.

“Do you think we’ll find it in time?” Branwen asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Lysander didn’t answer immediately. He kept his gaze forward, watching the twisted trees that surrounded them. “We have to,” he said finally, his tone flat but resolute. “There’s no other option.”

Branwen nodded, though a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if they were too late. The currents were the lifeblood of Valandor, and if they couldn’t find a way to repair the damage, there would be nothing left to save.

But despite the fear gnawing at her insides, she forced herself to focus. They had fought this far, and they couldn’t afford to lose now. Whatever awaited them at the source of the corruption, they would face it head-on.

As the group pressed deeper into the corrupted forest, the air around them grew colder, the trees twisting into grotesque shapes that seemed to leer at them from the shadows. The once vibrant colors of the forest had faded, replaced by sickly hues of gray and black, as though the very life had been drained from the land.

“We’re close,” Lysander said quietly, his voice barely audible over the wind that howled through the trees.

Branwen nodded, feeling the same pull deep within her. The currents were strong here, almost overwhelming in their intensity. But they were wrong—twisted in a way that made her stomach churn.

“This is it,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

They had reached the heart of the corruption.