The world didn’t just go white. It shattered. Light tore through the grove, ripping across the silver bark as the Celentrian Guard burst in.
“Hold formation!” Yelled the Captain.
They couldn’t. The Marsh wouldn’t let them. Spirit surged in my chest, a pulse so bright it felt like my ribs would crack. The fireflies scattered upward in a spiral of blue light, then dove, not at us, but at the soldiers. Their glow sharpened, turning needle‑thin, streaking through the air like threads of lightning.
The first soldier screamed as the light hit him, not harming him, but blinding him, forcing him to drop his weapon.
Castor stepped in front of me, blade drawn, even though he knew it meant nothing here. “Briar, stay behind me.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Because Spirit wasn’t behind him.
It was everywhere.
The Drakonthi lunged, ribs blazing, its roar shaking the grove. Soldiers scattered, tripping over roots that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The trees themselves shifted, branches lowering like spears, roots rising like serpents. The Marsh was defending us.
Mydrn clung to my sleeve, trembling. “Briar, what do we do?”
I didn’t know. But Spirit did. A pulse hit me so hard I gasped. My vision blurred, the grove tilting, the runes from before flickering at the edges of my sight.
Castor grabbed my arm. “Briar—!”
“I’m fine,” I lied. I wasn’t.
The commander shoved through the chaos, eyes wild. “Seize him! He’s the one the Emperor Jaro wants—” He began to stampede toward Mydrn.
A seam of glowing moss opened like a mouth, swallowing his boots up to the ankles. He screamed, falling forward, clawing at the earth that refused to release him.
Castor stared. “Briar… the Marsh is protecting you.”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s protecting all of us.”
The Drakonthi snarled, stepping between the soldiers and us. Its ribs flared brighter, casting long shadows across the grove. The fireflies circled it like a crown.
The commander struggled, face twisted with fury.
A wave of mist surged upward, slamming into him with storm-like force. He flew backward, crashing into a tree whose bark glowed silver in warning.
Castor exhaled shakily. “We need to move. Now.”
Mydrn tugged my sleeve. “Briar… Spirit wants you to go.”
A long silver trail of mist had peeked through the trees. A path; maybe we could finally find some peace.
“I know,” I whispered.
Castor looked at me, jaw tight. “Where?”
I pointed deeper into the grove, where the mist parted in a narrow, glowing corridor. “Spirit is showing us the way.”
Castor didn’t question it.
He grabbed Mydrn’s hand, stepped to my side, and nodded. “Lead us.”
The grove hummed as if telling me that it was time to move forward.
The Drakonthi bowed its head, then jumped into the fray of soldiers.
And we ran, deeper into the Marsh, deeper into the magic, deeper into whatever destiny had just cracked open beneath our feet.
Behind us, the grove sealed shut, swallowing the soldiers’ shouts.