The broken ground north of the Standing Stone was a labyrinth of steep, shale-strewn ravines and dense thickets of thorny brush. It was treacherous footing, but it offered cover. They moved like ghosts through the shadows, the silence among them more profound than ever. The loss of the others was a fresh wound, and the relentless pursuit a constant pressure at their backs.
Dawn found them huddled in a shallow cave, little more than a scrape in the hillside, listening. The only sounds were the drip of condensation and the frantic beating of their own hearts. There had been no sign of the Hounds' lights since midnight, but the absence was somehow more frightening than the pursuit.
"They're herding us," Bramble finally grunted, breaking the long silence. He was chewing on a strip of tough jerky, his eyes fixed on the cave entrance. "They're not trying to catch us. They're pushing us. Like game."
"Towards what?" Thorn asked, sharpening one of her bone darts with a small stone. Her arm was healing well, the poultice having done its work, but her movements were still stiff.
Morwen, who had been in a deep, trance-like state, her hand pressed against the earth of the cave floor, opened her eyes. They held a new, deep unease. "The land changes ahead. The song... it grows louder. Stranger."
Kaelen had felt it too, a gradual shift in the ambient hum of the world. It was no longer the deep, patient thrum of the stone, or the vibrant, chaotic chorus of the city. This was a higher, more insistent vibration, a buzzing that seemed to get into your teeth. The air itself felt charged, tasting of ozone and damp earth.
They pressed on, the terrain growing increasingly strange. The gnarled trees were thicker here, their bark covered in a phosphorescent moss that glowed with a faint, eerie light even in the daytime. Unfamiliar flowers with razor-edged petals bloomed in the shadows, and the very rocks seemed to have a subtle, resonant frequency. This was the edge of the Whispering Woods' influence.
Wisp was on edge, his form flickering uncontrollably. "The sounds are all wrong," he whimpered. "They're too many. They're... hungry."
It was late afternoon when they found the first clear sign they were not alone in these hills. They stumbled upon a small, hidden clearing. In its center stood a circle of standing stones, much smaller than the monolith they'd left behind, but clearly arranged with purpose. At the foot of the largest stone lay the remains of a campfire, recently used. And scattered around it were the bodies.
Three men, dressed in the rough leathers of trappers or bounty hunters. Their bodies were contorted in poses of agony, but there were no visible wounds. Their skin was unnaturally pale, almost grey, and their eyes were wide, milky orbs, frozen in a final, silent scream.
Bramble knelt, examining one of the bodies with a grimace. "No blood. No marks. It's like... the life was just sucked out of them."
Thorn pointed with her dart. "Their weapons are still sheathed. They were taken by surprise. By something they didn't think was a threat."
A cold dread, different from the fear of the Hounds, trickled down Kaelen's spine. This wasn't the work of the Church. This was something else. Something native to this humming, alien landscape.
Lyra, the straw-haired woman, let out a soft cry and pointed a trembling finger at one of the smaller stones. Carved into its surface was a symbol: a circle with a single, off-center line through it. The same symbol Elara had shown him on the sewer grate. The mark of the Unattuned.
"Someone else is here," Morwen whispered, her voice full of a strange mix of hope and caution. "Survivors. Those who have learned to live in this place."
But before anyone could respond, a new sound reached them—not the buzz of the land, but the distinct, rhythmic thrum of powerful magic, and it was closing in fast. From the south, the way they had come, a familiar earthen glow illuminated the trees.
"The Gevurah," Bramble snarled, hefting his hatchet. "They've caught up."
Panic threatened to seize them. They were trapped between an unknown horror that left men lifeless and the known horror of the Hounds.
"Into the trees!" Morwen ordered, her decision swift. "The deeper woods! It's our only chance!"
They crashed into the thick, humming forest, the glowing moss casting shifting, malevolent shadows. The air grew thicker, the buzz becoming a physical pressure on their eardrums. Behind them, they could hear the crash of the Hounds following, the Gevurah undoubtedly clearing a path with his power.
The chase was a blur of stumbling through tangled roots and slapping away sharp-leaved branches. Kaelen's lungs burned. Wisp was sobbing with fear, his fading ability going haywire, making him blink in and out of existence like a faulty lamp.
Suddenly, the forest floor gave way. Not to a pit, but to a soft, yielding surface. They had stumbled into a wide patch of ground covered in a thick, violet-colored fungus. It released a cloud of sparkling spores into the air as they disturbed it.
Rook, who was bringing up the rear, cried out. The bark-like skin on his arms where the spores landed began to turn black and flake away. The fungus wasn't just growing on the ground; it was aggressively parasitic.
"Don't breathe it in!" Thorn shouted, pulling a section of her cloak over her face.
But it was too late for their pursuit. The Hounds, led by the Gevurah, burst into the fungal clearing. The two air scouts tried to blow the spores away, but the Gevurah, in his stone armor, plowed through heedlessly.
Then, the forest itself seemed to attack.
Vines, thick as a man's wrist and studded with thorns, lashed out from the shadows, wrapping around the Gevurah's limbs. They weren't strong enough to hold him, but they slowed him. The buzzing in the air intensified, focusing, and one of the air scouts suddenly screamed, clutching his head as if pierced by a needle of pure sound.
The Hounds were not just facing their prey anymore. They were facing the Whispering Woods.
In the chaos, a figure dropped silently from the trees above, landing between Kaelen's group and the struggling Hounds. It was a man, tall and lean, his face obscured by a hood woven from living leaves and vines. In his hands, he held not a weapon, but a long, gnarled staff made of a single, twisted piece of wood that hummed with the same energy as the forest.
He didn't look at the Hounds. He looked directly at Morwen, then at Kaelen, his eyes gleaming from within the shadows of his hood.
"The Chain is broken," the man said, his voice like the rustling of leaves. "But the roots remain. Follow, if you wish to live."
Without another word, he turned and melted back into the trees, moving with an unnatural grace.
They had no choice. With one last look at the Hounds being harried by the vengeful forest, Kaelen and the others plunged after the stranger, deeper into the humming, living heart of the woods, leaving the known world behind.