Dawn didn’t break in the Rot—it seeped. A grey, grudging light filtered through the bruised sky, illuminating the glowing forest in shades of sickly violet and ashen blue. We woke to Elara’s boot nudging our bedrolls.

  “Up. Now. Gear packed in five minutes.”

  I sat up, stiff and cold despite the Rot’s unnatural warmth. My hand went to my boot, checking the knife was still there. The whispers in my chest were quieter now, a contented hum rather than the excited chatter of yesterday.

  Tavin looked worse. He sat up slowly, movements deliberate as an old man’s. His disc glowed with that same persistent, faint green. When I offered him a hand, his grip was clammy, weak.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll manage,” he said, but the words came out breathless.

  Seren was already packed, sitting cross-legged at the ledge’s edge, watching the forest below. Her serenity was unnerving. Caius and Gawain moved mechanically, packing with the hollow efficiency of soldiers who’d stopped thinking.

  Elara unrolled the map on a flat stone. The senior Hollows gathered around.

  “Today we go deeper,” she said, her finger tracing a route through faded ink. “The Morvian Rot has three primary feeder nodes still active around the central vent. We seal those, we’re done. One day’s work if we move fast.”

  Rook grunted. “And the vent itself?”

  “We don’t go near it. Standard protocol. Vent’s Grade 3, maybe 4. Not our pay grade. Just the feeders.” She looked at each of us juniors. “Stay close. Listen. Yesterday was practice. Today is work.”

  As we packed, I noticed more of the marked trees from yesterday. Fresh cuts, sap still glistening violet in the dim light. They weren’t there when we made camp.

  I approached Elara. “The marks. They’re new.”

  She examined one, her expression tightening. “Trail markers. Old Warden protocol.”

  “Made overnight?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was low. “Someone else is here. Either ahead of us or following. Not our concern. We do our job and get out.”

  She raised her voice. “Double time today! First node by mid-morning, third by dusk. We sleep back at the outer wall tonight.”

  The promise of returning to Valdrence—even just its outer defenses—put a little energy in our steps. Even Tavin stood straighter.

  We moved out, single file, into the deeper forest.

  The trees grew thicker, the glow brighter. After an hour’s march, the forest opened into what had once been Morvian’s village square.

  It was worse than the fields. Worse than the forest.

  Buildings hadn’t just decayed—they’d been rearranged. Houses torn from foundations, dragged, and positioned in a rough circle around the central square. Walls bulged with violet growths that pulsed like slow hearts. Roofs had collapsed inward, but the beams weren’t fallen randomly—they pointed toward the center, like spokes on a wheel.

  “This wasn’t in the briefing,” Mira whispered.

  Elara studied the configuration, her face pale. “The Rot doesn’t organize. It corrupts. It doesn’t… arrange.”

  “Unless something’s arranging it,” Rook said, his hand on his weapon.

  I looked at the central square. A pool of black glass, maybe thirty feet across, shimmered there. The central vent. Even from this distance, I could feel the power of it—a deep, resonant thrum in my bones, matching the pulse in my chest. The air above it wavered with heat distortion.

  “We stick to the edges,” Elara ordered. “First node’s on the north side. Follow my path exactly.”

  She led us around the circle of buildings, giving the vent wide berth. The ground here was treacherous—patches of normal earth gave way suddenly to brittle glass that cracked underfoot. More than once, Caius or Gawain stumbled, saved only by a senior’s quick grab.

  The first feeder node was on the village’s northern edge. A simple seep, like yesterday’s—a crack in the earth maybe six feet long, glowing faintly violet.

  “Standard seal,” Elara said. “Mira, with me. Juniors, watch the sequence.”

  They performed the same ritual as yesterday—dual draws from opposite ends, overflow siphoned by juniors. Caius went first, vomiting immediately after. Gawain absorbed silently, black blood trickling from his nose afterward. Seren hummed, absorbed perfectly. Tavin trembled through his turn, crying quietly but holding.

  Then me.

  I knelt, placed my hands. The overflow came eagerly, wrapping around me with that same welcoming warmth. The whispers sighed in contentment. When I stood, the fissure was dark, sealed.

  Elara watched me the entire time. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes never left my face.

  “Good,” was all she said. “Second node. East side.”

  As we moved through the ruined village, I saw more evidence of what the Rot preserved. A child’s wooden horse, half-embedded in glass, frozen mid-fall. A kitchen table with plates still on it, the food long since crystallized into violet shapes. A pair of boots, the feet still in them, turned to glass up to the ankles.

  “The Taint preserves,” Joran said quietly, noticing where I was looking. “Like amber. Captures moments.”

  “What happens to the people?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  The second node was different.

  It wasn’t a crack. It was a pool—smaller than the central vent, but deeper. Ten feet across, the ground around it turned to that smooth, dark glass. And in the glass, preserved perfectly, were shapes: a chair, a cooking pot, a hand reaching up as if trying to escape.

  Elara and Mira took positions. They placed their palms on the glass.

  Nothing happened.

  They pressed harder. Still nothing.

  The pool glowed, pulsed once, and went still. Resistant. Waiting.

  “It’s not flowing,” Mira said, strain in her voice.

  “Force the draw,” Elara ordered.

  They tried. I could see the effort in their shoulders, the tension in their backs. But the Taint in the pool refused to move. It sat there, inert, almost… watching.

  Rook stepped forward. “It’s refusing absorption. That’s not normal.”

  Elara stood, frustration clear on her face. She looked at the pool, then at her team, then at us juniors. Her eyes settled on me.

  “2147. You try.”

  Every head turned. Tavin looked at me with desperate hope. Caius with resentment. Seren with cool curiosity.

  “Why him?” Rook demanded.

  “Because the other node responded to him. And this one’s refusing us.” Elara’s gaze didn’t leave mine. “Approach. Carefully.”

  I moved forward. The glass around the pool was warmer than it should have been. As I knelt, I could see deeper into the pool than I should have been able to—down, down into violet depths that had no bottom.

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  “Just absorb,” Elara said. “Don’t do whatever you did yesterday. Just take it.”

  I placed my palms on the glass.

  The Taint didn’t surge up.

  It rose to meet me.

  Not violently. Eagerly. Warmth flooded up my arms, into my chest, but this was different from before. Deeper. The pool wasn’t just on the surface—it went down, connecting to something vast below. I could feel the depth of it, the weight of centuries of accumulation.

  And at the bottom of that well, something was aware.

  The whispers in my chest swelled to a chorus. Not fragments now. Voices. Clear. Distinct. Layered.

  …at last… the key turns…

  …show him… show him before they erase us too…

  …the truth is in the patterns…

  Then the world dissolved.

  Colors. Not abstract swirls—images. Memories.

  I see the village whole. People laughing. Children chasing chickens between houses. Smoke rising from chimneys. Normal life.

  Then: Wardens arriving. Not in grey, but in older uniforms—darker, more ceremonial. They carry markers, metal stakes etched with runes. They plant them at the village’s corners. The villagers watch, confused but trusting. The Wardens are here to help, after all.

  One Warden—younger, silver-haired, but unmistakably Korr—speaks to the village elder. I can hear his voice, clear as if he stood beside me: “This is for Valdrence’s protection. The Taint must be contained at its source.”

  But the markers don’t contain. They draw.

  The ground trembles. Cracks appear. Violet light wells up. The villagers scream, run. The earth opens beneath them, swallowing houses, people, everything.

  And the Wardens… watch. Take notes. Measure the flow. One of them—a woman with Thale’s kind eyes—looks sick, turns away. Korr places a hand on her shoulder, says something I can’t hear. She nods, continues recording.

  Then: a figure in Hollow grey, running through the chaos.

  Aldric.

  Younger than in Father’s stories. Maybe thirty. He sees what’s happening. Horror on his face. He tries to help a child trapped in crystallizing Taint, pulling at small hands already turning to glass. He fails. The child is preserved, frozen mid-scream.

  Aldric looks up, his eyes finding where I’m watching from—as if he knows, somehow, that one day someone would witness this through the Taint’s memory.

  He mouths three words:

  They’re feeding it.

  Then he turns, runs toward the markers, begins pulling them from the ground. Korr sees him, shouts. Other Wardens converge. Aldric gets two markers out before they tackle him. The ground convulses. The Taint surges higher. Aldric looks back one last time, his eyes meeting mine across years, and then the vision—

  The illusion shatters.

  I gasped, yanking my hands back from the pool as if burned.

  The Taint was gone. The pool was dry, just black glass. I was on my hands and knees, shaking, the vision burned into my mind like a brand.

  They’re feeding it.

  “What did you see?” Elara’s voice, sharp, close.

  “Nothing. Just… pressure. Too much at once.”

  She knelt beside me, gripped my chin, forced my head up. Her eyes searched mine. “You were in contact for thirty seconds. That should have killed you. Or driven you mad. Which is it, 2147?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, pulling away.

  She didn’t believe me. I could see the calculation in her eyes. The suspicion.

  Before she could press further, Tavin screamed.

  We turned.

  He was on the ground, convulsing. Not like yesterday—this was violent, uncontrolled. His back arched impossibly, heels drumming on the glassy ground. His disc wasn’t just glowing—it was blazing white-hot, the metal itself smoking.

  “He’s rupturing!” Mira yelled, rushing toward him.

  Rook and Joran grabbed Tavin’s arms, holding him down as he thrashed. Foam, black and viscous, bubbled from his mouth.

  Elara pulled a syringe from her belt—different from the suppressants. The liquid inside was clear, glowing faintly blue.

  “What is that?” I demanded.

  “Emergency purge,” she said, voice tight. “Forces all Taint out violently. It’ll save his life but…”

  “But what?”

  “It’ll break his connection. Permanently. He’ll never absorb again. He’ll be useless to the Tower.”

  Tavin’s eyes rolled back. His convulsions were weakening—not from improvement, but from exhaustion. He was dying.

  “Wait,” I said.

  Elara looked at me, syringe poised. “There’s no time for—”

  “Let me try something.”

  I didn’t wait for permission. I pulled the knife from my boot.

  The reaction was immediate. Elara’s eyes widened. Rook swore. Mira took a step back.

  “Where did you get that?” Elara breathed.

  “My father made it. It’s a siphon. It can draw Taint.”

  I didn’t explain further. I dropped to my knees beside Tavin, pressed the flat of the blade against his blazing disc.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  The knife went ice-cold in my hand. The iridescent patterns in the metal lit up, swirling with captured violet light. The heat from Tavin’s disc diminished. The white glow faded to green, then to the faint baseline glow.

  Tavin’s convulsions eased. His breathing, ragged and wet, steadied. After ten seconds, I pulled the knife away. It was warm now, thrumming with absorbed energy.

  Tavin opened his eyes. They were glassy, unfocused, but aware.

  “Kieran?” he whispered.

  “I’m here.”

  I helped him sit up. He was weak, trembling, but alive. Not broken.

  The seniors stared. Not at Tavin. At the knife in my hand.

  Elara approached slowly. “May I?”

  I handed it to her. She examined it, turning it over in her hands. Her expression grew more troubled with each detail she noted.

  “Siphon tools exist,” she said quietly. “The Wardens use them for maintenance. Emergency purges. But they’re Tower-issued. Standardized. Registered.”

  She ran a thumb over the swirling patterns in the metal.

  “This isn’t Tower-made. The alloy is wrong. Lighter. Stronger. And these patterns…” She looked at me. “Where did your father get the design?”

  “He made it. Family techniques.”

  “Family techniques.” She handed the knife back. “You mean Aldric’s techniques. The ones that got him declared Unbound.”

  The name hung in the air. Tavin looked between us, confused. Caius and Gawain exchanged glances. Seren watched, her face unreadable.

  “The knife isn’t illegal, 2147,” Elara continued. “But the knowledge required to make it? That’s forbidden. Your father shouldn’t know how. And you carrying it means you’re either very lucky… or very connected to things you shouldn’t be.”

  Rook stepped forward. “We should report this. Immediately. Abort the mission, take the boy back—”

  A sound cut him off.

  Low. Deep. Resonant.

  THOOM.

  It came from the village center. From the vent.

  THOOM.

  The ground vibrated. The glass at our feet cracked in spiderweb patterns.

  THOOM.

  Then the vent erupted.

  A pillar of violet light shot skyward, punching through the grey clouds. It was blinding, beautiful, terrifying. The arranged buildings began to slide toward it, pulled by invisible force. The ground itself seemed to be flowing toward the center.

  “The vent!” Mira shouted. “It’s fully active!”

  “Back to the waystation!” Elara commanded. “Now! Run!”

  We ran.

  Chaos.

  The forest, so still and watching before, was now alive with motion. Trees groaned, roots tearing from earth as they slid toward the village center. Glowing moss ripped free in sheets, fluttering through the air like burning paper. Even the light seemed to be draining toward the vent, leaving patches of sudden, unnatural darkness.

  We ran, stumbling, scrambling. Tavin leaned on me, his steps clumsy. Behind us, the pillar of light pulsed brighter, then darker, like a monstrous heartbeat.

  A creature—something that might have once been a wolf, now twisted with violet crystals growing from its flesh—burst from the undergrowth. It didn’t attack. It just ran with us, panicked, fleeing the same thing we were.

  Even the Rot’s monsters were afraid.

  We reached the waystation, gasping. Our abandoned gear lay scattered.

  “Forget it!” Elara yelled. “We go! Now! The vent’s fully active—this whole area will be saturated in hours!”

  “What about the third node?” Mira asked between breaths.

  “Forget the nodes! We report! Let the Council decide!”

  As we grabbed only the essentials—packs, weapons—I looked back toward the village.

  The pillar of light was fading, but something moved within it. A silhouette. Human-shaped. Standing at the vent’s edge, untouched by the chaos.

  Watching us leave.

  “Elara,” I said. “There’s someone—”

  “I know,” she said quietly, not turning. “I saw.”

  “Who—”

  “I don’t know. But they’re not one of ours. Now move!”

  We fled the Rot.

  The journey back was a nightmare blur. Running, stumbling, the forest seeming to actively hinder us now—vines whipping at our faces, roots tripping our feet, as if the land itself wanted us to stay.

  We burst through Valdrence’s outer gate as twilight deepened. The gates slammed shut behind us with finality.

  Safe.

  I collapsed to my knees in the courtyard, gasping. Tavin fell beside me, retching dryly. Caius and Gawain leaned against the wall, eyes vacant. Seren stood straight, breathing calmly as if she’d taken a leisurely stroll.

  The seniors weren’t much better. Joran checked his equipment with trembling hands. Mira leaned against the gate, eyes closed. Rook glared at the sealed gates as if he could see through them to the pillar of light still burning in his memory.

  Elara walked over to me. Her expression was unreadable.

  “Tomorrow morning,” she said, her voice low. “You report to High Sage Korr. You, specifically. He’ll want to know about that knife. And about what you saw in the pool.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” I said automatically.

  “Liar.” She leaned close, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. “I’ve been doing this for eight years. I know what absorption looks like. And that wasn’t absorption. That was communion. You didn’t just take the Taint. You spoke with it. And it answered.”

  She straightened, her mask of command back in place.

  “Get cleaned up. Eat. Rest. Tomorrow changes everything.”

  She walked away, leaving me sitting in the dirt.

  I looked down at my hands. They were clean—no soot, no blood, no sign of the chaos we’d just survived. But they felt different. They felt like they’d touched something they shouldn’t have.

  The knife was heavy in my boot.

  The whispers in my chest were quiet now, but present. A constant hum. A reminder.

  They’re feeding it.

  What did that mean?

  Who was standing in the vent?

  And what would Korr do when he learned his secrets weren’t as buried as he thought?

  I helped Tavin to his feet. He leaned on me, his weight familiar now.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled. “For the knife. For…”

  “Don’t thank me,” I said, thinking of Elara’s warning. “Just stay alive.”

  We walked toward the barracks, the Tower looming over us, its hum now feeling less like sanctuary and more like a cage.

  Tomorrow, I would face the wardens.

  Tomorrow, everything would change.

  But tonight, I had the whispers. And the truth they carried.

  And that was more dangerous than any vent, any Unbound, any Warden’s suspicion.