Nydalea took point as they ventured deeper into the middle ring. The purple mist thickened around them, clinging to their skin. Each breath burned Clive's throat, tasting of acid and decay. Beside him, Lucia pressed her sleeve against her mouth, muffled coughs escaping despite her efforts. Only Nydalea moved unhindered. The corruption rolled off her skin instead of clinging, her breathing steady while theirs turned ragged.

  When Clive raised his brush to paint will o' wisps, her hand shot out to stop him.

  “Keep that brush down. You want every Risen in the middle ring hunting us?”

  She dropped into a low crouch, spear held ready. Every few steps, she would freeze, ears twitching at sounds Clive couldn't detect.

  Nydalea stopped mid-step, her spear snapping to a defensive position. The sudden halt sent Clive stumbling into her back, and Lucia bumped against him with a muffled grunt.

  "Sorry," Lucia whispered, steadying herself against his shoulder.

  “Quiet,” Nydalea hissed. “Up ahead, a formation of them.”

  Clive squinted through the purple haze. At first, he saw nothing, then movement caught his eye. Shadows shifted between the trees, resolving into figures in rotted leather and rusted mail. A dozen Risen moved through the undergrowth. Though they did not exchange words, their movements were coordinated. They advanced as a single unit in a wedge formation, covering each other’s flanks as they swept the area.

  “Come out, little kitty.” Twelve voices spoke the words in perfect unison, the sound echoing off the water like a broken bell. “I know you’re here.”

  The flanking teams disappeared into the maze of spiral trunks. The remaining seven held position, blocking any path forward. Their heads turned in slow arcs, scanning the mist with hollow eye sockets that leaked purple light.

  Nydalea backed away from the clearing, gesturing for them to follow.

  "Why do you keep trying?" The voices drifted through the mist. "You must know you won't succeed, even with your new friends. Just like last time… They will join my army…"

  Nydalea picked up the pace, guiding them deeper into the labyrinth of twisted trees. Behind them, the sound of synchronized footsteps grew fainter but never disappeared entirely. They moved in single file along a narrow ridge of solid ground. To either side, stagnant water stretched into the purple haze, its surface broken by the occasional bubble that released clouds of noxious gas.

  "How far?" Lucia whispered.

  "Far enough." Nydalea's voice carried an edge that hadn't been there before. She paused at the base of a massive tree. "But they'll follow. They always follow."

  The synchronized footsteps stopped. In the sudden silence, Clive could hear his own pulse hammering in his ears. Nydalea's nostrils flared as she tested the air, then her eyes widened.

  "We’re surrounded," she breathed.

  “I see you.” The voices erupted into laughter.

  Risen emerged from the mist in a closing circle. Clive counted eight, then ten, then lost track as more shapes materialized from behind the twisted trunks. Rusted blades glinted through the purple haze. Their formation formed a tightening noose of rotted flesh and corroded steel.

  Nydalea's spear spun in her hands as she shifted into a fighting stance. "No escape now. Don't let them separate us."

  The first Risen lunged from Clive's left. He brought his mace up to parry, but the creature's blade slid along his guard and opened a line across his forearm. Blood soaked through his shirt sleeve as he stumbled backward.

  Lucia's throwing knife sprouted from the attacker's throat. The Risen jerked but kept coming. Clive painted a quick [Red Fireball I] and sent it into the creature's chest. The Risen staggered back three steps, smoke rising from its charred leather, but the flames guttered out against its flesh. It regained its footing and kept coming, the scorch marks on its armor already fading.

  [Risen is resistant to fire dmg]

  Damn it.

  The memory of Huntmaster Kell's voice cut through the chaos.

  What comes from the earth returns to the earth.

  Earth magic. The Risen were vulnerable to earth magic, but how did you paint an earthquake or a landslide? His hand drifted to his Canvas of Reality. Should he use it now? He had prepared a special background for this situation. No. It was still too early. One use. That was all he got before dawn reset the magic.

  Instead, Clive's brush hovered over his palette as another Risen closed the distance, its rusted blade cutting the air where his head had been a moment before. He dodged sideways and daubed yellow paint on his brush. Earth was solid, dense, unyielding. He thought of the weight of stone, the way it fell with absolute certainty. His brush moved in quick strokes across the air—a rough sphere, simple and heavy.

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  [Yellow Stone I]

  The painted rock materialized three feet above the nearest Risen's head. It dropped like a hammer, striking the creature's skull with a wet crack that echoed off the water. The Risen's knees buckled and it collapsed face-first into the mud, its sword spinning away into the mist.

  Beside him, Nydalea's form blurred and contracted. Her limbs shortened, spine curving as striped fur erupted across her skin. Where the woman had stood, a cougar now crouched, twice the size of any natural cat.

  She launched herself at the nearest Risen. Her front paws struck the creature's shoulders, driving it backward into the stagnant water. Claws raked across its throat, tearing through rotted leather and exposing the blackened flesh beneath. The Risen's sword arm swept toward her, but she twisted in midair, using the creature's own momentum to send it sprawling.

  The cougar landed and immediately sprang toward another target. Her jaws clamped down on a Risen's sword arm, teeth grinding against bone. She whipped her head sideways, separating the arm at the elbow with a wet snap.

  "They don't die easy," Nydalea said as she shifted back to her human form.

  The disarmed Risen bent down and picked up its severed limb with its remaining hand. It pressed the torn ends together, and purple light flowed between them like thread. Within moments, the arm had reattached itself. Fingers flexed experimentally before closing around the fallen sword's grip.

  Two more converged on Clive from opposite sides. He backed against a tree trunk. One blade scraped bark inches from his ear while another carved a gouge in the wood by his shoulder. The Risen pressed forward.

  Clive dove to his right, rolling through the mud as both creatures slammed into the tree where he'd been standing. He came up painting [Blue Frost I], freezing the nearest one's legs to the soggy ground. The second spun toward him with its sword raised high.

  Nydalea's spear caught it in the ribs, lifting it off its feet and hurling it into the stagnant water.

  "There are too many," Lucia shouted over the clash of weapons. She'd backed toward a fallen log, three throwing knives already embedded in the approaching Risen. None of them had fallen.

  A crossbow bolt whistled past Clive's head. He spun to see more figures emerging from the mist—these carried ranged weapons. They formed a loose line behind the melee fighters, their bolts forcing the group to keep moving.

  "The tree," Nydalea pointed her spear at the massive trunk. "Higher ground."

  Lucia threw a vial of Alchemical Fire, creating a wall of fire that separated them from the Risen. The explosion scattered them momentarily, buying time for the retreat. But the flames wouldn’t hold them long as they forced their way through without any regard for their bodies.

  "Move," Nydalea bounded toward trunk.

  She leaped onto the tree bark and scrambled upwards. Lucia followed, her smaller frame allowing her to wedge herself into channels in the tree trunk. Her boots scraped against the wood as she fought for each handhold, the damp surface slick beneath her fingers.

  Clive reached for the lowest groove just as the alchemical fire began to sputter. The first Risen pushed through the dying flames, its armor glowing cherry-red but its movements unhindered. More followed, their synchronized footsteps splashing through the mud.

  His fingers closed around a ridge of bark when something seized his ankle. Cold fingers, still strong despite the rotted flesh, clamped down like a manacle. He looked down into the hollow eye sockets of a Risen that had crawled beneath the tree's sprawling roots.

  Clive drove his heel backward. His boot connected with the creature's jaw, and rotted teeth scattered into the stagnant water below. The grip loosened just enough for him to wrench his leg free and haul himself up the tree.

  Below, more hands reached for his boots, grasping at empty air as he pulled himself beyond.

  From their elevated position, the full scope of the ambush became clear. Dozens of Risen had formed a complete circle around the tree, with more arriving through the mist. They began climbing the trunk.

  "We can't stay here," Lucia said. "They'll swarm us."

  "The canopy," Nydalea pointed to the interwoven branches above them. "We can move tree to tree from up there."

  Clive looked up at the maze of twisted limbs. The branches were thick enough to support their weight, but the gaps between trees meant dangerous leaps through the purple mist. Below them, the first Risen reached the level where they stood.

  Nydalea's spear found its eye socket, sending it tumbling back to the ground. But three more took its place, climbing steadily upward with their weapons clenched between their teeth.

  Clive painted another [Yellow Stone I]. The sphere crushed the climbing Risen, sending them crashing to the ground. Yet, even with their skulls cracked and limbs broken, they weren't truly dead. Their fingers clawed at the soggy ground below, trying to drag themselves up. One managed to prop itself up on its elbows, its head lolling at an unnatural angle as it fixed Clive with empty eye sockets.

  "They'll keep getting back up," Nydalea shouted. "We need to move."

  But as they prepared to leap between the branches, a voice called out to them.

  "My child, why do you run?"

  The voice carried a warm cadence, unlike the hollow resonance that marked the other undead.

  Nydalea went rigid on the branch above them. Her spear trembled in her grip.

  The voice cut through the purple mist like a blade through silk. It carried none of the hollow resonance that marked the other undead. Instead, it held the warm cadence of someone who had once sung lullabies and taught a young girl to track deer through morning fog.

  A figure emerged from the mist. Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing the remnants of a druid’s leathers that Clive recognized from the vision. The man's face bore the same strong jawline and high cheekbones as Nydalea, though his skin was half-rotted and taken on the waxy pallor of the grave.

  "You've grown strong, little hunter. Your mother would be proud."

  Nydalea's breathing turned sharp and shallow.

  "But why do you fight what cannot be changed?" The corrupted druid spread his arms wide. "Come home, Nydalea. The hunt is over."

  "Enough games Warden!" Nydalea screamed. She reared back and hurled her spear with all her strength.

  The weapon struck the Risen center mass, driving him backward into the muddy ground.

  "Let's go." Nydalea turned away from the fallen figure and launched herself toward the next tree.

  They jumped.

  Never follow a trail that leads away from the light, little hunter. No matter how familiar the tracks, no matter how sweet the call—if the path leads into darkness, you turn back. Promise me.

  — Hunt Mistress Lyara to her daughter, on her first hunt