They jumped from canopy to canopy, the branches creaking under their weight. Purple mist swirled below them, hiding the pursuing Risen from view but not silencing their pursuing footsteps. Each leap carried them farther from the ambush site, through a maze of interwoven limbs that stretched into the corrupted heart of Shadowfen.

  Clive's arms burned from hauling himself between trees. Twice he nearly missed his grip on the branches. Beside him, Lucia moved with less grace, her breathing harsh and ragged as she struggled to keep pace. Her throwing knives and potion belt caught on protruding twigs, forcing her to stop and untangle herself while Nydalea disappeared ahead.

  “Hurry up,” Nydalea yelled. “Or I’m leaving you guys behind.”

  At the fourth tree, Lucia's boot slipped on wet bark. She windmilled her arms, trying to regain balance on a branch barely wide enough for one foot. Clive lunged forward and caught her wrist, pulling her against the trunk.

  "Thanks," she gasped.

  "Stay close." He positioned himself between her and the next gap.

  Nydalea looked back at them and sneered. “Pathetic. I could make those leaps when I was one.”

  Lucia fixed her with a cold stare, muttering something under her breath, but Nydalea had already leapt forward to the next branch.

  The next leap required a six-foot jump to reach a cluster of thinner limbs. Clive went first, landing heavily and feeling the wood flex under his weight. He turned back and extended his hand.

  "Throw me your bag. Less weight."

  Lucia unstrapped her leather backpack loaded with potion vials and tossed it across. Clive caught it and slung it over his shoulder.

  "Now jump."

  She took three quick steps and leaped. Her fingers found his outstretched hand, and he hauled her up onto the platform of branches. She landed hard against his chest, both of them swaying precariously before finding their footing.

  "One more," he said, pointing to where Nydalea waited on a massive branch thirty feet ahead.

  This gap was wider, requiring them to swing from a hanging vine to reach the next tree. Clive tested the vine's strength, wrapping it around his wrist before pushing off. The swing carried him across the empty space, and he managed to grab hold of Nydalea's branch.

  He secured the vine to a sturdy limb and called back to Lucia. "Grab it high as you can reach."

  Lucia seized the vine and stepped off the branch. She swung across the gap, but her smaller frame gave her less momentum. She fell short of the landing, her boots scraping against bark.

  Clive and Nydalea both reached down, each grabbing one of her arms and hauling her up to safety.

  “That was close.” Lucia collapsed onto the tree branch and pressed her back against the trunk. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow gasps. “I need a break.”

  “Come on, we need to move.” Nydalea insisted.

  "Five minutes," he called up to Nydalea. "Just five minutes."

  Nydalea's jaw worked silently. She scanned their surroundings in deep concentration before returning her gaze to the two of them.

  “You have five minutes.” She spat, before settling to the opposite side of the branch.

  The forest around them creaked and whispered. Water dripped from somewhere above, pattering against leaves with irregular rhythm. In the distance, something splashed in the pools below, but the sound carried no urgency. Their pursuers seemed to have lost their trail.

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  Lucia's shoulders sagged. She pulled a waterskin from her belt, but her fingers fumbled with the cork. The stopper slipped from her grip twice before Clive reached over and twisted it free for her. She managed a grateful nod before drinking deeply.

  Clive uncorked his own waterskin and held it out toward Nydalea. She stared at it for several seconds before accepting. She took a sip and passed it back without meeting his eyes.

  "You alright?" he asked.

  But Nydalea remained silent, uttering not a single word.

  Clive settled onto the branch beside her. He pulled out his sketchbook and drew a hunting spear, the kind he had seen Nydalea used.

  [Draw: Spear]

  The shaft emerged from the air in his hands and he offered it to her. “Here, to replace the one you lost.”

  Her eyes widen as she accepted the spear. She hefted it, testing its weight before running her thumb along the steel point. “This…”

  Without warning, she spun the weapon in a tight arc beside her head. The spear whistled through the air, and Clive jerked backward as the point sliced past his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his shirt.

  "Hey, careful!" he said, pressing himself against the trunk.

  She completed the movement and brought the spear to rest against her shoulder. “The balance is perfect. This is real, not some illusion. How?”

  “I’m an artist. I draw what I need.” Clive replied.

  Nydalea stared at him dumbfounded before her mouth quirked into a smirk. “Hmph, maybe you’re not completely useless.”

  Clive smiled in response, grateful that she was warming up to them.

  Nydalea tested the spear’s balance once more, then her gaze drifted toward the deeper mist ahead. The brief spark in her eyes faded as the weight of their destination settled back over her.

  “This was a mistake.” Her voice came out soft and flat. “We never should have left the outer ring.”

  “It’s not a mistake. We’ll slay the warden and free your people from this curse.”

  “Hmph, that’s what your kind said before. Nothing but lies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nydalea adjusted her grip on the branch, her knuckles turned white against the dark bark. Water droplets from the canopy above dotted her shoulders, and the orange markings along her arms glowed.

  “Five years ago. An expedition of light-seekers entered the grove. Hunters, they called themselves, seeking to map out the territory. They promised to defeat the warden. I trusted them, guided them through the grove. But when faced with the Risen, they gave up and ran away. Cowards.”

  Hunters. That must have been the expedition led by the Huntmaster. But he couldn’t imagine Huntmaster Kell running. What happened? What sort of threat was this Warden?

  “We won’t run.” The words came out harder than he intended. “We can’t afford to. The midnight blossoms and the warden. Our goals are aligned.”

  Nydalea scoffed. "Right. Until the first real fight."

  She shifted on the branch, and her gaze caught on the orange markings along her arm. She let out an audible sigh as the glow dimmed.

  “I’m just tired of it all…” She absentmindedly peeled off some of the bark on the tree and began playing with it.

  Clive watched her fingers work at the bark. He recognized the motion, the same way he'd tear paper edges when a drawing wouldn't come together. Sometimes talking helped. Sometimes it didn't.

  He waited.

  “I hate this place.” She continued. “I should have died back then. Why was I the only one left alive?”

  The branch beneath them groaned as wind stirred the upper canopy. Somewhere above, leaves rustled with the sound of small creatures moving through the darkness.

  "Perhaps they saw something in you," Clive suggested.

  She let out a bitter laugh. "I was but a cub. Barely knew which end of a spear to hold. What could they have possibly seen in me? Why am I the last hunter?”

  “You’re still here, that’s proof enough that they were right.”

  “It's tiring…” She picked at the bark with her fingernails. “I’ve tried so many times. Every time I’ve failed. Every time I’ve faced him, I beg our lord for divine assistance, but my prayers were unanswered. The Warden, it can’t be beaten”

  “And how many times have you tried?”

  “Over a hundred by now.” She flicked the bark into the mist below. “I just want to rest. Spend the rest of my days in the outer ring, never seeing another Risen.”

  Clive watched the bark disappear into the purple haze. "I lost count after four hundred."

  Nydalea's paused, her fidgeting fingers still now. "Four hundred what?"

  "Rejections. Gallery submissions, art contests, anything that might have meant someone believed my work mattered. Every single one came back with the same message. Not good enough."

  "Then why didn't you stop?"

  Nydalea turned to face him, her eyes catching what little light filtered through the canopy.

  "Because stopping meant they were right." He met her gaze. "That I was nothing."

  Nydalea remained silent. Her thumb traced the spear's shaft, her orange markings pulsing once before dimming again. But she didn’t look away.

  "You survived for a reason," Clive said. "Show the warden what that reason is."

  She was quiet for a long moment, then pushed herself to her feet. “Five minutes is up. Let’s move.”

  To preserve what remains. To remember what was lost. To one day restore what was broken. — Last words of Lyara, Hunt mistress of the Verdant Hunters