Crown of withered thorns

Chapter 5: The debt of blood

The shadows of the Iron Weald didn’t just hang between the trees; they felt like they were breathing. I stood my ground, my golden marrow cooling slightly as the Briar-Witch’s remains twitched in the dirt, but the real threat was the girl still holding a blade to my side.

"Keep walking," I said, ignoring the sting of the dagger. "The deeper we go, the harder it is for Thalric’s dogs to track us."

"I’m not going anywhere with a monster," Elowen snapped, though her voice wavered as the trees around us groaned. "You’re glowing, Cyprian. Your skin... it looks like molten gold is trapped under it. What did you do in those vaults?"

"I took back what was stolen," I said. I turned to face her, the movement so fast she didn't even have time to flinch. I grabbed her wrist—not to hurt her, but to steady her. "Listen to me. The world you knew is over. That village? It’s a graveyard waiting for a date. The Sun-Lords are coming for the 'harvest,' and you’re on the menu because of what’s hiding in your blood."

"My blood?" She scoffed, trying to pull away. "I’m a weaver’s daughter. I don't have 'blood.'"

"Then why did the High Priest want to burn you so badly?" I challenged. "They don't waste oil on peasants unless they’re afraid. You see things, don't you? Shadows that move when the wind is still? Colors in the air that shouldn't be there?"

Elowen went still. Her eyes widened, the dagger trembling. "How do you know that?"

"Because you have the Witch-Sight," I said. "And right now, you need to use it. Look at the clearing behind me. Don't look with your eyes—look with your fear."

Before she could answer, the temperature dropped forty degrees. A low, guttural growl vibrated through the soil, making the dry leaves dance. Out of the darkness between two ancient oaks, a Gast-Hound materialized. It was a nightmare of shifting smoke and obsidian teeth, a creature from the Void-Rift that shouldn't exist in this realm.

Elowen gasped, her knees buckling. "Cyprian, run! It’s a demon!"

"Run?" I let out a sharp, cold laugh. "I’m done running. Elowen, look at it! Tell me what you see at the center of the smoke."

"I... I can't! It’s just darkness!"

"Focus!" I roared, stepping between her and the hound. The beast lunged, a blur of shadow. I dodged, the creature’s claws raking the air where my throat had been. I reached down and snatched a fallen oak branch, heavy and jagged. "Look for the spark, Elowen! The knot of violet light in its chest. That’s the core. If I don't hit that, it’ll just keep knitting itself back together."

The Gast-Hound circled us, its form flickering like a dying candle. It was fast—faster than a human could track.

"I see it!" Elowen suddenly screamed, pointing toward the beast's ribcage. "Left side! Just below the shoulder! It’s pulsing!"

"Good girl."

I didn't use a sword. I didn't need one. I flooded the oak branch with *Ichor-Vapour*, the wood turning a shimmering, lethal gold. I launched myself forward, not with the grace of a prince, but with the violence of a Warden.

The hound leaped, its maw opening to reveal rows of needle-teeth. I slid beneath it on the damp moss, driving the glowing branch upward with every ounce of my new strength.

CRR...ACK.

The branch pierced the shadow-flesh, striking the violet core with the force of a falling star. The Gast-Hound didn't scream; it imploded. A wave of cold, necrotic energy washed over me, snuffing out the golden light in the branch as the creature vanished into ash.

I stood up, panting, the branch crumbling to dust in my hand.

"You killed it," Elowen whispered, stepping forward. "With a stick. You killed a Void-beast with a piece of wood."

"It’s not the tool," I started to say, but a sudden, agonizing heat bloomed in my chest.

I buckled, clutching my sternum. The "Crest of the Outcast"—the brand Thalric had burned into me—wasn't just a scar. It was a Sun-Spike. The exertion of the kill had forced too much energy through the wound, and now it was tearing open.

"Cyprian!" Elowen rushed to me, her anger forgotten. She pulled my hand away, gasping at the sight.

The brand was glowing with a fierce, unstable light. It wasn't gold anymore; it was a violent, angry red. Blood seeped through my tunic, but it wasn't red—it was shimmering with golden sparks.

"It’s opening," I hissed, grinding my teeth. "The mark... it’s a beacon."

"What do you mean, a beacon?"

I didn't have to answer. Above us, the canopy of the Iron Weald began to glow. The sky, which had been a bruised twilight, suddenly shifted into a deep, sickly violet.

A hum filled the air, so loud it made my teeth ache. I looked up through the branches. A massive, circular rift was opening in the clouds—a giant, unblinking eye of golden light rimmed with violet fire.

"The Judgment Eye," I whispered, my blood running cold. "The Empyrean. They’ve found the disturbance. They’re scanning the woods."

"Can they see us?" Elowen asked, her voice small and terrified.

"They can see everything that breathes," I said, forcing myself to stand despite the blood soaking my chest. I grabbed her hand, my grip bruising. "We have to move. Now. If that light touches us, we aren't just dead—we’re erased."

The violet light began to sweep across the forest floor like a searchlight from the heavens, vaporizing every tree and stone it touched into fine white ash. It was heading straight for the clearing.

"Where do we go?" Elowen cried.

I looked toward the deepest part of the Weald, where the thorns grew thick enough to choke a giant. "Into the Briar. It’s the only place the Eye can't see."

We ran. Behind us, the forest screamed as the divine light began to systematically delete the world.