Ellis ran as fast as he could towards the woods.

  Why was the Nith Gate open?

  Corwyn never left it open longer than the time it took to enter, a few seconds at most. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

  He skidded to a stop as he turned the corner of the street.

  Rats, hundreds of them, poured along the pavement, a wave of fur and claws heading straight toward him.

  Ellis’s stomach turned. A cold shiver crept up his spine.

  Something about them was wrong.

  Hundreds of them surged forward, swarming the street in a nightmarish wave. At first glance, they resembled rats, but only if rats had been twisted by some ancient curse. Their fur was matted and spiked, greasy with soil and filth. Their eyes were too large, glossy and lidless, glowing faintly like glass beads filled with smoke.

  Their ears were oversized, torn around the edges, paper thin, lit from within by a sickly orange glow. Rows of jagged, needle sharp teeth jutted from their snarling mouths, too many for jaws that small. Their claws clicked and scraped against the tarmac, long and curved like iron pins.

  They didn’t squeak like normal rats. They hissed. Snarled. Some of them gurgled with wet, rattling breaths, as if something was inside them trying to get out.

  And they were fast. Too fast. Not scurrying, but loping, like predators.

  Ellis leapt into the road as they swarmed past, his heart hammering.

  These things shouldn’t be here.

  Not in this world.

  They were Gwalkers.

  He recognised them from A Natural History of the Nithwood. They were going to cause chaos. Ellis knew what they were capable of. Notorious scavengers, they ate anything. Poop, rotting meat, even their own kind. One passage in the book had stayed with him. It said they used their oversized claws to dig up graves and gnaw on human bones.

  He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His feet rooted to the spot as the swarm poured forward. He didn’t want to look, but his eyes refused to blink, locked on the churning mass.

  His whole body tensed, stomach twisting, breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat. He felt cold, like something sinsiter had brushed against him.

  Then, with effort, he broke free from the moment and forced himself to run.

  As he raced along through the streets as something darted overhead. He skidded to a halt and looked up, heart pounding.

  A Sylprhone.

  It looked almost like a ferret with wings—delicate and silver-white, its sleek body gliding effortlessly through the air. Its enormous ears twitched, listening to sounds he couldn’t hear, and its long tail curled behind it like a drifting ribbon. Glowing softly, it hovered for a moment, then zipped away into the trees, feathered wings beating like whispers.

  Ellis stared after it. He’d seen one before, on the rare occasions Corwyn had allowed him into the Nithwood. But this one was outside the gate. It shouldn't be here. Out here, it would be fair game for poachers.

  He kept running.His legs burned, every stride sending jolts through his thighs. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest tight, a sharp stitch digging beneath his ribs like a hooked claw. The pavement blurred beneath his feet, but still he refused to slow.

  Further down the road, he heard something strange. A voic. No, laughter. Shrill and chaotic. He stopped, looked around, and there it was: perched on top of a lamppost like it owned the world.

  A Snickerling.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  It was about the size of a monkey, its shaggy, moss-green fur sticking out in wild tufts. Bright teal eyes glowed with manic joy, and its grin was full of too many sharp teeth. Its long fingers curled around the metal pole like claws, and its oversized ears twitched with every giggle. A few rusted hoops dangled from one ear, jingling faintly.

  It rocked back and forth, cackling as if it knew something he didn’t.

  He’d never seen one of these before., only read about them and seen illustrations in Professor Charles Boothroy's book.

  They weren’t dangerous exactly, but Boothroy said a group of them had followed him and Tiggle for days, hurling nuts, berries, and twigs at their heads. The more they reacted, the louder the laughter grew, until it became a chaotic chorus echoing through the branches, wild and relentless.

  Boothroy eventually realised the only way to get rid of them was to ignore them until they got bored and drifted off. But here... here they were something else entirely.

  Here, they were invisible to anyone not born of witch blood.

  How many creatures had actually made it through? He had only run a short distance and had already encountered three different species. That meant there could be dozens more. Fellmere might already be crawling with things from the Nithwood. Creatures that didn’t belong in the human world. Creatures that would tear it apart.

  They would not just cause damage. They would unravel things. Even the small ones. Especially the small ones.

  Ellis set off again, his chest heaving, legs aching, but he had to carry on. The night clung to him like mist, thick and heavy, but he didn’t slow. Not now. Not with the memory of the Graul still fresh in his mind. Not with the Nith Gate ahead.

  Finally, he reached the edge of the wood, Ellis burst through the tree line, his breath sharp in his chest, feet thudding over roots and damp moss. The forest swallowed him whole, thick, old, and dripping with silence. Shadows stretched between the trunks, and he had to watch his step, but there was light ahead, pale and strange, like moonlight filtered through water.

  He heard voices.

  Not loud, more like whispers carried on wind that wasn’t there. He ran toward them, heart pounding, thorns snagging at his sleeves. Then he saw them.

  Figures.

  Dark shapes standing still against the brightness, too far to make out, but too real to be imagined. The light wasn’t coming from lanterns or fire. It was the gate.

  It stood wide and open, formed from branches that twisted together into a perfect arch. It pulsed faintly, a blue light eminated from tinged with a green haze.

  And beyond the gate… it was brighter. Not harsh, not blinding, but gentle, glowing green and gold. The trees on the other side looked different, taller, softer, lit from within. Ellis slowed, drawn in by the warmth. The air smelled sweeter. The fear slipped, just a little.

  He slowed to a walk as he approached the figures. The chant was clear now.

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  It was a spell. Their voices, soft and unwavering, belonged to women, each one perfectly in sync, like a choir that had rehearsed for years. Had they opened the gate? Was the chant keeping it open? And where was Corwyn?

  Ellis crept forward, heart pounding, not just from the run. He tried to steady his breath. It sounded too loud in his ears.

  A twig snapped under his trainer. He froze. But the women didn’t react, still lost in the rhythm.

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  There were eight of them. All stood with arms raised, reaching for the trees. Some wore cloaks and cowls. Others were dressed like ordinary people.

  He hesitated. What was he even going to do? If Corwyn had not stopped them, what chance did he have? The thought hit him again. Where was Corwyn? Had they done something to him?

  He had to move. Circle around. Get past them without being seen. Maybe Corwyn was at the hut, trapped, injured, or worse. But he had to find out.

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  He turned to his right, moving as slowly as he could, holding his breath in tight, shallow bursts. The hut was about a hundred metres away. He could make it if he kept quiet. If they stayed focused on the gate.

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  The chant was louder now, more forceful, as if they were pouring more power into each word.

  Ellis crept, almost on tiptoe, every step placed with care. He was nearly past them. Their backs were still turned. He was going to make it.

  His foot slipped. Mud. He wobbled and tried to recover but it was no use. He fell forward, arms shooting out to break his fall. He hit the ground hard, face-first, pain jolting through his chest and knees. Something shrieked in the undergrowth. Leaves flurried. Branches shook.

  He pushed himself up and turned quickly to the women.

  One had turned. She was staring straight at him.

  Ellis

  His heart stopped when he spotted her.

  “Mum?” he called out, breath catching.

  She turned, eyes wide. “Ellis?! What are you doing here?”

  She broke from the line and ran to him, crouching to help him up. Her long dark hair spilled over his face as she leaned in.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, voice low but urgent. Her large dark eyes were even wider than usual. Unlike most of the others, she was dressed in normal clothes. Jeans, boots, a jacket he recognised from home.

  “Where’s Corwyn?” Ellis snapped.

  “We don’t know,” she said. “we think he went through the gate.”

  “Then we have to find him.”

  She reached out, placing both hands on his shoulders. “Ellis, I know how much he means to you. But this isn’t a place for you. You need to go home.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, glancing past her at the others, still locked in the rhythm of the chant.

  “The gate won’t close,” she said. “We’re trying to raise a barrier. Something to stop anything else from coming through.”

  “We need to find Corwyn. He wouldn’t leave the gate open. Something’s wrong.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about that now. The barrier has to come first.”

  “Focus,” one of the women shouted. “It’s almost done. Don’t break the line.”

  Another figure turned. Her hood fell back, revealing a crown of long silver hair. It was Gran.

  “Elana, rejoin the line. There must be seven. It won’t hold otherwise.”

  Mum nodded and stepped back into the circle. She lifted her arms and joined the chant.

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Trenai Varthan Skell

  Ellis watched her. His eyes drifted along the line. Familiar faces, though most he only half-remembered. At the far end stood Aunt Lucinda, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

  Maybe they were right. Maybe nothing could be done.

  But Corwyn was still in there.

  And Ellis wasn’t going to leave him.

  He ran. Past the coven. Past the chanting. Past the fear. Straight through the arch of thorns.

  Into the Nith Gate.

  The world shifted.

  The air thickened around him. The night, once dark, now glowed with a strange blue-green light.

  Where there should have been playing fields and parkland, now stood an immense forest. Towering trees loomed above, their trunks as wide as houses, bark marked with ancient patterns. Vines hung like veins. The air crackled with insects, strange bird calls, and something deeper. Something breathing.

  “Ellis,” his mum called after him.

  He turned.

  Panic flashed across her face.

  But it was too late.

  The barrier ignited.

  A wall of shimmering blue light roared into life between them, humming like a struck bell. It surged from the raised hands of the coven, sealed the gate, and shut him off from the world he knew.

  Ellis was inside the Nithwood.

  And he was alone.