Hot. That’s what it was. The warm sensation was everywhere. It felt heavy. Blurry, too.

  Enya stirred silently.

  A hand gripped her shoulder—a firm, steady shake moved her.

  “Wake up,” a voice said, low, coarse, but also urgent. “Hey, come on. You gotta get up.”

  Slowly, she blinked. It wasn’t slow because she was tired. It was slow, because something was actively working against her.

  Her lashes—they were caked in grit. A sharp, crunchy texture pressed against her cheek as she shifted. She could feel the warmness now. It wasn’t just a void, but something actually physical.

  Sand.

  Everywhere; it clung to her skin, lodging itself all over her dress. The inside of her boots, inside of her gloves, and even burrowed within the seams of her pockets. She felt heavy, with all the sand weighing her down. She was sweating, at least, she felt like she was. It was too dry to sweat.

  She coughed once, groaning, but eventually, she got up. There—she spotted Josier, who had just shaken her awake.

  He was battered, and not in the greatest of appearances. A sharp streak cut down his cheek; some dry blood was spotted around his mouth. His suit was more layered, shredded fabric than a black outfit. But other than that—he was alive.

  “Whats… going on?” Enya croaked. Her voice was surprisingly dry and weak.

  Josier stood and offered her a hand, pulling her up. “You got thrown a bit. We all did, actually. I grabbed both you and Pell and tried to blink away, but the explosion caught me right before my skill activated. The momentum blasted all of us forward back into the desert.”

  Enya wobbled slightly. Grains of sand slid down her dress in piles as she finally stood. Clumps of it stained her hands and legs.

  It was an unpleasant feeling.

  Finally, she turned to look at the forest. Or… what had been a portion, of the forest.

  Charred wood jutted from the ground like broken bone spears. The overgrowth of trees and vegetation—all of the plants, vines, leaves and greenery—a large section of it was missing. Trees stripped of their bark. Embers still burning faintly along the blackened ground. A shimmer of air glittering like a mirage over a large but shallow crater.

  Her head throbbed. Not with as much of pain, but more of pressure. A dull, aching feeling pulsing at the base of her skull.

  An almost scraping noise pulled her attention. She turned and looked to her left.

  Pell’s body was crouched, on his knees and searching in the sands with his bony hands. But that was all there was.

  Just Pell’s body His head was nowhere to be seen.

  “What…?” Enya asked, blinking and getting some of the final clumps of sand off of her, clearing her vision.

  Josier followed her gaze. “

  Josier followed her gaze. “He’s looking for it,” he said dryly, dusting off his hands. “His skull, I mean. Explosion blew it off somewhere. He's been digging around for a couple of minutes.”

  Enya squinted, scanning the sand. A headache still pulsed behind her eyes, but she sucked in a slow breath and drew her focus inward.

  A flicker of power bloomed behind her eyes, before they turned golden.

  The world slowed, and her senses sharpened. Her movements became more precise, and she could attune herself more with the world. Unfortunately, that also meant the heat of the desert sands, and the glaring sun bore down on her. She winced.

  Doing her best to ignore the sensation, she spread her senses out. She swept it in a large radius around her, with a focus on the area around where Pell was searching. She continued to concentrate, forcing her senses beneath the surface of the sands. It sank, inch by inch.

  And then…

  There.

  It was half a meter below the sands.

  She moved without speaking.

  Kneeling, Enya dug. The sand was hot, coarse, and stung her scraped fingertips. But after a few scoops, her hand hit something solid. With a soft grunt, she pulled it free.

  A bleached-white skull stared back at her, the inside filled with more sand than she could shake loose.

  “…I swear,” Pell’s voice came from somewhere from within. “It’s going to take weeks to get this grit out. I can feel it in my nose sockets.”

  Enya let out a weak laugh, the sound half-cough, half-relief.

  She carried the skull back over to Pell’s body. His spine straightened a bit more, his ribcage creaking as she approached.

  “Here,” she said, placing it gently in his hands.

  He reattached it with a familiar click, adjusting his jaw with a disgruntled grumble. Her jaw clicked, and another heave of sand fell down.

  Enya giggled at the sight.

  Then, together, the three of them turned their eyes back to the forest behind them—blackened and broken, the last echoes of smoke trailing into the sky.

  Enya swallowed. Her throat was still dry, but she managed to speak. “What… happened?”

  She already knew the answer. At least, most of it.

  Pell’s skull tilted slightly, then turned toward the charred expanse. His voice was gravelly and blunt. “What happened,” he muttered, “is that the asshole slavemaster pulling that demon’s strings—decided to blow us up.”

  His ribs rattled as he shifted his stance. “Sounded like some kid. But what she did? That’d even put necromancers to shame.”

  Josier exhaled sharply, brushing sand from his brow. “We’re lucky that that person was careless and cocky. They spoke and gave me enough time to react to what was about to happen. If I was too late… I don’t think you two would be… intact, for lack of a better word.”

  Enya turned away from them and took a step forward. Then another. Then another.

  She moved through the desert with slow, deliberate strides. Her boots left uneven prints in the sand, and each step brought a wince. Her body still ached, bones humming beneath bruises. But she didn’t stop.

  The edge of the forest loomed ahead, twisted and scorched. The moment her foot crossed the boundary—where the sand met blackened earth—she felt the shift. The air was heavier. Still hot, but in a different way. It carried smoke and death.

  Pell and Josier followed behind her in silence.

  The walk took minutes. Not far, really. But every step felt longer than it should have.

  Enya reached the crater.

  It wasn’t deep. Just wide, shallow, and still radiating that strange heat. Faint embers glowed beneath patches of burned leaves. The trees here were nothing but jagged remnants, broken stumps and skeleton trunks.

  She stood at the center. Stared at the heart of the blast.

  There was… nothing. No trace of Zerus. No body. No ash. Just scorched ground and the imprint of destruction.

  Enya’s lip trembled, and her chest tightened. She felt it, that rising urge.

  To yell—cry—to do something.

  But nothing came. The heat clung too thickly. Her body had no water left to waste on tears.

  Enya noticed Zerus' pain the entire time she was with her. Nothing in Zerus' soul wanted to harm her. Yet, this is what she got in return. A cruel death.

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  Enya had the possibly chance at meeting her family again. Maybe to clear things up.

  Zerus has lost that chance.

  She stood still. The eerieness of silence passing by for a few moments.

  Then, Pell’s hand rested on her shoulder.

  His grip wasn’t heavy. Just enough to let her know he was there.

  “You did good,” he said simply. His voice had lost its usual gruffness. “Trying to save her. Demon or not… that was still a damned brave thing to do.”

  She said nothing.

  “It just so happens,” Pell muttered, “that fate picked a different ending.”

  Enya closed her eyes. The heat shimmered. Smoke coiled. And in the heart of the desert’s edge, three figures stood over the place where an unfortunate soul, had disappeared.

  A quiet rustle of cloth and boots behind her. Josier stepped up beside them, brushing soot from his arm.

  “We should head back,” he said. “The others came too. They’re holding the line farther in—fighting off the monsters Zerus left behind.”

  Enya blinked, turning slightly. “Monsters…?”

  “Yeah.” He gestured loosely toward the deeper woods. “Demonic Ents. Giant tree monsters. The ones you mentioned. The others should still be fighting them.”

  Enya’s brows pinched. She remembered it now. The things that Zerus had planted in the forest. The Twisted Seedlings.

  “She… she planted those a while ago,” she muttered. “I just didn’t know what they were.”

  “Well, now we know,” Josier replied grimly. “Nakrin is keeping them at bay. Risha, along with Henry’s kids, Berry, and Manny are keeping them pushed back. We rushed ahead to find you, but they might still busy out there.”

  “Think they need help?” Pell asked.

  Josier shook his head once. “Probably not. Nakrin’s with them. He’s stronger than me, by a long shot. But…” He gave a slight shrug. “Wouldn’t hurt to regroup. There’s still a non-zero chance we’re not alone out here. And the heat isn’t exactly good for us out here. We’ll dehydrate if we don’t get some water quickly.”

  Pell sighed, brushing ash from his shoulder. “Then let’s move. Come on, kid.”

  Together, they turned from the crater and began walking—slowly, carefully—back into the forest. They managed a few steps, walking out of the crater, until—

  Without warning, Enya stiffened.

  A strange tug—right behind her heart. Like something loosening, slipping through the cracks of her soul. A soft wisp of white mist peeled away from her back.

  The Inner Darkness Apparition stepped forward, silent as a shadow. It tilted its head toward Enya.

  All three of them froze.

  “…What?” Enya whispered.

  The apparition didn’t answer. It turned its gaze to the side. Then, slowly, it began to walk.

  None of them moved for a beat.

  “…You’re not the one controlling that, right?” Pell asked, voice dry, but tense.

  “I’ve never had control of it,” Enya murmured. “It’s… always moved on its own.”

  “What?” Pell replied.

  The apparition continued, gliding between two scorched trees.

  Enya exchanged glances with the other two.

  Then they followed.

  The apparition led them deeper through the charred edge of the forest, toward a small clearing near a jagged ridge of blackened trees.

  “This is seriously one strange spell you got. I seriously wonder what class it originated from,” Pell said as they walked.

  Soon, they reached their destination. There, half-buried in ash and leaning at a crooked angle, lay a massive burnt log—once a thick tree, now just a scorched husk. The apparition stopped. It pointed at the sight.

  The three of them stopped also, peering at one another. Pell stepped forward cautiously. His soul-flames compressed into narrow slits as he leaned down, hand reaching.

  He shifted a chunk of bark aside, then paused. His fingers tapped and gripped around something. Something large. He then reached in with his other hand also and pulled it free. He turned around.

  Enya’s breath caught in her throat.

  In Pell’s skeletal hand was a glass chamber. The casing was slightly scorched, and covered in dirt and ash, yet it was intact. No visible cracks could be seen along its surface.

  And inside it… was a heart. Dark, cold, and mysterious—yet unmistakably hers.

  Zerus’ heart. One that no longer beat. The cursed chains that once bound it—severed. Their fragments lay curled in the bottom of the container like dead snakes.

  Enya stared, wide-eyed, her pulse thudding like war drums behind her ribs.

  No words came.

  Just the faint hum of heat, and the soft flicker of embered wind. That was, until something abruptly shocked her out of her melancholic state.

  Enya’s system status rang out, flashing in front of her without prompt.

  System Notification: You have successfully crafted Demonic Phylactery [Minor]:

  You have received 3849 EXP.

  Your level has increased from level 13 to level 15.

  Experience Remaining Until Next Level: 349/4164.

  Class Perks have been unlocked.

  “And take this!” Risha shouted.

  Her enchanted claymore slashed hard in the air, a wave-slash tearing across the clearing and slamming into the monster.

  The Twisted Ents were gigantic monsters straight out of nightmares. Their demonic wooden trunks curled and split like torn muscle, bark spreading out like barbed needles as they lumbered forward. All five were wreaking havoc—and the only ones standing in their way were four people.

  One: a strong Diamond-Tier War Paragon, forced to hold back for fear of triggering a monster flood.

  Another: a young girl who had failed repeatedly in her attempt to enter the prestigious academy in Talo.

  And the last two: bright-futured teens, strong contenders, but not quite War Paragons.

  Right now, only Nakrin could truly defeat them. Only he was strong enough to obliterate these monsters outright. And yet—he couldn’t. Not fully. Because if he went all out, the cost might be too high. The forest could collapse. The infection could spread.

  So instead, he had to wait for the perfect opportunity. When the Twisted Ents were isolated enough from the trees and greenery. Only then, could he strike and incinerate them completely.

  Distracting and isolating them—that was everyone else’ job.

  Risha stepped forward again, drawing in a shaky breath. Another strike. Her boots slammed into the dirt with each swing, the power of her wave-slashes demanding more and more momentum every time. Her body hurt—her arms trembled—but every successful hit made the next slash stronger. The energy built. That was her class’s strength.

  Soon enough, one of the Twisted Ents was pushed back. Not by pain, not from damage—but from pressure. She wasn’t hurting it in any real way. Not enough to kill it. But if she could keep its attention on her—if she could just stall it—that was enough.

  The strain was building. Her muscles ached. Her grip on the hilt was starting to slip with sweat. But she didn’t stop.

  “Stay… back!” she shouted.

  Another roar split through the trees. This one came from another ent. One, that Berry was fighting.

  It lurched froward, branches tearing through the brush like blades. But Berry was already in motion. She leapt into the air, scarf trailing behind her like a crimson banner. Her expression was fierce. Wild. Fire burned behind her eyes.

  A monstrous aura coated her body—a writhing beast-like form clung to her like a ghost, empowering her limbs. She wasn’t just stronger—she was something else entirely in this state.

  Her punch landed clean.

  The air shook. A large chunk of the ent’s chest collapsed inward, bark and dark ichor spraying out. It screeched. And then—

  It retaliated. A thickened limb of blackened wood swung hard, club-like in size. It connected true and hard.

  Berry’s body was thrown back—sent flying across the battlefield. She hit the ground with a crash, rolled violently, and skidded until the dirt finally stopped her. She groaned—but she didn’t stay down.

  Already, she was rising again, limbs trembling. Her scarf was torn. Blood stained her lip. Her breathing was ragged. But her eyes still burned. Her teeth were bared. She looked half-feral. And without hesitation—she charged again.

  The third ent, meanwhile, was covered by her brother.

  A sharp breeze tore through the battlefield. Not a natural wind, but a controlled one.

  Manny stood farther back, away from the direct fight. His stance was steady, robes fluttering around him in spirals of air, his hands lifted in front of him like a conductor ready to cue an orchestra.

  Another ent lunged toward him, roots surging from the ground like grasping claws.

  He didn’t move. Instead—he shaped the air.

  With a flick of his wrist, the space in front of him compressed. A bundle of air, so tightly wound, that it shimmered, forming at his fingertips.

  He whispered under his breath, and the bundle erupted—blasting forward in a streak of focused force. The impact hit clean against the monster’s arm, slicing through layers of bark with an audible crack.

  The monster reeled, but Manny was already crafting the next attack.

  He wasn’t a melee fighter. He didn’t have the brute strength like the others. But what he did have—was control. He manipulated the battlefield like a sculptor, reshaping the wind around him. Condensed spheres of air hovered in orbit at his back, held together by sheer magical pressure.

  Another ent tried to rush him—he shifted his stance, summoned a cyclone beneath its legs, and lifted it just enough that it stumbled and lost momentum.

  Then he fired again.

  One—two—three blasts in a row. These were partially powered spheres of air—he didn’t have enough time to form a concussive wind bomb. Every wooden limb that protruded from the monsters body—each one that tried to grasp onto another surrounding tree—he targeted. He had to prevent it from spreading its demonic curse.

  Finally, at the center of the whole battle—was Nakrin.

  He stood tall, scales shimmering red, radiating a heat that warped the air around him. He didn’t have a plan. He wasn’t a distraction. He was the star of this battle.

  With a fierce roar, he charged forward, the burning embers beneath him searing his feet as he crushed them deeper into the earth.

  He leaped upward with reckless abandon. An instant later, he slammed his entire body into the Twisted Ent, the impact erupting in a thunderous boom. Bark exploded outward as wood splintered under the sheer force of the blow.

  He tore into it without hesitation.

  His claws ripped into its chest, driving the monster back. Each second, another chunk of its body snapped loose, shredded and scattered. But the ent didn’t fall.

  It fought.

  Twisted vines wrapped around him like constricting muscles. Branches whipped at his sides, sharp as spears, trying to pin him down. The monster was trying to absorb him—smother him—crush him within its corrupted bark.

  But it was a useless effort. A mindless struggle.

  Nakrin didn’t stop. He pried the creature open, brute strength forcing the trunk apart inch by inch.

  Far behind him, embers still glowed. The corpse of the fifth ent smoldered in the distance, already dealt with—nothing left but a husk, its core burned and broken. The final flames licked across charred roots like dying serpents. And now, this one was next.

  Nakrin’s claws dug deeper, slicing through corrupted sinew, until finally—his hands found it.

  The core.

  A pulsing, black-red mass, beating faintly within layers of twisted wood.

  He didn’t hesitate. His eyes burned. The flames began low—silver-blue sparks dancing along his scales, trailing up his arms like molten veins. Then they erupted in a massive burst.

  A column of fire blasted from his chest, engulfing the ent from within. The flame roared upward, devouring bark, sap, and corruption alike. It reached past the treetops, a spire of light that briefly brushed the clouds before shrinking back down.

  The vines tightened around him in a last, desperate grip. But it was too late. He burned everything. Even the air seemed to fight against his flames. The core. The ent. The infection trying to cling to him—

  Gone.

  The Twisted Ent didn’t just burn—it melted, dripping into blackened puddles that hissed and cracked beneath his feet.

  Nakrin stomped forward, emerging from the ruins of its body. Smoke curled off his back. His body glowed faintly, wrapped in a shimmering haze of residual flame.

  That was two down.

  And three more to go.