Woods walked slowly through the overgrown foliage a few miles south of the farm, the dense saturation of plant life almost suffocating. The wild greenery was beautiful in its own way, but it carried an ominous undertone that gnawed at him as he pressed deeper into the tangled mess. The air itself seemed thick with something otherworldly, as if the forest was aware of his presence. As if the forest didn’t want him here. Each step felt like a trespass, even though this had been his home for years.

  The once orderly forest had transformed into a feral jungle, its unchecked growth teeming with hostile energy. Leaves rustled with unsettling whispers, and shadows danced like living things in the dim light. It wasn’t just wild—it was alive in a way that felt wrong. Growth magic, he thought bitterly. How could something so natural twist into something so dangerous?

  Woods froze at the sound of a twig snapping behind him. His senses sharpened, but not from fear. No, this wasn’t panic—it was calculation. If it was just a wild animal, then he had little to worry about. But if it was something more powerful, something capable of snuffing out his life like a flickering candle... well, there wasn’t much point in worrying about that either. Whatever it was, fear wouldn’t help.

  He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the forest for any movement. The trees stood still, their shadows stretching across the forest floor in eerie silence. After a few long moments, Woods relaxed—at least, as much as he could in this place. Whatever had made the noise, it hadn’t shown itself, and he wasn’t about to go looking for trouble.

  He continued southward, the thick foliage closing in around him. The overgrown path seemed almost malevolent, the vines and twisted branches reaching out like claws, but Woods pushed on. He needed to find the southern sprites. Normally, they only visited in the warmer weeks of summer, but with everything spiraling out of control in Sagewood, he knew he couldn’t wait.

  Woods frowned, his mind turning to his brother, Finn. He hadn’t seen him in a while, not since Finn had relocated to the southern territories. They’d always had their differences, but lately, Woods had begun to appreciate his brother’s cunning—particularly now, when something was clearly very wrong with the magic in Sagewood. Maybe Finn and the others could come up with a solution until Matt could get the farm to level ten.

  Best to bring them north before anything worse happens, Woods thought grimly, pushing aside a thick tangle of vines. His instincts told him that time was running out. He just hoped his brother and the others would see reason and come with him. Sprites were stubborn by nature—but the southern ones? Even more so.

  Woods pushed forward, carefully picking his way through the dense greenery when something coiled tightly around the ankle of his boot.

  He barely registered the thick green vine before it yanked—hard.

  Woods slammed onto his back as he was dragged violently deeper into the forest. On instinct, he shifted into his grizzly bear form. His claws tore at the soft carpet of moss and ferns, trying to take hold somewhere. More vines appeared, as strong and unrelenting as the first. They tightened, wrapping around his legs, pulling with unnatural strength.

  He twisted, slashing at the tendrils with hooked claws. Thick green coils snapped and shriveled, but for every one he severed, two more took its place. They snaked around his arms, his chest, constricting like living ropes.

  He dug his claws deep into the forest floor, muscles straining, but it wasn’t enough. The vines twisted up his torso, winding around his throat. The vines constricted with eerie precision, as if they understood they didn’t need to overpower him forever—just long enough to finish the job. The world tilted, his limbs convulsing as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. He strained for air, but the vines held firm, they were much stronger than he was.

  His heartbeat pounded in his skull. This wasn’t just an attack—this was the forest itself turning against him.

  Then, suddenly, the pressure eased.

  The vine around his neck slackened first, then the ones on his limbs. He crashed onto his side, gasping for air, his claws still twitching in reflexive desperation. The vines that were wrapped around him seconds before now lay lifeless on the forest floor.

  Woods lay there for a few seconds, chest heaving. He rose shakily and turned to see a crocodile gnawing through the last of the writhing vines—a creature not native to these parts, but unmistakable to him.

  “Finn?” Woods asked, his voice hoarse with relief.

  The crocodile shifted back into sprite form, his brother standing before him with a lopsided grin. “Pretty good timing, me showing up here, eh Woodsy?” Finn brushed his hands together nonchalantly as if this were just another day. “Didn’t expect to find you out here, tangled up in whatever that was.”

  Woods grunted as he reverted forms, kicking at the severed vines away from him. His vision remained hazy, his pulse still hammering from the struggle. But there was no denying it—Finn’s timing had been impeccable. Woods cast a wary glance at the forest, making sure there weren’t any other rogue vines about to ensnare them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, as if afraid the trees might be listening. “I don’t think that was a monster, Finn,” he cast another glance around the trees, “I think it’s the forest itself. Something’s wrong with the magic.”

  Finn shrugged, unconcerned. “There’s always something wrong with the magic. Thought that was Matt’s problem these days though, not yours.”

  “It’s worse than usual,” Woods replied, his eyes narrowing. “Something’s changed. It’s growing out of control.”

  “Well,” Finn said, cracking a grin, “good thing we’re here, then.”

  “We?” Woods raised an eyebrow, his question hanging in the air, but before he could finish, a force slammed into him from the side, tackling him into the undergrowth.

  A familiar laugh rang out. “Got you!”

  Woods groaned, trying to free himself from the sudden embrace. “Alder…”

  The leader of the southern sprites stood, offering Woods a hand with a mischievous grin. “Couldn’t resist. You looked so serious.”

  As Woods dusted off his tunic, his eyes flicked past Alder to catch another figure emerging from the dense foliage. Skye stepped forward, offering a wave and a half-smile, the familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. Woods wasn’t surprised to see her—wherever Finn went, Skye was never far behind. The two had been practically inseparable ever since they’d met. Inseparable and insufferable.

  Woods scanned the tree line, searching for any sign of the others. But it seemed like only Finn, Alder, and Skye had made the journey north. He had hoped for more.

  “Fern didn’t come?” Woods asked, dreading the thought of relaying this information to Flint.

  Alder’s expression darkened. “No. Just the three of us.” He glanced around as if the forest itself might be eavesdropping. “Something happened to the nature spirit of the Southern Sea. She… she’s gone. Disappeared, without a trace. We left the others behind to figure it out while we came to warn you.”

  Skye nodded. “If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s Fern.”

  Woods gave a slow nod, feeling the weight of their words. It was happening in the South, too.

  Woods swallowed hard, the weight of what he had to tell them settling like a stone in his chest. The memory of the nature spirits’ demise was still fresh, and the thought of retelling it was almost as awful as living through it. But the southern sprites needed to know.

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  “Something... similar has happened here,” Woods began, nearly wincing at the memory. “All of our nature spirits are gone too. I was there when the Forest Spirit and the River Spirit...” He paused briefly. He wasn’t sure if the spirits could truly die, but that seemed like what had happened. Finally, Woods settled on a different term, “…vanished. The Cave Spirit is gone as well.”

  The newcomer sprites exchanged alarmed glances, the gravity of his words sinking in.

  Woods turned toward the farm, his footsteps heavy with the burden of what came next. “Follow me. I’ll explain everything on the way.” His eyes flicked back to the twisted, gnarled vines that covered the forest floor. “Let’s hope we’re not too late to bring the spirits back.”

  With a final glance at the ominous tangle of growth, Woods retraced his steps to the farm, the forest behind them whispering of dangers yet to come.

  Finn fell into step beside Woods, his voice dropping to a low murmur as Alder and Skye lagged behind, lost in their own conversation about the Southern Sea Spirit. “Do you think this has anything to do with you… ending Corruption all those years ago?” Finn asked.

  Woods cast a quick glance back, ensuring the others were still occupied. He gave Finn a small nod. “I’m almost certain it’s connected.”

  Finn frowned, keeping his voice low. “Have you told Matt? About Corruption. What really happened that night?”

  Woods shook his head, his expression darkening. “No. Matt thinks Corruption just disappeared. He doesn’t know the full story—not what I did, not what it cost to save his life that night.”

  Woods had killed Corruption—it had been necessary. The River Spirit had been the one to advise him to keep the truth from Matt. At the time, Woods hadn’t understood why, but he had followed her counsel. The secret was shared only between him, Finn, and the River Spirit, the only people who were there. Maybe she’d seen something like this coming, sensed the consequences of his actions, and wanted to keep the truth from Matt. Or shield Woods from blame.

  A shiver ran through Woods as he spoke. “If it ever becomes an issue, I’ll tell him. But for now... he doesn’t need to know.” His tone left no room for argument.

  “But you still have that fancy rock Corruption left behind, right?”

  Woods frowned. “Fancy rock? Oh, you mean the Corruption stone.” He glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure Alder and Skye were still wrapped up in their own conversation. “Yeah, I still have it.”

  Finn gave him a knowing smile. “On you?”

  “No.”

  “In your boot?”

  “No.”

  “Your hat?”

  “No.”

  “Pocket?”

  Woods hesitated. “No. Stop asking.”

  Finn’s grin widened. “You really gotta find a better hiding place than your pocket, little brother.”

  Woods cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Regardless of where it’s hidden, it’s safe.”

  “Sure,” Finn said.

  Woods scowled. “It’s probably not even important. I’ve only kept it all these years as a reminder of what’s turning out to be a very poor decision on my part.”

  Finn just shrugged, effortlessly changing the subject. Which annoyed Woods. The sprite was too charismatic for his own good—he always knew exactly when to push and when to let something go. Which, unfortunately, meant he could read Woods like an open book.

  “Sorry we didn’t bring Fern. She really wanted to come—she misses Flint, you know—but she figured it was smarter to stay back and figure out what’s going on.” Finn sighed, then added, “In hindsight, we should’ve just brought her. Flint’s probably pining away for her right now.”

  Woods snorted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, he’s definitely missing her. She’s all he talks about.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So why not let Flint marry her? He could move in with the southern sprites. They get along just fine—”

  “They’re too young for that,” Woods interrupted, his tone firm. “That’s one thing Alder and I agree on.”

  Finn rolled his eyes dramatically. “Too young? Flint’s what now, a hundred and five? How old were you when you got married?”

  “That was different,” Woods shot back, crossing his arms. “Different time.”

  “Ah, yes, the ‘different time’ excuse,” Finn said, grinning at his brother. “Classic.”

  Woods suppressed a grin and glanced back at Skye. “So, why haven’t you married Skye yet, Finn? You’re pushing six hundred. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”

  Finn snorted. “She won’t marry me. She’s as stubborn as a mule and won’t say yes.”

  “Have you asked her?” Woods asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Finn shrugged. “Only about… six times, or so. But you know what they say—seventh time’s the charm.”

  ***

  When Woods returned to the farm, the night was still, and the farmhouse lay quiet under the pale moonlight. The windows were dark, which wasn’t surprising given the late hour. It seemed everyone had gone to bed. Alder, Finn, and Skye had already made themselves comfortable in the hayloft—sleeping space in the farmhouse had long since run out. They were tired from the day of travelling, and they’d all come to the same unspoken agreement—better to face the problem with clear heads in the morning than come up with half-formed solutions in the dead of night.

  As Woods walked toward the house, mulling over the day’s events, a familiar creak broke the silence. He looked up to see Matt sitting in one of the old rocking chairs on the porch, its rhythmic sway barely audible.

  “Glad you made it back safely,” Matt called, his voice quiet but laced with concern. Woods hadn’t expected to see him up at this hour. He looked awful—like he hadn’t slept in days. With his kids keeping him up late and the farm chores dragging him out of bed early, that wouldn’t have been unusual. But this was different. Something had happened. He could tell.

  Woods hesitated, studying Matt for a moment before asking, “Is everyone all right?”

  Matt nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah, everyone’s fine. Nobody got seriously injured…” He shrugged casually, but the weight in his voice betrayed him.

  Woods inhaled sharply, his body tensing. His mind flashed to the vines that had ensnared him today, but he didn’t interject. Instead, he let Matt continue.

  Matt exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Something happened at the river.” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Reed, Link, and I… it wasn’t good.”

  Woods hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Something happened to me too, a few miles south of the farm.”

  He stopped there, weighing his words. Matt already had enough on his plate—no sense in adding to it. And besides, admitting he’d needed rescuing? From Finn of all sprites? That would only invite merciless teasing later. He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms.

  “Nothing big,” he said, brushing past the details, “I had a run in with some unruly plants.” He kept his tone light, as if it were no more than an inconvenience. No reason for Matt to know just how close it had been.

  The blood drained from Matt’s face, his skin taking on the pale cast of the moon above them. “Wait—what kind of plants? Vines?”

  Woods hesitated, then nodded. Maybe he’d said too much.

  Matt shot to his feet so fast the rocking chair groaned in protest. “The same thing happened to us! This is getting bad, Woods. And the river—Link almost drowned today! What do we do?”

  Woods blinked, processing that. It seemed he and Matt had both been skimming over the worst parts of their day—yet, somehow, they’d each faced something life threatening. This was bad.

  His stomach turned. No, this wasn’t just bad. This was worse than either of them had admitted.

  “Is Link all right?” Woods asked.

  Matt nodded, but Woods didn’t miss the shadows under his eyes or the worry lines on his forehead. They were the kind that didn’t fade with a good night’s rest. Nearly losing his son—Woods doubted Matt would ever get over that. He exhaled, choosing his words carefully. “Finn and some of the southern sprites are here. They can help us keep you and your family safe for now.” He met Matt’s eyes, “But honestly? I think the only real fix is bringing back the Harvest Goddess.”

  Matt let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  Silence stretched between them, filled only by the steady chirp of crickets. Woods settled into the other rocking chair beside Matt, who sat hunched forward, head in his hands. He didn’t say anything, and Woods didn’t push. Instead, he tipped his head back and gazed up at the stars scattered across the night sky.

  He’d watched Matt grow over the years—becoming a husband, then a father, stepping up to run the farm. It was a lot of responsibility for anyone, let alone someone barely out of his twenties. Someone not even from this world. And now this. The magic was unraveling, nature spirits were disappearing, and the land was becoming more dangerous by the day. Woods exhaled sharply. It was his fault. All of it.

  “Matt,” Woods said at last, voice quieter than usual. “That night when Corruption disappeared—”

  Matt lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Tomorrow, Woods.” His voice was firm, but not unkind. “I don’t want to talk about Corruption, or the Harvest Goddess, or the magic anymore tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now, I need sleep.”

  He stood, heading for the farmhouse, but hesitated in the doorway. “I’m going into town tomorrow morning,” he said after a pause. “But when I get back, I want to expand the crop fields. It might help me level the farm faster.”

  Woods frowned, glancing over the land. His darkvision cut through the shadows, revealing four sprawling fields, an orchard, and a greenhouse. The farm was already pushing its limits, and Matt was running himself ragged keeping up with it all. He had to be close to level ten by now.

  “Probably a good idea,” Woods said, though his tone was measured. “I’ll have Reed, Flint, and Rock start digging while you’re gone.”

  Matt nodded, but his eyes were distant, his exhaustion obvious in the slump of his shoulders—the kind of tired that only a farmer could know.

  Woods leaned forward. “Get some rest, Matt.” He kept his voice light, careful not to sound like a controlling parent.

  Matt nodded again, this time with more conviction. “Goodnight, Woods.”

  Woods watched him go, the farmhouse door clicking shut behind him. He leaned back, rocking slowly, his eyes returning to the stars. And, like every night, he counted them—each one a small, distant hope—waiting, wishing, for a miracle.