Zaphara stared into the flickering flames. Her white hair, tousled by the night wind, occasionally fell into her face, but she made no effort to brush it away. The night had grown quiet; only the occasional crackling of burning wood broke the darkness.

  Then came the soft crunch of gravel under careful footsteps, and Fionna emerged into the fire’s glow. The elf moved with deliberate grace as she lowered herself beside Zaphara without a word.

  For a moment, they sat in silence, drawing closer to the warmth. Finally, Fionna cleared her throat.

  "Gold? Power? Knowledge? What exactly is your goal?"

  Zaphara replied without hesitation, her voice cool and unwavering. "And if I told you—what difference would it make? You wouldn’t believe me anyway."

  Fionna’s sharp eyes narrowed. "I’m asking because I know Ivory better than anyone. She’s… too kind, as you must have noticed. And you seem rather intent on staying close to her. So? Are you planning to use her?"

  Zaphara let out a short, cold laugh, the firelight reflecting off her pale features. "I could tell you all sorts of things, but what would you gain from it? Nothing. And trust me—you wouldn’t accept my truth."

  Silence settled between them. Fionna tilted her head slightly, as if weighing whether to push further. "Is there anyone who matters to you? Someone you protect—or serve?"

  Zaphara slowly turned to face her, her gaze as hollow as a starless sky. When she spoke, her voice was void of emotion, an empty echo of something long buried.

  "They’re all dead. It doesn’t matter who they were or how close we once were. They’re gone."

  Fionna hesitated; for a fleeting moment, she seemed uncertain of what to say. Then, a quiet glimmer of something softened her expression—genuine sympathy. "That… I’m sorry."

  Zaphara left the words hanging in the cold night air, neither acknowledging nor rejecting them. Fionna lowered her gaze to the fire, as if searching for the right words among the embers before finally speaking again.

  "I have a sister. We were never close. In fact, we spent most of our lives avoiding each other. If we ever met on the battlefield one day, then—" She let out a humorless laugh. "Then we might not hesitate to slit each other’s throats. At least, if it were up to her."

  Zaphara raised an eyebrow. "If it were up to her?"

  Fionna gave a faint nod. "Yes. I… never wanted things to go that far, but in her heart, there was always more hatred than love. Still, I find myself thinking about her sometimes. And about the time when we were young and used to laugh together—just like that hope, that kindness, I now see in Ivory. That’s why I feel… a certain bond with her."

  She met Zaphara’s gaze directly. "Are you malicious? Or simply a victim of your circumstances?"

  For a heartbeat, Zaphara remained silent, then lifted her chin. "I have no interest in destroying the kingdom, nor do I wish to harm Ivory. I hold no ill intentions, and if it eases your mind: I think Ivory will gain far more from me than I will ever gain from her." A faint, almost genuine smile ghosted across her lips. "I’m not doing this by choice, but… it is what it is. She’ll likely benefit more in the end."

  Fionna studied her closely. Something in Zaphara’s voice had shifted—warmer, less forced. The elf gave a fleeting smile before nudging Zaphara’s shoulder gently with her own—a nearly friendly gesture. "That’s all I needed to hear. As long as you’re not shackling her, she’s free to make her own choices. And no matter how much I worry, she is her own person, not a little girl."

  With that, Fionna rose to her feet. "I’m going to rest. If anything happens, let me know." She took a step away but hesitated, glancing back once more. "Oh… about the tavern—I heard what happened, and I’ll handle it. But you should apologize to Lunara."

  Zaphara frowned, but Fionna simply raised a hand, cutting off any protest. "I know, you won’t get along with everyone. But at least try. You don’t have to be best friends. Just take a small step."

  Zaphara sighed, rolling her shoulders, her gaze half averted. "Yeah, yeah… maybe," she muttered, sounding anything but convinced.

  A shadow flickered through her thoughts—Lunara, standing at the top of the stairs last night, trying to convince her to stay in the tavern a little longer. "It was really fun, you should have been there," Lunara had said, smiling with that unshakable optimism.

  Zaphara shook the memory off as if it were nothing more than mist that needed to dissipate.

  Fionna gave her one last knowing look before turning away, heading toward her bedroll. "Goodnight, Zaphara," she called over her shoulder.

  As her footsteps faded, silence settled over the camp once more. Zaphara stared into the glowing embers, the darkness of the night pressing in behind them. It might have seemed like she was lost in thought, but inside, there was barely a flicker of feeling left.

  Her unblinking gaze lingered on the burning coals, until the realization settled within her: there was no turning back.

  "Maybe," she whispered soundlessly. Then, her eyes drifted toward the sleeping figures, lingering on Lunara. The memory surfaced again—Lunara’s open, genuine attempt to include her. A faint, bitter smile played on Zaphara’s lips before she turned away from the fire, staring into the darkness, waiting for morning.

  The sun rose sluggishly over the horizon, casting the golden fields around them in a soft, warm light. A gentle autumn breeze whispered through the grass, making the stalks quiver like golden waves on a still sea. The contrast to the looming forest at the edge of the fields could not have been greater—a dark, almost impenetrable thicket, where sunlight barely reached the ground.

  At this very threshold, the small camp around the damaged carriage began to stir. Fionna was the first to rise. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stepped into the crisp morning air, and inhaled deeply. In the same moment, she noticed that no one else joined her, despite the fact that the others were already awake.

  Seraphion sat silently in a corner, his eyes closed, hands folded; Lunara crouched a short distance away, her foxlike ears twitching slightly as she murmured a quiet prayer. Even Ivory had settled herself onto the ground, her lips moving softly as she pressed a hand to her heart in deep devotion.

  Only Aaron seemed entirely uninterested in the scene. He was busy fastening a loose strap on his axe harness, muttering something about "morning routines nobody needs."

  Then Fionna’s gaze fell on Zaphara. The ice witch sat perfectly still, her eyes shut tight, yet instead of folding her hands, a thin layer of frost had formed above her right palm. A crystal-clear sphere—captured frostlight—floated gently in the air, shimmering in the dim morning light. It looked almost like a meditative ritual.

  Fionna blinked in surprise, about to say something, when Talon approached silently and nudged her lightly. He shook his head just enough for her to notice, his black hood drawn deep over his face. "Let her be," he murmured. "We’ll fix the wheel. The others… they’re having their own moment."

  Fionna nodded. Together, they got to work. Despite the morning chill, a rare sense of peace hung in the air, as if the night had washed away all lingering tension.

  As Talon worked on the carriage’s axle, Fionna adjusted the wooden parts, carefully fitting them to the metal reinforcements. After a few minutes, she glanced toward the others. "I’d say we need about another hour before the carriage is ready to move," she called.

  No one answered right away; she only caught a glimpse of Seraphion as he finished his prayer and slowly stood up. Ivory and Lunara, too, emerged from their moments of quiet devotion. At last, Zaphara opened her eyes, let the frost sphere dissolve soundlessly, and rose to her feet.

  From that moment on, everything moved smoothly—packing up the camp, distributing supplies, securing the crate of tools. The group seemed to have split into two smaller "parties." Zaphara stayed mostly close to Ivory, while Aaron, Seraphion, and Lunara gravitated toward one another. But unlike the day before, the atmosphere between them all felt far more balanced.

  Talon wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded in satisfaction as they secured the last wooden piece to the carriage. He glanced at Fionna, who was checking the fit of the wheel. "Done?" he asked quietly.

  Fionna lowered herself to her knees, peered once more beneath the carriage, and tapped against the axle. "Yes. That should hold. We can move out."

  A moment later, Talon called toward the camp, "Finished! We're ready to go!"

  The group climbed back into the carriage or found a seat on the driver’s bench wherever there was space. Soon, the vehicle lurched forward, rolling along the uneven road as the golden fields passed by in a gentle blur. The morning sun had risen higher now, bathing the landscape in a warm, golden light.

  Inside the carriage, Aaron, Seraphion, Lunara, Ivory, and Zaphara sat together. Unlike previous rides, today’s atmosphere was lively; no one sat brooding in a corner, lost in their own thoughts. Aaron, never one to miss an opportunity for theatrics, launched into an old tale within moments of their departure.

  "So back when I was traveling with Aeloria and my old crew," he began, speaking loudly and animatedly, "I nearly met my end when I stumbled right into a pack of werewolves. This was in the Dragoncliff Mountains, you see? No soul around for miles—just me, those beasts, and my absolute lack of awareness. And what did Aeloria do? That crazy woman just grabbed me and—"

  As he spoke, the carriage seemed to still, everyone hanging onto his words. Aaron painted the scene in vivid detail, waving his hands dramatically as though reliving the perilous moment. Ivory leaned forward in rapt attention, Lunara laughed at just the right moments, and even Seraphion looked amused.

  Zaphara remained silent, but if one looked closely, they would notice that she wasn’t sitting as rigidly as usual. Her arms weren’t crossed, and the usual air of exasperation on her face had softened. She was listening—not with open enthusiasm, but with genuine interest.

  "…Anyway," Aaron continued, flashing a lopsided grin, "Aeloria pulled me out of that mess. More than once, to be honest. Sometimes I think she only kept me around because I funded her next round of ale. But her actions spoke louder than her words—she was more than just a friend."

  Ivory smiled warmly. "Perhaps one day, you'll cross paths with them again—especially her."

  Aaron shrugged. "Who knows? The world’s a big place. People's paths cross more than once."

  The mood in the carriage was light, a rare sense of hope settling over them as the wheels rolled steadily along the well-traveled trade road. Talon steered the horses up front, Fionna seated beside him, and every so often, one of them glanced back to check on their traveling companions inside.

  After some time, the landscape began to shift once more. The endless fields gave way to scattered rows of trees, with the occasional farmhouse dotting the horizon. But then, Fionna’s gaze locked onto something by the roadside—a damaged merchant wagon, leaning to one side, its axle shattered.

  ?What the…?“ Fionna murmured.

  She leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. Two figures stood beside the damaged wagon, engaged in conversation.

  "Talon," she said urgently, tapping his arm. "Stop the carriage."

  Without hesitation, he pulled the reins back, bringing the wagon to a rattling halt. Inside, the conversation cut off abruptly as everyone registered the sudden stop.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Fionna leaned out slightly from the driver's bench, peering closer. "I know these people," she whispered, casting Talon a significant glance. Then, turning to the others, she added, "They're colleagues… and friends of mine. They shouldn't be here."

  A ripple of tension spread through the group, though curiosity quickly followed. After so many quiet moments on the road, this unexpected encounter breathed a new sense of movement into their journey.

  The carriage shuddered to a stop, and for a brief moment, silence lingered as the passengers absorbed the abrupt change. Talon secured the reins, and before anyone could react, Fionna had already leapt down. The others followed, stepping one by one onto the dusty path. The golden fields around them whispered in the wind, but all eyes were fixed on the damaged merchant wagon just a few steps away.

  Two strangers—a man and a woman—stood by the wreckage, their faces etched with surprise at the sudden arrival of assistance.

  The man, Zane, was distinguished by his short black hair and striking violet eyes. The woman, Sona, with her dark locks and piercing green gaze, carried herself with equal confidence. Both wore light yet durable armor, their presence giving off an almost military air.

  Fionna approached, raising a hand in greeting. "Zane? Sona? What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this region."

  Zane arched a brow. "Fionna? We could ask you the same thing. We—"

  He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze drifting past her to the assembled group. A flicker of quick assessment crossed his face as he silently determined who among them posed a potential threat.

  While Fionna spoke quietly with the two, Seraphion, Zaphara, Lunara, Talon, Ivory, and Aaron remained a few steps back on the road. Lunara shifted uneasily, inching closer to Ivory and whispering, "Who are they? And why do they look like they walked straight out of an elite task force?"

  Ivory hesitated before responding in an equally hushed tone, "I'm not allowed to say too much. Fionna is one of them—they all share the same… profession, let’s put it that way. It would be best if you didn’t ask too many questions."

  Meanwhile, Sona turned to the rest of the group, her expression grave. “We’re on a mission. Over the past two weeks, children have been disappearing from the surrounding towns. We received information that a woman was seen in Kean just a few days ago—traveling with her son.” She shot Fionna a quick glance. “The boy supposedly vanished in this very forest.”

  At her words, Seraphion’s shoulders tensed involuntarily, and his eyes flickered with recognition. “The woman…” he murmured, recalling the desperate mother he had briefly noticed in the tavern back in Kean. She had sat in the farthest corner, weeping quietly. He had barely paid attention at the time, but now, it was clear—this had to be the same person.

  Zane ran a hand through his dark hair. “We were sent to search for the missing children, but along the way, we ran into this wrecked merchant wagon. It’s blocking the entrance to the path that leads deeper into the forest.” He gestured behind him, where a narrow trail disappeared into the dense trees. The canopy was so thick that barely a sliver of sunlight penetrated, leaving the interior shrouded in damp, moss-covered darkness.

  Ivory’s face immediately betrayed concern. “You can’t go in alone… That place looks dangerous. Who knows what’s happening inside that forest?”

  Fionna placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “If Zane and Sona were sent, they’ll find the children,” she said with firm conviction. “But sometimes, an extra set of hands can make all the difference. That said, you know I have to get you safely to the capital.”

  “No problem!” Lunara stepped forward, her ears perked and her golden eyes gleaming with determination. “We could help.”

  Immediately, Zaphara frowned. “That forest… for what? We have enough on our plate as it is.”

  Seraphion exchanged a hesitant glance with Talon and Aaron, unsure of what to make of the situation.

  But Lunara noticed something—how Zaphara always tried to maintain a favorable image when Ivory was watching. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes as she smirked. “Oh, come on, Zaphara. You’re a good person, aren’t you? You wouldn’t abandon innocent children, would you?”

  Zaphara scoffed, shooting her a glare—only to catch Ivory’s gaze. It was sorrowful, pleading, as if silently saying: Please… There was no escaping it. Zaphara felt the vein in her temple twitch.

  “Hmph… fine,” she huffed, clearly irritated.

  Lunara grinned secretly, satisfied. Aaron, now looking a bit more resolute, patted the hilt of his axe. “Well, I’m not afraid of any monster. There’s no threat too big for me.”

  Lunara chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

  Zane and Sona exchanged skeptical glances. “The priority is the children,” Sona stated coldly, her voice steely. “If anything happens, we’ll leave you behind if necessary. We can’t risk any more lives.”

  Lunara waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. We can handle ourselves.”

  Zane’s sharp gaze flickered between Aaron, Talon, Seraphion, Zaphara, and Lunara before he finally gave a curt nod. “Alright, then. It’s settled.”

  He stepped closer to the ominous forest, gesturing toward the narrow, barely visible path. “It’s nearly impossible to keep track of your bearings in here. We stay close together. Once we figure out who—or what—is behind this, we’ll come up with a plan.” He cast a glance at Sona, who gave a firm nod. “Until then, stay behind us. We know the terrain better.”

  Talon, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. His crimson eyes gleamed with a sharp, predatory light. “Then let’s get this over with,” he said, his tone unexpectedly cold and decisive—like the assured declaration of a seasoned hunter.

  Together, they all put their strength into moving the broken merchant wagon aside, clearing the path into the forest. The wood groaned under their efforts, resisting at first, but with a final, heavy lurch, the wagon tipped to the side, revealing the darkened passage ahead.

  As Zane and Sona checked their gear and prepared for the journey, Ivory turned toward the group. Her expression wavered between concern and reluctance as she looked from one face to the next—her gaze lingering on Zaphara the longest.

  “Please be careful,” she said softly, her eyes gleaming with worry.

  Zaphara met her gaze with composed stillness. “I will. Don’t trouble yourself over it.”

  Ivory hesitated, shifting as if she wanted to say more. But in the end, she merely closed her eyes briefly and stepped back. Fionna placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “We need to keep moving if we want to reach the capital in time. Zane and Sona can handle themselves—and so can your friends.”

  And so, their paths split. Fionna and Ivory returned to the carriage, continuing their journey to Elysia, while Half Light ventured into the shadowed depths of the forest alongside Zane and Sona.

  The moment they stepped past the first towering firs, the world seemed to shift. The air turned noticeably cooler, and the bright sunlight of the open fields dimmed into a murky twilight. The trees stretched high above them, their branches entwining so densely that only ghostly slivers of light touched the forest floor.

  “By all the gods…” Aaron muttered, his voice oddly subdued. “Feels like every damn tree is watching us.”

  “Almost like… like the forest is breathing,” Lunara added, ears twitching as unease crept into her posture.

  A thick bed of pine needles muffled their footsteps, but despite the silence, an unshakable sensation weighed on them—an oppressive feeling that unseen eyes lingered on their backs. Even Seraphion, usually composed, kept his gaze shifting between the trunks, scanning for movement.

  Zane and Sona led the way, hands resting tightly on their weapons with each cautious step forward.

  “Watch your footing,” Sona warned in a hushed voice. “The roots here are treacherous. It’s easier to trip than you think.”

  Talon, his hood pulled low over his face, muttered, “Got it. We stay close.”

  Each step carried them deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew thick and heavy, making it harder to breathe. The scent of damp moss, aged resin, and decaying leaves clung to the atmosphere. Overhead, the branches of the towering trees barely moved—as if the wind had long abandoned this place.

  “What kind of place is this…” Lunara whispered, walking now beside Zaphara. “Why would a child willingly come in here? It’s… unsettling.”

  Zaphara merely gave a curt nod. She was focused, almost tense, as though listening for a sound that only she could hear. A cold sensation stirred within her, a familiar presence, ready to rise and shield her and the others if necessary.

  They pressed on in silence until the scenery shifted once more. A fine, gray mist began to weave itself through the air, curling at their feet like grasping tendrils. At first, it was barely noticeable—a thin veil creeping between the trees—but within moments, it thickened, swallowing the forest ahead of them.

  “This isn’t normal,” Seraphion murmured, raising a hand. A delicate glow flickered into existence within his palm, but its light barely stretched beyond an arm’s length. “This fog… it appeared too suddenly.”

  Sona, leading the group, halted abruptly and turned. “Zane?” she called, but all she could see were shadowy figures in the mist—blurred outlines of her companions, their forms flickering like ghosts.

  “Here,” Zane’s voice came, but it sounded distant—far too distant for someone who had only been a few paces away.

  A creeping unease coiled in Zaphara’s chest. Her heartbeat pounded uncomfortably loud in her ears. Something was wrong. Quickly, she glanced at Lunara, Seraphion, Talon, and Aaron, ensuring they were still there. Then, without hesitation, she reached out and grabbed Lunara’s wrist.

  “Hey!” Lunara yelped, startled. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but the moment she did, a thin layer of frost wove between their skin, forming an icy tether. It clung to them like frozen chains. “What the hell are you doing?!”

  “Stay still,” Zaphara hissed. “We can’t afford to get separated here. I don’t like you, but I like wandering blind through ghost fog even less.”

  Lunara scowled, about to protest, but Zaphara had already turned, calling out into the mist. “Aaron! Seraphion! Talon! Get closer!”

  “What’s going on?” Aaron’s voice filtered weakly through the dense fog. He stumbled forward, Seraphion and Talon flanking him. The mist had thickened so quickly that he nearly collided with Lunara before he even saw her.

  Zaphara's free hand glowed, a cold radiance flickering as ice crystals began to dance in the air. With a swift motion, she wove thin, sleek threads of frost from Aaron’s arm to Seraphion’s chest and then to Talon’s shoulder. It looked like a web of frozen silk, binding the five of them together.

  “What the hell?” Aaron blurted out, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

  “Be quiet!” Zaphara sucked in a sharp breath. “Zane? Sona?”

  Silence answered her—deep, eerie, absolute.

  “They’re gone…” Seraphion murmured.

  “But they were right in front of us just a second ago!” Lunara’s voice trembled with panic.

  Talon’s crimson gaze swept the mist, though there was little to see. “Did they run? Or did something just… swallow them?” His voice was disturbingly even.

  The four instinctively huddled closer together. Aaron raised his axe, Seraphion gathered light in his palm. But every flicker of illumination was devoured by the fog, suffocated as though the mist itself were feeding on it.

  “We need to move,” Zaphara said sharply. “Standing still won’t help. No one’s going to find us here.”

  They took a cautious step forward, then another. But every attempt to keep their direction steady failed. The mist played tricks on their senses—up and down, left and right blurred together, and the whisper of pine needles in the distance seemed impossibly far away. Again and again, they stumbled over roots that remained invisible in the shifting veil.

  Then, without warning, the fog parted.

  One moment, they could barely see their own hands; the next, they stood in a sunlit clearing. Towering treetops arched in a perfect circle above them, allowing golden light to spill through in ethereal beams. It was almost too surreal—a luminous sanctuary carved out of the very heart of darkness.

  The forest had retreated here, pulling back its oppressive grasp to reveal an ancient space untouched by time. At the clearing’s center, a ring of old stones stood, weathered and covered in moss, their surfaces etched with cryptic runes. It looked like an altar, forgotten and undisturbed for centuries.

  “What… is this?” Lunara breathed, the words catching in her throat.

  No one answered. They all stared, entranced by the stone circle. In the sudden hush of the clearing, they could almost hear it—a slow, rhythmic pulse beneath their feet, as if the earth itself had a heartbeat, as if the forest had drawn them here with deliberate intent.

  The ice threads linking them shimmered in the unexpected sunlight. The group stood in the shifting radiance, encircled by towering firs whose branches wove an impenetrable canopy beyond this one open space. The stark contrast to the choking mist moments before sent a shiver through them.

  Aaron, never known for patience, strode forward without hesitation. “If this place looks this mystical, we might as well—”

  Zaphara’s hand shot out, clamping around his forearm like a vice. “Stop, dwarf,” she hissed. “See the runes? Who knows what they do? This place practically screams to be left alone.”

  Aaron yanked his arm free, glaring at her. “You think you can keep bossing me around, Whitehair? I just don’t get you! First, you’re silent like a damn statue, then you throw Lunara to the ground, you’re ice-cold to everyone, and now, suddenly, you’re protecting us from this mist? And don’t even get me started on the weird act you pull around Ivory. What the hell is your problem?”

  Sensing the argument about to erupt, Seraphion raised his voice in an attempt to mediate. “Enough! This isn’t the—”

  “No!” Zaphara cut him off, her voice sharp as a blade. Her icy blue eyes locked onto Aaron, cold and unyielding. “Irrational decisions? Look at yourself. First, you charged headfirst at that shadow figure without thinking. Then, you smashed through a tavern wall just because you couldn’t control yourself. And now, you want to blindly waltz into a magical circle without even considering what it might be?” Her hands clenched into fists as she recalled the morning in the Silver Ember. “I’m helping you because if one of us vanishes, we’re all lost. Like it or not, we’re bound together.”

  For a moment, silence settled over the group. Lunara, Seraphion, and Talon exchanged surprised glances, picking up something in Zaphara’s voice beyond frustration—something raw, something almost… vulnerable.

  Aaron, however, let out a dry, humorless laugh.

  “Listen, Whitehair, I don’t need your help. Do whatever you want. I can handle myself.”

  And with that, he strode forward, defiance burning in his every step, closing the distance to the runes at the center of the circle.

  For the briefest moment, Zaphara’s expression faltered. Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. A flicker of something—was it disbelief?—crossed her face.

  Lunara and Seraphion exchanged another glance; despite Zaphara’s harshness, there was a fleeting pang of sympathy between them. Even Talon’s jaw tightened, as if Aaron’s reckless defiance unsettled him.

  But then, the moment Aaron’s boot touched one of the moss-covered stones, the earth beneath them trembled. A deep, ominous rumble rolled through the clearing, sending tremors through the towering pines as if the forest itself recoiled in disgust.

  A searing crimson light surged through the carved runes, an eerie, silent wail rising from the depths of the earth. Then, with a grinding, bone-deep crack, the ground split open at the heart of the circle.

  A spiraling stone staircase, ancient and worn, pushed its way to the surface, its jagged edges scraping against the rock as though something in the depths had finally awakened.

  The group stumbled backward, shielding their eyes against the blinding crimson glow. Sparks burst from the runes, and a gust of cold air howled up from the depths—carrying the scent of ancient dust and long-forgotten things.

  "What did you do?!" Lunara gasped, clinging to Seraphion as Talon instinctively reached for his sword.

  Zaphara stood frozen, her gaze locked on the gaping chasm, caught between horror and an insatiable curiosity.

  Aaron, the one responsible for unleashing this chaos, peered down into the abyss, his heart pounding violently in his chest.