Ever since Karrion Anvil had sworn his vow of vengeance and protection amid those ruined stones, their little band had been cloaked in a steadier resolve. Yet resolve could not dispel the blight that clung to the Forest of Corruption, nor quell its ceaseless assault upon living things. Leaving their brief sanctuary, they once more pressed into that twisted, malevolent land.
The deeper they went, the more grotesque the forest became. The trees did more than simply twist—they seemed to writhe with conscious agony. From fissures in their bark oozed a thick, black‑purple sap, filling the air with a sickly‑sweet stench of rot. The ground lay hidden beneath spongy moss that felt like decaying flesh underfoot and sometimes squelched with a nauseating pop. The air itself had the weight of congealed syrup; each breath felt laden with slow‑acting poison rather than life.
Raine brought up the rear, hand gripped tight on his sword hilt, eyes sweeping warily. Karrion led the way, his massive war‑axe swinging in great, wind‑rending arcs that cleaved away the foul vines and low branches blocking their path. The dwarf poured all his strength into every strike and every step; even his trademark dark humor had vanished, leaving only heavy breathing and the occasional gruff observation about the terrain.
Thalia, ever at the center of their formation, showed the greatest change—though she strove to conceal it. At first, Raine noticed her habitually drawing her hood lower, as if to seal herself from the noxious air. Soon her gait faltered ever so slightly: a nearly imperceptible wobble of step in a place that demanded absolute vigilance. Once, she stepped on a loose, slime‑covered stone and lurched, nearly toppling into a tangle of luminescent, snapping fungus that lay nearby. Only her quick reflexes and a well‑placed staff stave saved her.
"Careful," Raine muttered, reaching a hand to steady her.
Thalia sidestepped as swiftly as an startled owl, stiffly brushing his hand away. "I'm fine," she said, voice muffled beneath her hood yet betraying a faint, ragged gasp. "This ground… it's treacherous."
Raine frowned but said nothing. Doubts rippled through him like a stone tossed on a still lake. He recalled how her blood had reacted at the iron‑anvil tavern, and Karrion's later claim that "Starlight blood" was the purest counter to the shadows. He kept his suspicions to himself and fell into step behind her, close enough to guard but distant enough not to suffocate her with scrutiny.
Night's ink spread swiftly overhead, and the Forest of Corruption's darkness was deeper than any other. In the distance, sickly‑green phosphorescence flickered across bogs; warped branches loomed like clawed ghosts. The chill seemed to freeze marrow, and their small fire's glow barely held back the gloom.
They found a dry spot against a group of blackened boulders and set camp. Karrion meticulously scattered rune‑powder warding off minor blighted creatures, then built a crude stone barricade. He infused every action with the memory of home and a warrior's determination.
Raine took first watch by the fire, polishing his blade while his mind drifted to Thalia's exhausted form huddled in shadow. He knew she did not truly sleep—her taut tension made that clear.
Time crept by in uneasy half‑sleep until Karrion roused him. As Raine stretched, he saw Thalia slip from the firelight like a phantom, drifting deeper into the forest's pitch.
Alarm gripped him. He followed her at a cautious distance, not in mistrust, but driven by anxiety. Thalia paused at a gnarled tree that had not yet bled its black sap. There she sat, hood cast aside, revealing a face so pale it gleamed in the warped moonlight.
Eyes closed, she pressed her back to the trunk. But serenity never came. Within moments her brow creased in agony, sweat beading at her temples. Her breathing quickened to a frantic gasp, as though drowning on dry land.
Raine crouched behind a rock, heart pounding. Through her closed lids he glimpsed her eyes flickering beneath as though chasing unseen horrors. Her lips moved in voiceless incantation or whispered lament.
Suddenly, from beneath her garments at the center of her chest, a faint glow pulsed—a fragile, ghostly blue mingling star‑light and shadow. Each pulse wracked her body with a convulsion of pain, and a low, tortured moan escaped her lips like ice through silk.
Those same tendrils of corruption that lured dark things to this wood now surged toward her, drawn by that hidden light in her flesh. They swarmed her mind, seeking to snuff out the spark that fought against them.
Raine felt helpless: he could neither venture forward to aid her nor leave her to that plight. His own feeble Starlight magic might shatter under this ordeal. So he remained hidden, watching the herald of pain and defiance that Thalia endured alone.
After what felt like both an instant and an eternity, the trembling subsided. The ghostly glow steadied, and Thalia's ragged breathing slowed. She pressed one hand to her breast, gathering the last of her strength, then slipped her hood back over her head and rose unsteadily, as if awoken from a savage nightmare.
She returned to camp without looking at Raine, as though nothing had transpired. He watched her re‑enter the firelight, stunned by the weight of her secret suffering.
Night had yet to end, and the Forest of Corruption's perils extended beyond monstrous creatures.
When his watch concluded at midnight, Karrion took the fire‑side vigil while Raine endeavored to rest against the cold stone. Yet sleep eluded him; the echo of Thalia's agonized moan and that flickering blue heartbeat haunted his mind.
Without warning, a subtle, slithering sound—like a serpent in dry leaves—broke the night's tension. Karrion sprang awake, war‑axe in hand, ears pricked for hidden threats.
"A thing approaches!" he growled, eyes fixed on the black undergrowth to the camp's rear.
Raine leapt to his feet beside him, sword drawn. Thalia stirred only when the creature burst forth: a prowler of pure corruption.
About the size of a leopard yet unlike any beast he'd known, its hide was a glossy carapace of living shadow. Spindly, reversed‑jointed legs ended in razor‑bone claws. Its head bore no eyes—only a gaping maw of twisting fangs. It moved with lightning‑speed silence, leaving only the faintest scratch of claws on earth to betray its approach.
"Shadowstalker!" Karrion barked, recognizing the horror. "Guard your flank—and avoid its venomous bite!"
In a heartbeat, the corrupted feline sprang at Karrion, jaws gaping wide…
Karrion reacted instantly, roaring as his heavy war‑axe sliced through the air. But the Stalker was too fast; it twisted its body with uncanny grace, evading the axe's edge. Its slender limbs, spring‑like, lashed around Karrion's axe‑arm, and its gaping maw—slick with fetid drool—clamped down toward the dwarf's throat!
"Damn it!" Karrion cursed, arm bound and unable to bring his axe to bear. He raised his other hand in desperate defense, straining to wrench free by sheer brute strength. The dwarf's power was immense, but the Stalker's limbs, like living leather, held him fast.
Raine leapt forward to assist. His longsword glowed faintly with starlight as he thrust at the creature's flank. The blade rang off its glossy black carapace with a sharp ting, leaving only a pale scratch—no penetration.
"It's armoured!" Raine cried, swinging again toward the joints binding Karrion, only to have the Stalker twist away at every strike with inhuman agility.
Karrion's bindings tightened, the beast's venomous fangs drawing nearer. Raine's heart pounded—his starlight magic was too weak for such a foe, and his swordplay useless in this grapple.
At that critical moment, a sudden chill filled the air.
Thalia moved.
Before anyone noticed, she stood at the edge of the fight. Her face under the hood was ashen, but her ice‑blue eyes now blazed with terrifying light. She lifted a hand, fingers splayed toward the thrashing Shadowstalker.
No chant. No flash of runes—only pure, frigid shadow‑energy pouring from her palm, coalescing into invisible black chains that snaked around the creature's body and limbs.
"Hiss—!" the Stalker shrieked in pain, halting mid‑strike as if frozen. Those ethereal chains, though insubstantial, bound its soul and power alike, robbing it of speed and strength.
Thalia's other hand then pushed forward.
A sphere of absolute darkness, as if swallowing light, shot silently forth and struck the Stalker's eyeless skull with pinpoint accuracy.
There was no explosion—only a muted crack, like ancient cloth tearing.
The creature convulsed, spiderweb cracks fracturing its carapace as foul black smoke seeped forth. Then, like a sandcastle washed away, its body collapsed, twitching twice before lying still. Its maw fell open, fangs curled and blackened.
One strike, one death.
Karrion tore free, trembling with relief as he watched the corpse. He glanced at Thalia, surprise and awe in his eyes. "By the stone… that is potent shadow‑craft," he murmured, rubbing his red‑lined arm.
Raine exhaled—then turned his gaze to Thalia.
She swayed as though a breeze might topple her. Her face was even paler; her breaths were shallow and quick, sweat beading on her brow. Though she fought to remain upright, her weakness was palpable.
Her power had been undeniable—deadly, even. But it had exacted a grievous toll.
Raine's heart sank anew. He watched Thalia's trembling form, her hand pressed to her chest, and understood the truth: her secret agony and her power were linked by some dire cost—and that cost grew with every use.
The stench of the slain Stalker and the forest's sweet corruption lingered. Karrion swore as he checked his axe, then retrieved a small pot of pungent green salve to dress his wounds. Raine knelt to inspect the carcass, regaining his composure. Thalia leaned against a rock, head bowed, breathing raggedly. In the firelight she was almost too fragile to see.
After a moment, Thalia rose unsteadily and walked toward Raine, steps wavering though she masked it well—perhaps to examine the corpse, or simply to change position.
"Your hand…" she said softly, voice hushed and faintly hoarse, eyes fixed on the cut across Raine's wrist. "It's bleeding too."
Raine paused, lifting his hand. "Just a scratch."
Thalia moved closer, and Raine smelled her faint mix of cold herbs and shadow. She bent forward, as if to treat the wound, her fingertips brushing his bloodied skin.
In that instant—barely perceptible—Thalia's taut posture softened, her breathing steadied for a heartbeat, and a faint flush returned to her pale cheeks.
It was a change so subtle few would notice, yet Raine saw it clearly. Thalia withdrew her hand and straightened, offering a slight, apologetic nod. "Sorry—lost my footing."
Her performance was flawless.
But Raine's heart thundered: it had not been an accident. Thalia had needed his blood. His blood had eased her suffering.
Why? Karrion's words echoed: "Starborn blood… holds the purest light to combat the shadow."
A flood of questions crashed through Raine's mind. What lay hidden in Thalia's breast? Why seek his blood? Had she come only for the Starfall Shard—or for him, or for the power in his veins?
He met her hooded gaze but asked nothing.
Trust, already fragile, now bore a jagged tear.
Raine clenched his fist, the cut on his wrist stinging but minor compared to the turmoil within.
He said nothing then or after. He knew the moment to speak had not yet come. But from now on, his view of Thalia would be forever changed—her hidden heartbeat echoing through shadow toward an unknown destiny.