The voice didn’t echo. It didn’t waver. It simply was, a solid truth cutting through the false silence of the mist.

  “Alex.”

  It came again, from the same direction. Behind him, where the path vanished into deeper black.

  Alex stayed frozen, one hand on Iris’s shoulder, the other white-knuckled around the hilt of Mnemosyne’s Silence. The blade had fallen quiet, its hum reduced to a faint tremor.

  “Who’s there?” Alex called, his own voice rough, torn by pain and breathlessness.

  No answer. Only the oppressive weight of the fog.

  Iris stirred against him, her fingers tightening weakly on his wrist. “Don’t…” she breathed, a warning or a plea, he couldn’t tell.

  “Alex.”

  The word came again, clearer this time. Carefully, Alex laid Iris down and rose slowly, placing himself between her and the sound. His sword came up with him, its hum low and wary, a growl held behind clenched teeth. His leg screamed in protest, but he locked his knee and stood.

  “Show yourself,” he said, his voice steady. He was surprised by that.

  A shape resolved from the black. Not the skittering silhouette of a creature, but the broad, steady outline of a man. He stepped forward, and the mist seemed to part for him, thinning reluctantly as if his presence commanded the air itself.

  He stopped ten paces away, his eyes moving from Alex’s bloodied leg to Iris’s slumped form, then to the twitching, leaking mass of the larger creature behind them. His expression didn’t change.

  Alex let out a breath he’d held too long. Sweat clung to his chest. He lowered his sword, letting it swing to his side. “Malach,” he said, more question than statement.

  “You’re hurt,” Malach said, already moving toward them.

  His approach wasn’t the cautious stalk of a predator, but the purposeful stride of a man seeing a problem to be solved. Yet Alex’s body tightened anyway, a reflex born of the last hour. Mnemosyne’s Silence twitched in his grip, its hum rising a half-step in pitch.

  Malach dropped his axe. In a flash, he stepped past Alex and attended to Iris. Her breathing was weakening, her skin turning cold. “I can help,” he said, stripping cloth from her torn cloak. He tied it tightly around her severed arm, just below the shoulder.

  Alex watched, his heart pounding with a fear that had nothing to do with immediate danger. It was the fear of something unknown, a possibility not yet realized, like the closing of walls. That’s exactly what he felt as Malach worked: claustrophobic.

  “We need to make a fire,” Malach began, but Alex cut him short.

  “Where’s Roric?”

  Malach paused. He didn’t turn. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “We got separated just as we were boarding the boat.”

  Alex’s eyes widened. His jaw clenched. “Separated?”

  A low, shaky voice cut through the silence. “…have to go find him…” Iris whispered. She tried to sit up, her face a mask of pain and determination.

  “No, you can’t,” Malach said firmly, pressing her gently back down. “Best to stay. Wait until dawn. The forest… it will eat you alive.”

  As the last word left his mouth, a sound tore through the treeline, a violent rattling of leaves, the sharp snap of branches. The fog swirled and lifted slightly, just enough to reveal a silhouette pushing through.

  A figure emerged.

  “Dawson, you okay?”

  Roric stepped out of the fog, breathing rapidly. He was covered in a grisly mixture of blood and black ink, his sword held tight in a white-knuckled grip, its tip freshly chipped.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Alex scoffed, swallowing hard against a surge of relief so potent it felt like vertigo.

  Roric’s sharp eyes took in the scene in one lethal sweep: Iris on the ground, pale and bandaged; Alex standing guard, wounded and armed; Malach kneeling beside her.

  His expression went grim, then shifted… a fleeting mix of fear, frustration, and raw bafflement that vanished as quickly as it came.

  It didn’t matter.

  His entire demeanor snapped into focus as countless skittering sounds resonated from the deep forest. He turned, his bloodied sword rising, searching for a direction to point. There was none. The sound came from all around.

  His voice dropped to a tone of pure, dangerous ice. “Alex, take Iris and go. Get to the boat.”

  The ground trembled. The mist behind them rippled, disturbed by some vast, unseen presence. The twitching creature on the ground convulsed violently.

  At the edge of the treeline, crimson ignited.

  One pair of eyes. Then another. And another.

  Countless.

  They poured from the forest like a living tide, pale bodies skittering, claws scraping stone, teeth clicking in a hungry chorus. The fog parted around them as if afraid.

  Roric’s expression hardened into something Alex had never seen before. All humor and bravado were gone, burned away to reveal a core of absolute resolve.

  “Alex,” he shouted, never taking his eyes off the advancing horde. “Take Iris and go. Now.”

  Alex froze. “What?”

  “I’ll hold them off.”

  “No.” The word tore from Alex’s throat. “We can all get on the boat. We can fight from there!”

  Roric stepped closer and placed a firm, steady hand on Alex’s shoulder. His grip was an anchor. “Listen to me, lad. That thing isn’t done. And neither are they. Something unimaginable is coming. If you stay, you die. If Iris stays, she dies.”

  Alex’s chest tightened. His vision blurred. “And you?”

  Roric met his gaze, his eyes fierce but kind. The noise of the forest seemed to dull around them. His voice was steady, almost calm.

  “You know, people think courage is standing your ground no matter what.” He shook his head once. “That’s not it.”

  Something massive crashed through the fog behind him. Branches snapped. The skittering surged closer. The air shuddered, a faint pressure passing through it like an invisible wall.

  Malach moved past them, axe already in hand, his eyes wary. “The water is safer. Go. Now.”

  Roric didn’t turn. He simply continued, his words for Alex alone. “Courage is knowing when to walk away so the things worth protecting don’t die with you.”

  Alex looked down at Iris. Thoughts collided as his heart throbbed in his ears.

  Her face was pale, her breathing shallow, but her eyes were clear. She reached out, her fingers brushing Roric’s sleeve, then tightening briefly, a silent farewell.

  She glanced at the death that approached. The soul-eaters continued to pour from the forest, yet they had halted at the very edge of the clearing, watching, as if waiting for a decision.

  Slowly, she rose, pain stark on her face.

  “Hey…” Alex held her by the waist, carefully steadying her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she turned to Roric. “May the light guide your way.”

  Roric’s jaw tightened. He gave her a short, solemn nod. Then he turned to Malach, his look one of grim resignation. “You too. Go. I’ll buy you time.”

  Malach shook his head once. Slow. Final.

  “No,” he said quietly. “My wife died here. My son was taken here.” His gaze lifted toward the forest, toward the moving fog and the things crawling inside it. “Leaving would mean abandoning what little remains of them.”

  Roric studied him for a heartbeat, then exhaled through his nose. “Stubborn bastard.”

  Malach’s mouth twitched. “You always knew.”

  The pressure in the air wavered. Roric stepped forward and gripped Alex’s shoulder. “Get to the Archives. Live. Remember. That’s how things like us last.”

  Alex wanted to say something. He tried. But words piled up in his chest, useless and heavy.

  Instead, he nodded.

  He began to limp away, Iris held tight against his side. Her face was hidden by bloody hair, but Alex could feel the violent shaking in her shoulders.

  Step. Step. Another step.

  Every one felt like a betrayal.

  Behind him, Roric stepped back, sword rising, placing himself between them and the forest like an immovable wall. Malach shifted to his flank, axe held ready.

  Just as they were about to disappear into the mist, Roric called out.

  “Hey, Dawson.”

  Alex turned.

  Roric grinned, the same reckless smile, the one that had carried them through fear. “You ever notice,” he said, raising his blade as shadows writhed beyond the trees, “that the world doesn’t remember how scared you were? It only remembers what you stood in front of.” He met Alex’s eyes one last time. “Once I’m done here, I’ll be sure to find you.”

  With that, the black mist surged.

  Roric and Malach disappeared into it, and the skittering broke into a screaming, shrieking roar that swallowed the night.