[Deep Lichen Pass — Near Crysthorn's Borderlands]
A fog deeper than any Sam had known pressed around him like the folds of a breathing organism. It moved when he moved, it sighed when he paused. The only light came from the living torch in his hand—a bark-bound stalk oozing bioluminescence from within.
Sam's gear had changed. His once-modern clothing had taken on the hues and textures of the forest: moss-threaded sleeves, boots with fungal grip, a lichen-wrapped scarf that seemed to guide the wind. The forest had accepted him—or at least tolerated him.
He muttered to himself, voice tight from fatigue. "You're catching up to them. Just don't stop now."
Each step followed Emma's trail—barely visible marks: a trampled violet spore, a snapped fern, occasionally a torn ribbon or thread caught on bark. It was all he needed.
A sudden rustle ahead.
Sam stopped cold. His fingers tightened around the handle of his vine-blade, a weapon he'd scavenged from a shrine overrun with symbiotic moss.
And then—
"Sam?"
The voice cracked through the silence like sunlight through gloom.
He turned sharply. Emma stood several feet away, sweat and grime on her cheeks, wild hair tucked beneath a woven fern band. She held a crystalline thorn-blade that pulsed faintly with each heartbeat. Her eyes were wide, half in disbelief, half in cautious hope.
"Emma," he breathed.
They rushed into each other's arms, the hug quick but filled with months' worth of weight.
"I thought—how did you even survive?" Emma asked, looking him up and down. "You look... different."
Sam chuckled, brushing glowing sap off his shoulder. "Let's just say I learned to listen. This place teaches you quick—or kills you faster."
She tilted her head. "You've adapted."
He nodded. "Had to. Found... things. Clues. Even spoke to a moss oracle. I think I know what's happening here."
Emma smiled faintly. "We've missed you. Elias, Elowen—they're pressing toward Crysthorn. We thought you were gone."
"Not yet," Sam said. "Lead the way."
They moved together through thickets that curled and recoiled at their presence, Emma briefing him on the soul stones, Elias's journey, the traitorous knight, and the rise of Vrathkul.
"I keep wondering if we're in over our heads," she admitted.
"We are," Sam said. "But we're not alone anymore."
Their eyes met. A quiet warmth passed between them.
But then the ground beneath them shifted.
A sound like the groan of an ancient tree echoed from beneath.
"What now?" Sam muttered.
The earth cracked open before them, a deep fissure rupturing the mossy ground. From it rose a monstrous shape—shifting shadows first, then roots solidifying into armored plates. The creature's head was skeletal and vine-wrapped, its eyes burning like coals from a dying hearth.
Emma stumbled back. "A Rootwurm..."
"I thought those were extinct?"
"They were! Vrathkul must've bred them back."
The creature surged forward, dozens of root-like legs dragging it across the moss floor. It let out a screech that shook branches overhead.
"Time for questions later!" Sam shouted, pulling Emma aside as the beast lunged.
They rolled opposite ways. The Rootwurm slammed into a tree, splintering it into wet bark.
Emma rose first, blade flashing as she slashed at its flank. The thorn-steel bit into the root armor, green sap spilling. The monster shrieked and retaliated with a lashing tail.
Sam ducked under the tail and threw a pouch of fireseed into the Rootwurm's face. The powder ignited, momentarily blinding the beast.
"Now!"
Emma leapt onto its back, driving her blade deep into its chitinous plating. It roared, bucking violently.
"Hold on!" Sam shouted, dashing under its belly to slash at exposed joints. His blade sunk into pulsing fungal flesh. The Rootwurm thrashed, its tail catching Sam and throwing him into a rock.
He groaned but stood, wiping blood from his lip. "Still standing."
Emma had reached its neck, aiming for a glowing gland. With a primal cry, she stabbed down. The Rootwurm convulsed, screamed, and finally collapsed in a heap of twisted roots and dying bioluminescence.
Panting, bruised, they regrouped.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Emma nodded. "You?"
"Cracked rib. Maybe two. Nothing fatal."
They sat for a moment, catching their breath.
Emma looked at him. "You know... I thought I'd forgotten how to feel safe. But now—having you back—"
Sam reached for her hand. "We'll find the others. End this together."
---
[Meanwhile — Dark Realm Throne Hall]
Vrathkul stood within his hall of decay, a towering chamber where roots dangled like chains and every breath echoed with fungal moans. Before him, the Siphon Flame twisted violently, revealing flickering images.
He saw Sam and Emma. Their fight. Their union.
"So... the stranger thrives."
His voice cut through the chamber like a plague wind.
A cloaked sentinel approached, bowing. "Orders, my liege?"
Vrathkul's obsidian jaw clenched. "Double the spores. Flood the Crysthorn Pass with watchers and traps. Let the land swallow them if it must. But if they survive—"
He turned, red eyes gleaming.
"Bring them to me."
---
[On the Surface — Edge of the Greywood Tunnel]
Ranger Lang Straw stood before the yawning mouth of the tunnel, overgrown and thrumming with energy that defied all human comprehension.
He tightened his grip on his rifle.
"In all my years... never seen anything like this," he muttered.
But the vines parted slightly, as if expecting him.
He hesitated only a moment longer, then stepped forward.
"If Sam can walk into this madness... so can I."
And with that, Lang Straw descended into the roots of the world.
---
TO BE CONTINUED...