Chapter 19
What Heroes Do
June
The truck bounces violently as I careen down the mountain road, hitting every pothole Montana’s finest neglected infrastructure has to offer. My poor suspension is going to file for divorce after this abuse, but my dad’s truck maintenance fund is about to be the least of my worries.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mutter, my mounted phone showing nothing but the ringing screen. The call goes to Dad’s voicemail for the third time. Perfect. The one day he decides to be unreachable is the day a psychotic tree lady decides to go full Lorax gone-wrong on our town.
I try Dale next, because apparently I’ve reached the “voluntarily calling Deputy Ding Dong” stage of desperation.
“Brennan,” he answers on the second ring.
“Dale, it’s June Hartwell. Listen, there’s something coming for the town. The mudslide wasn’t Riven. It was a dryad named Kestra. She’s seriously pissed, seriously powerful, and she’s heading for the valley right now.”
A beat of silence. “A what named who?”
“A tree monster!” I scream into the phone, taking a curve so fast the tires squeal. “She can control plants, make the ground move. She’s the one who tried to kill me, and now she’s coming for everyone else!”
“June, slow down. How do you know—”
“There’s no time!” I hang up because explaining would take longer than the drive itself. I dial Merry’s Diner next.
“Good morning, Merry’s Di—”
“Merry, it’s June. Get everyone inside, away from windows, away from trees. There’s something bad coming.”
“June? What on earth—”
“Please, just trust me. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and floor it. The truck’s engine whines, but I push it harder. All I can think about is Kestra’s twisted body, those dead eyes, the way the ground trembled beneath her rage…
And Riven. I left him standing there, frozen by his own fear.
I can’t blame him for not coming. Eighty years of isolation, eighty years of hiding from humans who once pointed weapons at him.
It’s a miracle he’s let me into his life at all.
But I can’t help the small, selfish part of me that wishes he was here now, that those massive spider legs were carrying him down the mountain behind me.
The “Welcome to Pine Ridge” sign flashes by, and I barely slow down until I hit Main Street. I screech to a halt in front of Merry’s Diner, the heart of our little town, tires burning rubber on the pavement. A few people on the sidewalk turn to stare as I explode out of the truck.
“Everyone needs to get inside now!” I shout, running for the diner door.
The bell jingles cheerfully as I burst in. The diner is half-full, the morning crowd thinning out.
“June?” Merry looks up from behind the counter, spatula in hand. “What’s going on, honey? Why did you call me in a panic?”
“Everyone needs to take shelter.” I’m panting, wild-eyed, probably looking like I’ve lost my mind. “There’s something coming. Something dangerous. Get away from the windows, away from trees.”
A few people exchange concerned glances. Old Man Peterson snorts into his coffee.
“What kind of something?” Merry asks, but she’s already moving, wiping her hands on her apron. She trusts me, at least.
“A dryad. Forest guardian. She’s—”
“A what?” Dave from the hardware store interrupts. “June, have you been up on that mountain too long? Getting a little loopy?”
“She’s real, and she’s coming to destroy the town,” I snap. “So you can either take cover or you can wait to get crushed by a tree. Your choice.”
That gets a few people moving, but not fast enough. Most are still sitting, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
And then the first tremor hits.
It’s subtle at first. Coffee cups rattling, the old ceiling fan swaying. Then stronger, the floor vibrating beneath our feet, windows starting to rattle in their frames.
“Earthquake?” someone asks.
I shake my head. “Worse.”
The massive oak trees lining Main Street begin to sway—not with wind, but with purpose.
Their roots shift beneath the pavement, cracking asphalt like it’s made of graham crackers.
One of the older trees in front of the post office pulls itself entirely from the ground, its massive root ball dripping soil as it rises impossibly into the air.
Now people are moving. Screaming. Running.
Merry is suddenly in action mode, shepherding customers toward the back of the diner. “Basement, now! Move it!”
I stay by the window, watching in horror as Kestra rises from the earth in the middle of Main Street.
She forms like a time-lapse video of decay in reverse: first roots and soil, next a twisted trunk-like body, then her face, materializing into that tortured mask I saw on the mountain.
In the middle of our cozy town, she’s even more terrifying, her bark-skin cracked and weeping amber sap, her black eyes like empty pits, her fingers elongating into writhing root-tendrils that dig into the street.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She raises her hands, and chaos follows.
The trees respond like extensions of her body, their branches whipping out like weapons, smashing through windows and wrapping around anything they can reach. A lamppost bends and snaps. A parked car is lifted and tossed aside like a toy.
“June, get away from that window!” Merry calls from the back.
I see Dale across the street, emerging from the sheriff’s office with his pistol drawn. He’s shouting something—evacuation orders, probably—and pointing people toward shelter. I run out to meet him.
He spots me and his eyes widen. “June! Get back inside!”
I don’t. I can’t. Because I know Kestra. I spoke to her. Maybe I can reach her somehow, make her understand that this won’t bring back what she’s lost.
I move, heading to the middle of the street.
“Kestra!” I call out. “These people didn’t destroy your grove!”
Her head snaps toward me, movement too fast to be natural. For a brief moment, recognition flickers in those black eyes. Then her face twists with contempt.
“You think your words mean anything, human?”
Dale is approaching now, pistol raised but uncertain. “June, what the hell is this? How do you know this… thing?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Kestra’s movement catches my eye. She gestures sharply, and the massive oak behind Dale—the one that had been in front of the town hall for a century—uproots itself, its trunk swinging toward him like a battering ram.
Dale doesn’t see it coming. He has no time to move.
But the impact never comes.
A dark blur drops from above, from the roof of the building behind Dale, and lands between him and the tree.
Eight massive legs slam into the pavement with enough force to crack it further, and a familiar network of silk shoots out in a wide net, catching the trunk mid-swing and redirecting it harmlessly to the side.
The ground shakes as the tree crashes down, but Dale is untouched, staring up in shock at the massive spider creature who just saved his life.
Riven.
My heart stops, then restarts at double speed.
He came. He actually came.
For a second, the entire street goes silent. Everyone is frozen, staring at Riven—this enormous, alien, terrifying creature. There are gasps, a few screams, people scrambling back in fear.
But then Riven turns, placing himself deliberately between the townspeople and Kestra, and his intent becomes clear: he’s here to protect them.
To protect us.
I could cry. I might be crying already. This magnificent, grumpy, terrified creature is facing his worst nightmare—human rejection—for me. For us.
Kestra hisses, the sound like steam escaping wet wood. “Why do you defend them, Riven? Why protect the species that destroys everything they touch? That would mount your exoskeleton on a wall if they could?”
Riven doesn’t engage with her philosophy. He simply plants all eight legs firmly, his massive frame blocking her path to the town.
“I’m not going to let you hurt anyone,” he says, his voice carrying across the now-silent street. “If you want to fight, you fight me.”
Kestra screams before lunging forward.
The battle is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Kestra’s earth magic makes the ground split and heave beneath our feet. She commands the trees like extensions of her own body, their branches becoming weapons, their roots becoming traps. She’s raw power and fury, a force of nature unleashed.
But Riven is something else entirely.
He moves like water, impossibly fast for his size, each of his eight legs operating independently with perfect coordination.
He shoots silk in complex patterns, tying down her root-tendrils, creating barriers that protect bystanders, swinging himself out of range of her attacks to strike from unexpected angles.
And his focus… it’s terrifying and beautiful. He isn’t wild or frenzied. He’s precise, tactical, those yellow eyes tracking every movement, every potential threat. He’s not going for killing blows; he’s trying to subdue her, to web her up without causing permanent harm.
“That’s some boyfriend you’ve got there,” comes a voice beside me. Dale, still staring at the battle, pistol lowered but ready.
“He’s not—” I start.
“I could read you,” he says simply. “At the diner this morning. I could tell you knew him. I just didn’t expect… Well.”
I’m not sure what to say, but Dale immediately shifts back into cop mode. “We need to get everyone clear. Whatever the hell is happening, they need space to finish it.”
He starts coordinating the evacuation, shouting for people to get to safety while Riven keeps Kestra occupied. I jump in to help, guiding panicked townspeople away from the destruction, pulling Mrs. Finch out from under a fallen awning, trying to keep people calm.
But my eyes keep returning to Riven, my heart lodging in my throat every time Kestra lands a hit.
Finally he surges up, all eight legs driving him forward, and in one swift motion, he webs her entire body—legs, arms, torso—cocooning her so tightly she can barely twitch.