Chapter 57 Home
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Sorcha shook it off and ran ahead to catch up as the group pressed deeper into the woods. The trees growing denser, their gnarled branches reaching overhead.
The festival’s warmth had faded behind them, swallowed by the creeping dark.
Eirin had the foresight to mark their path, carving small notches into the bark as they went.
It was the only proof they had traveled this way at all.
The forest ahead felt untouched, as if no one had set foot here in centuries.
Without a sound, a stark white rabbit landed directly in their path. Its silver eyes gleamed in the unnatural stillness. “Not again,” Sorcha muttered to herself.
The first time it had appeared, she had been on patrol near Lumora, a warning. The second, in Meadowrun,
another warning. Both times, something had lurked in the shadows, watching. And now, it was here. Its small body remained unnervingly still, but its gaze flicked toward the trees ahead.
“Don’t move.” Sorcha’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Rhosyn, sensing the shift, lifted a hand. Flowers bloomed beneath them, their petals unfurling in a soft, fluorescent glow. The light pulsed gently, casting waves of shifting color across the forest floor.
“It’s trying to tell us something,” Cat murmured, stepping closer. “Or lure us in.”
Eirin gripped his glaive tighter, shifting into a defensive stance. Drystan, Mason, and Rhosyn instinctively moved into formation, backs to each other, scanning the shadows.
The rabbit twitched. A violent shudder ran through its small frame.
Then another. Sorcha barely had time to react before the sound of cracking bones split the air.
Its body contorted, stretching and twisting as flesh rippled like unraveling thread, limbs elongating, fur darkening.
A low sound rumbled from deep within as the creature rose, towering over them.
What had been a rabbit now stood a black horse, its mane flowing like liquid shadow.
Its ghostly eyes burned as it reared back, hooves pawing the air.
The pooka hesitated only for a moment before it bolted into the trees.
The sound of fabric whipping in the wind had reached their ears and from the shadows, a figure stepped forward. She was draped in flowing white gown, its edges torn, hood pulled low, she moved with unnatural grace.
At her side, a black boar trotted, its beady eyes gleaming in the dying glow of Rhosyn’s flowers. The air turned colder and the flowers began curling inward as their light withered and died. When the woman spoke her voice was soft, desperate, laced with sorrow.
“I’ve lost my way,” she murmured. “I cannot find my way home. Will you help me?”
Sorcha’s runes blazed, their light flaring bright as the sun.
She then focused and conjured a flame of light to chase away night.
The shadows recoiled, and as the light touched the woman’s face, it was missing.
Rhosyn whispered to the others “I think that’s Lady Gwyn.
She only walks on Samhain, looking for lost wanderers in the woods. ”
Above, the apple trees swayed. Then, abruptly, they stilled. Everything was still and the air became stale.
Then, Cat growled. “Run.”
The woman’s scream tore through the clearing, raw and unearthly.
The boar charged, hooves tearing up the frozen earth.
Drystan loosed an arrow, aiming for her head.
It struck passing straight through. The hood tore away, revealing the truth.
She had no head. Her scream came again, closer this time, shaking the ground beneath them.
Sorcha staggered back as the boar lunged.
Its tusks gleamed red in the fading light.
Kyron drew his sword but Sorcha raised her arms first, her runes blazing like wildfire.
The air cracked, her power colliding with the creature mid charge.
The world exploded with light.
When Sorcha’s vision cleared, the boar’s body was falling apart, its skin unraveling into black smoke.
Laughter erupted in the air. As the headless woman slammed into an invisible force. She stood laughing for a moment before she called to the boar that reappeared beside her. She turned toward Sorcha. “Daughter of Lugh,” she hissed, her voice seething with anger as she melted into the night.
Before them, stretching across the forest, was a wall of rippling energy.
It shimmered like water beneath the moonlight, only visible when the light struck it at the right angle.
Shades of purple and blue undulated across its surface, their glow like deep ocean currents.
At its edges, a smoldering ember colored light curled and flared, firelight swallowed by the tide.
Sorcha shuddered. She had seen that color before.
Drystan stepped forward before anyone could stop him, reaching out.
His fingers disappeared the moment they met the surface.
He yanked his hand back, staring at it, flexing his fingers.
Nothing felt different. Nothing looked wrong.
But the sensation of the Veil pulling at him beckoning sent a shiver down his spine.
Then Eirin’s voice shattered the moment. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Eirin
snapped, his voice low but furious. “What if something on the other side had ripped your hand off?”
Drystan swallowed hard, taking an uneasy step back.
Cat, watching from the side, looked nothing but amused.
He prowled along the Veil, scanning it before finally stopping at a spot where the air thickened where the boundary was weakest. “The Veil is always here,” Cat muttered, looking around.
“Samhain just allows us to see it.” Just then a mound rose before them, covered in tangled wildflowers. Without warning, he changed.
The small, sleek creature they had come to know stretched into the massive, powerful creature in the field.
His shadow elongated, form shifting into the ferocious, otherworldly feline they recently met.
He roared and the ground trembled beneath them, the air humming with energy and then the land split open.
An entrance yawned before them, dark and waiting.
Cat turned back to the group, his voice smooth but final. “This is our way in. We part ways here.”
The words settled like stone in Sorcha’s chest.
She had known this was coming. She had prepared for it. But still—it was different, standing at the threshold.
Eirin said nothing. Just stood there, staring at her.
Their goodbye had already been said at the stables. And yet, it still didn’t feel like enough.
She swallowed, turning to the others. “Thank you.
For everything. Please protect the realm. And be safe.”
A silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, they nodded, the sadness in their faces unmistakable.
But beneath it pride. One by one, they stepped back and Sorcha turned toward the Veil.
They did not look back. Not Kyron. Not Sorcha.
Not Cat. They stepped forward, into the dark, the entrance yawning like the mouth of an ancient tree and waiting.
The smell of earth was the first thing to envelop them damp, rich, untouched.
The walls around them closed in, the tunnel winding downward in a slow descent, wrapping them in silence.
Their boots pressed into soft dirt, the weight of the world above shifting with every step.
And then the change began. A mist curled in from nowhere.
Soft, glowing purple vapor that swirled like breath on a cold morning, rolling over the ground, wrapping around their ankles.
Tiny, flickering insects appeared within the haze, their bodies pulsing like tiny bolts of lightning, casting brief flashes of white blue light in the darkness.
The air changed. The scent of earth was drowned by something new, flowers.
Sweet, sharp, overwhelming in its intensity.
Then the ground beneath them shifted. The packed dirt was gone.
In its place, smooth marble stretched beneath their feet, cold and gleaming in the dim light.
Their boots echoed against it, the sound jarring after so much silence.
A path formed, leading them deeper. And ahead stairs.
They were carved from pristine marble, twisted with veins of gold dust, shimmering as if lit from within.
It was breathtaking. They ascended in silence.
And when they reached the top, the cave mouth opened. The first thing Sorcha saw was the sky.
It was not the sky of her world.
It stretched wide and endless, painted in shades of purple and pink, like a sunset caught in its most perfect moment, never fading. Clouds hung soft and full, pristine white puffs against the dream like expanse. Above them, dragons soared.
Not menacing or monstrous but swift, soft, gliding through the air with an effortless grace.
Their wings caught the light, reflecting iridescent colors that shimmered as they passed.
Among them, birds of all kinds darted and wheeled, their feathers flashing in shades Sorcha had never seen before.
Then her gaze lowered and she saw the castle.
It hung in the air, upside down, as if the sky itself had claimed it.
Intricate, beautiful, its towers stretching downward, defying gravity.
A waterfall ran from its highest spire backward, upward rushing into the sky instead of falling to the earth.
The land beneath them was vibrant, more alive than anything she had ever seen.
The trees were not green but bold, luminous shades of blue, crimson, gold.
Some leaves seemed to glow, their veins pulsing with soft light.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. In the distance, a great white stag stood, watching them.
Its antlers were massive, its eyes dark and endless.
Around it, small creatures flitted through the wilderness, some familiar, some impossibly strange.
In the distant was a darkness sprawling with bridges that stretched across the vast landscape, leading to places she could not yet name.
And there coiled upon itself, massive enough to block out entire portions of the horizon, was a snake. A serpent larger than the Druid School, its body twisting upon itself, still and waiting.
Beside her, Cat exhaled. And then, almost to himself, he sighed. “Home.”