Roots grabbed her as she passed, some from normal plants, some corrupted by the Rotting One. Her shields flared when the tainted ones brushed against her, and they fell away, no longer a hindrance.

Strans’ residue dwindled, and she cast Rays to ride faster to him.

The Rotting One led him somewhere. Everything seemed too neat about the shield shattering, the recoil, the escape. It was too easy, and someone had followed them into the ground, someone she saw but could not sense.

She passed coolness—water—and phased through rock—how had Strans made it through?—and whisked around a thick tangle of twisted tree roots. They swiped their tips through the deep green sprinkles of power, bathing in his Touch, soaking it up as if it were water. As much as the Rotting One and the false Beast attempted to sever his influence in the Labyrinth, the forest sought the one that cared for it as soon as he neared.

Was that why Kjiven never managed to truly fit Strans’ mantle? The essences of the forest rejected him?

Metallic fear leaked through the soil, darkening the atmosphere, making it bitter. The sensation passed quickly as they phased into a cave.

Strans slammed into the hard-packed floor, the vines whisking around him like snakes, their glow illuminating the space. The Rotting One hovered over an altar overrun with corrupted vines. They moved sluggishly, drawing away from the grey stone as roots rose behind them and struck; she flared with Sun’s light, and they recoiled, attempting to flee into the dark recesses of the walls. Cracks of shimmery forest-green raced across the ground, around columns so weathered with age their fluting had nearly worn smooth, and up the walls; the roots could not escape.

“You warp the leaves,” Strans growled; chills raced up Vantra’s spine, and she tamped down on her flare of fear.

Listen, listen, remember his voice. Listen to no other. Subtle but insistent, the beat of the rainforest touched the atmosphere, tuning her to its—and Strans’—rhythm.

“There is no warp. You ignored the ghost roots, Strans did not. He entered their caves and called to them. They willingly answered.”

“I am Strans.”

“You are interloper.”

“I am the Twisted One, Strans of Vines, Strans of the Labyrinth. Kjiven stole my mantle, and it never fit.”

The enemy hissed, and black flecks flew from its hood. “Mantle is ghost-syimlin identifier, not made of the forest.”

“If that were so, why did you convince Kjiven to steal it?”

“You warped its intent.”

“I warp nothing. I listen. You do not.”

The cloak flared out, the fabric thinning to resemble the crumbling remains of a brown leaf. “Kjiven listened to the bitter melody of neglect. Not all the forest adores you, Naa-vosh.”

The ugliness in the tone held power, and the corrupted roots surged towards them, tips flicking about, lapping up the sensation and gaining strength from it.

New-sprig green swirled around the forest deity, snaking over the vines encasing his waist and arm before pouring into his cupped hand. A spear formed; the atmosphere throbbed with the rhythm of the forest as a gnarled point completed the weapon. Glyphs ran the length of it, their vibrancy menacing, poisonous.

Movement to her left; Vantra whirled, but only noticed shadows cast by the dancing magic. Where was the shadow?

The Rotting One raised his hands, and the rock trembled. Power welled up from the altar and raced to Strans, the deep feel of the green turning to ashen darkness before it touched him. Vantra flung a shield in front of him, and the burst of Sunlight from impact disintegrated the vines engulfing the stone altar.

The Twisted One struck, the spear scratching along the grungy top and scraping off particles that wafted to the ground. The streaks left behind sank deep into the stone and flared; Vantra covered her eyes with her forearm and winced away. She heard the rustling of vines attempting to flee and the impacts as they hit the lattice covering the walls. Sizzles filled the air.

Quiet. She peeked. The roots had frozen, some untouched, some burning to the point their charred parts fell to the floor and broke apart without attempting to extinguish the flames.

Dread pounded her. She searched the shadows but did not see the one that followed Strans; how well could it hide in the darker parts of the cave? She readied Clear Rays as the Rotting One threw a swirling ball of muddy magic straight above their heads. The lattice shattered, and the remaining roots smashed through the rock and disappeared in a shower of debris. Larger chunks fell, and Vantra layered shields around both her and the forest deity.

“Your mantle returns weak,” the enemy said, the throaty gloating sounding off, wrong. They raised their arms again. “Weak dies in nature, Naa-vosh.”

“Then you will fall where you stand.”

Strans clapped his breast three times to the Labyrinth’s rhythm; a gleaming green, reminiscent of waxen leaves in direct sunlight, spun around him. He swept the spear to the right; blackened roots erupted from the ground, aiming for his wrist. They burned into wafting ashes before they could touch him. He swiped the weapon to the front, and an arc of power shot from the tip. The Rotting One shrieked as it collided with the altar; the stone exploded, sending a shower of fiery magic into the cave, the roots, the vines. The flames ate the plants and sliced through the columns. Chunks tumbled to the ground and bounced into the ash piles, flicks of green trailing them.

“You destroy the Labyrinth?” The Rotting One wafted back, struck the renewed lattice, and jerked away, smoke trailing from the touch.

“The altar is not the Labyrinth.” Strans raised his spear. “It is an ancient bit of magic left from a people long changed from their original culture and intent. It served, and now it ended.” The glyphs rearranged themselves along the shaft, shining like stars.

“You destroy the heart.”

“You think a hunk of carved stone is the heart of the Labyrinth?”

“It tangles, is entwined.”

“I am the Twisted Vines.” Strans sent another arc at the enemy.

“You will fall to shadows!” they shrieked as they tried to flee. The arc struck as they failed to phase through the lattice; screaming, they discorporated, their essence splattering the ground beneath them.

Laughter erupted, at odds with the rhythm of the forest. Strans pivoted, looking at the barricaded doorway; a wispy shade with the two torsos of a rufang hovered in front of it. Had it tried to flee, and the lattice prevented its escape?

“Who are you?” he asked, the bluster of heavy wind whipping through his tone, as if that presence spoke the words in harmony with him.

“Can you not tell?” it asked, fading into the nearest bit of column shadow cast by the fire. Vantra cupped her hands in front of her, Clear Rays swirling between her palms. “A strike will only harm the forest. Plants, animals, dwellers—the floodwaters’ toll will pale against your destruction. I thought you wished to save them. But you fail in that, too.”

The ground rumbled. Vantra looked down as cracks formed beneath her feet and magic wafted from them, circling the forest deity. The shade laughed again, the echo making its voice difficult to distinguish from the growing noise. “Strans!” she called.

“Their folly,” he said and raised his spear again. Wind whipped around the discorporated Rotting One, sucking up the essence and spinning it into a tight sphere.

“The bendebares will fall into this hole and the forest will follow,” the shade said, the words digging into her perception like nails dug into slate. “The flood was first, the Void the last.”

Listen, listen, remember my voice.

The hard-pack beneath her feet turned to soft soil as the non-gendered voice she heard two days ago blended with the memory of Navosh’s translation.

I drink the shadows, the water, and feed others. I grow so others may ripen. Know our touch, know our breath, know our will. Listen to no other.

The sweet rhythm beat through her essence, and she felt the ground, the tree roots buried deep within, and the musty fear of the ghost roots. Memories from the soil leaked through her like water sifted through the moist clumps, and she witnessed the ghost roots, who once grew in caves but desired a different existence, accept a promise of freedom, as long as they gave up their purpose.

The Rotting One assured the cave-bound roots they would feel the cool breeze upon them, if only they infected the Labyrinth with decay.

They tried, but the soil was not part of the promise, and did not want to end its purpose for another’s pleasure. The Rotting One demanded it capitulate; it refused. So a heavy presence descended, wrapped the ghost roots in corrupted magic, and bid them leave—and not Kjiven. Who?

They traveled through the loose earth, unhindered. They burst into the above, but instead of wallowing in their new world, the magic forced them back underground, only to see the above when they fought.

Freedom was a lie.

Kin no dangon, roto i wa-tanta i kon. Uru, uru, obu ni hen kon giryu.

The shadow stopped laughing. The floor rose, carrying her and Strans with it, and she lost sight of the enemy.

Vines tore through the ground, brushing against both her and the Twisted One, wrapping around them, armor for the forest-bound.

Uru, uru, obu ni hen kon giryu, they whispered. She knew them, too, and their rhythm joined with the soil and the rock, the combination vibrating the air. Water drip-dripped onto them, soaking them, each drop a warm, tear-stained Touch.

Tears?

The earth carried them through the center of the dancers, higher, to brush the tips of the still-standing bendebares. Contamination fell from the twigs like dust and wafted away on the breeze.

Uru, uru. Sobs. She heard sobs within the tone.

Power coursed through the vines, feeding Strans more energy. He glowed with the brightness of glinting light off the trickle of a stream. Holding out the tainted sphere, he hefted the spear, changed his hold on the shaft, and aimed the pointed head at the contamination.

“NAVOSH!” Tenathi screamed.

Vantra shot to him, grabbed the weapon behind his hand, and shoved Clear Rays into the tip as it struck the sphere.

The vines blew apart, the soil tumbled away, the breeze soared with the blast. The air vibrated, and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Uru, uru, obu ni hen kon giryu!” she shouted, her words falling into the rhythm.

Laughter, harsh, out-of-tune, drifted to them. A spout of dead leaves and dust whirled in front of them, and a shadowy hand punched out of the center, fingers pressed together. They stabbed at Strans’ chest.

“Retravigance!”

Fire leapt across their essence, and they wrung their hand with a shriek. The whirl burned ferociously and fast; the shade tumbled from its center, screaming disjointed words.

Corrupted roots burst from the earth, tearing at the bendebares and breaking off limbs with sharp cracks. They descended on the dancers, weapons raised, and the Light-blessed intercepted them, keeping them from swiping at the living.

She did not see a single Wiiv warrior; what happened to them?

Strans switched the spear again, tip pointing to the sky, the butt to the earth. The soil fell from their feet; Vantra released the shaft, holding onto his shoulders as he fell.

Too fast.

He struck the center of the clearing, power from her Clear Rays emanating outwards. The roots flew into the air before disintegrating. The trees shredded and tore from the earth, the vines collapsed and blew away with clumps of soil.

The dancers continued to dance, Tenathi, tears racing down her cheeks, leading the chant. All others stood with Katta behind a Darkness shield that vibrated to the rhythm of destruction.

Vantra rode with the ripples speeding through the forest, joined by an unknown but familiar presence as heavy as a rainstorm. Contaminated plants disintegrated in dark bubbles that wafted up before popping, their remains disappearing. Water evaporated, soil burned. Animals and dwellers fell, insects puffed into nothing. Birds could not rise above, and tumbled to the earth, which swallowed them, as it must.

No! Clear Rays was meant to remove the marks, not—

Fingers dug into her hand, grabbing her attention. She returned to the grove in a rush.

“Clear Rays,” Strans growled, pointing at the cowering shadow at his feet.

Together, their magic tore apart the essence, the shell, leaving nothing but sifting dust behind.

Wait. Had she just sent a ghost to the Final Death?

The butt of the spear had sunk deep into the soil; green cracks appeared in the surface and spun away from them in the Rays’ wake. In the barren waste surrounding the dancers, they intercepted each other, and at the conjunctions, new shoots rose, sleek, healthy, tiny leaves bursting from thin, soft branches.

Ine kuta. Kon un ze. Uru, uru, obu ni hen kon giryu.

The finality penetrated the dancers, and Tenathi ended the chant. She lifted her face to the gentle breeze playing with the leaves as the dwellers looked around and cried out in agonized disbelief. “Was it necessary?”

Yes, came the resounding answer, a harmony of the plants, the soil, the wind, the water, held in a singular voice. It is time to begin anew. A change, an alteration. Many times before, many times again. But this time, there are caretakers for the small branches as they grow.

“The dancers with us?” the healer asked, looking at the beings choking on tears.

Yes. Do they not listen? We are here, in the roots, in the shoots. The earth, the air and water, the plants. A dance together, forever.

“But the trees,” Zepirz whispered.

We are re-linked, re-bonded. We are tender, but we will harden, strengthen. It is the way of things.

Strans released the spear; vines, shimmery with a new-green shine, wrapped around it, creating another tangle. They buried it further in the soil, and when the tip sparkled with a rainbow of rainforest flower hues, they stilled. He wrung his hand, looked at his fingers, and sighed, weariness plaguing the sound.

“That stung.”

Then you should not have held so tightly. It is good, the young one reminded you of yourself. I would not lose you so soon, hosagin han i uyunin.

Navosh glanced at Vantra, a small smile playing on his lips. “I do have much to thank you for,” he said. “But, perhaps, after a nap.”

Bi u ungu kenpuke ni.

Dweller eyes snaked to him, and Tenathi raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.

Zepirz smoothed his hands over his crest feathers, then the longer ones bounced into a stiff stance. “They’re gone, aren’t they?” His voice broke. Ayara rushed to him and wrapped him in a tight hug as his shoulders shook. Yissik tore their gaze from the deity and settled a hand on his arm, eyes wrinkled, the sides of their beak pulled down in sadness.

“They gave themselves to a false deity for a false promise,” Navosh said. “They would stand with you, if they repudiated the Touch. They did not. Clear Rays only targeted the contamination; Vantra learned the rhythm of the forest, and nothing bound to, or working alongside it, came to harm.

“But those wallowing in the hatred that corroded sense? Those guided by a mark of abomination? Their light left, and with their bodies cleansed, they feed the new.”

Ew. Vantra looked between her feet, nauseous at the implication, knowing that the Labyrinth and its various entities only saw an often-repeated cycle rather than a devastating loss of life

He motioned to Katta, who dropped the shield with a bow of his head. Salan immediately raced to Tenathi, shoved his nose into her chest, and whuffled comfort before continuing to the dancers. The rest walked to the edges of the trampled circle, mixed emotions playing across their faces.

“At least we know the Rotting One was not the Beast,” Katta said, eyes on the ground where the shadow had fallen. “But neither they nor that ghost stunk of beghestern magic, and from accounts, the entity at the citadel did.”

“A diversion, distraction, perhaps a sacrifice,” Navosh said.

“A sacrifice,” Katta agreed. “And the Wiiv can answer to Levassa.”

The dancers shuddered as one.

“Come.” Navosh stretched, then sagged with a wince and touched his breast. “I’m certain Kie and Nuçya are anxiously awaiting word. Once rested, we will return.” He eyed the beings who stared at him, trust wobbling beneath shock. “At least, those of us who understand will return.” He shuffled to the path entrance.

Vantra whisked to him; weariness plagued her, her thoughts spun in circles, but she had not expended what he did. If he needed help, she could provide it. A small smile alit on his lips, and he patted her arm.

“Thank you.”