As the group continued their frantic escape from the pursuing horde of undead, they stumbled upon a massive, gnarled tree standing sentinel in the darkness. Its enormous, twisted branches reached like skeletal fingers, creating a macabre silhouette against the dimly lit sky.

  Panting, their veins still humming with adrenaline, they eyed the dead tree—an unlikely sanctuary.Acting on instinct, they scrambled up its gnarled trunk, gripping the rough, lifeless bark for support. Climbing the tree with practiced ease, a skill honed throughout her life, Kalyre led the way. Upon reaching the colossal branches, the group hoisted themselves up, seeking refuge above the monstrous horde below.

  They could finally catch their breath and assess their situation from their precarious perch high above the ground. The relentless undead horde prowled below, their lifeless eyes scanning the dark expanse, but the tree's height and complexity of its branches seemed to confound them, at least for the moment.

  Clutching the skeletal branches, the group breathed heavily, hearts pounding from their harrowing escape. The scream of the young Ondrillis still echoing in their minds. Positioned farthest up, Kalyre perched on the branch, her legs hanging freely. The human sat beside her, a hand firmly gripping the trunk. Below them, the Scaelmar and the mysterious woman clung tightly to the branch. The eerie silence of the night was now punctuated by the ominous rustling of leaves and the distant moans of the undead.

  In the dim light, they cast glances at one another, their faces reflecting a mix of fear and uncertainty only illuminated by the faint glow of Pablo's scales. Uncertainty hung in the air, but for the time being, the towering dead tree provided a tenuous respite from the horrors below. With the relative safety of their perch in the massive dead tree, Kalyre turned to her newly arrived companions. The sound of their voices broke the eerie stillness of the night.

  The human with silver hair was the first to speak, his violet eyes glinting in the faint light. “I am Thalvorn Spellbreaker,” he said, his tone calm—too calm, Kalyre thought. His words carried an air of authority and experience, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just survived. For a brief moment, his presence seemed to anchor the group, offering a fragile sense of stability as they clung to the gnarled branches high above the ground.

  At the sound of his name, the elf turned sharply. A flicker of something passed over her face—recognition, maybe, or something colder. It was gone in an instant, but Kalyre caught it.

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you all despite these unfortunate circumstances.”

  The words had barely left his lips when the Scaelmar snapped.

  “She’s dead!” His voice cracked. “Kiri is—” His breath hitched. His fists clenched, sparks flickering at his knuckles. “And you just call that—unfortunate?”

  His body lurched forward, his balance slipping. For a moment, Kalyre wasn’t sure if he had lost his footing—or if he meant to fall.

  Without thinking, she lunged down and grabbed his arm. His scales were warm under her grip, trembling with barely restrained energy. Tears streaked down his cheeks, Tiny bolts of lightning crackling as they fell. Each spark snapped against the bark before tumbling into the horde below, where a ripple of electricity surged through the writhing mass.

  Kalyre held on tight, her heart pounding. “Hey,” she said, her voice steady but low. “Hold on.”

  She didn’t know if she was telling him to stay on the branch—or to stay alive.

  The group sat in heavy silence, the weight of exhaustion, grief, and disbelief pressing down on them like a physical force. No one spoke. No one dared to break the fragile stillness that had settled over the twisted branches of their temporary refuge.

  Below, the undead moaned as they climbed, their grotesque forms inching higher. Kalyre tightened her grip on the Scaelmar’s arm, making sure he didn’t slip—whether by accident or intent. His breathing was ragged, his scaled fingers twitching as tiny sparks of residual lightning flickered between them.

  Thalvorn, who had remained silent since his ill-timed remark, glanced away, sharp features betraying nothing. Even he must have realized he had spoken too soon. The elf watched from her perch, face unreadable, saying nothing.

  Kalyre exhaled slowly, forcing the tension in her shoulders to ease. They didn’t have time for this.

  “We can’t stay here.” Her voice, though quiet, carried through the stillness as she gestured toward the rising threat below. She released the Scaelmar’s arm but stayed close, watching him carefully.

  “We need a plan. A way out.” This time, she steadied herself, letting confidence settle into her words. “Sitting here won’t keep us alive.”

  Thalvorn finally turned back to the group, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow nod, he spoke.

  “Kalyre is right.” His tone, still composed, held a new weight—less detached, more focused. “We can’t linger here. We need to understand where we are, what we’re facing, and what resources we have left.”

  His violet eyes swept over them, lingering briefly on the Scaelmar, who had buried his face in his hands, struggling to steady his breathing. The loss of Kiri still clung to him, raw and electric in the air.

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  “I know this isn’t easy,” Thalvorn continued. “But dwelling on it won’t bring her back. We need to keep moving.”

  The Scaelmar muttered something under his breath—his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

  Thalvorn let the words hang before shifting the conversation.

  “At least hunger won’t be a problem.”

  The others looked at him, puzzled. “How could he possibly know that?” Kalyre thought

  “Well,” he said, glancing around, a small knowing smile playing at his lips. “Are any of you hungry?”

  Kalyre hesitated. Now that he mentioned it… she wasn’t.

  Even after all the running, all the panic, her stomach felt as full as if she had eaten hours ago. A flicker of unease crawled up her spine. She had been in life and death situation many times before and each time she was completely drained after it, this wasn’t normal.

  A tense silence followed Thalvorn’s words.

  For once, something seemed to be going their way—though the feeling sat uneasy in her chest.

  It was the elf who finally broke the silence. Her voice was measured, cool—as if she had already accepted the unnaturalness of this place.

  “We’re wasting time. If we’re doing introductions, let’s do them quickly.”

  She adjusted her perch, the dim light catching on the faint silver embroidery along her dark robes. Her white hair framed her sharp features, the edges of her expression unreadable.

  “You may call me Seriss” It sounded like she stopped in the middle of a sentence. The others looked at her expectingly, but she remained silent.

  The Scaelmar stop sobbing for a second when he heard the name.

  He wiped his face roughly, sharp fingers scraping against his scales. His breathing had steadied, but his voice was still raw when he spoke.

  “Torinn” he muttered. “Torinn Vozz. Vozz Industries.” He barely seemed aware he had said it, the words falling from his lips like a habit long ingrained, now meaningless.

  Pablo shifted slightly on her shoulder, and she lifted a hand to steady him. “Kalyre,” she offered simply. There was nothing more to say.

  A slow clap broke the tension.

  Thalvorn’s smile was unreadable as he leaned back against the gnarled bark. “Well, now that we’re all properly acquainted,” he said smoothly, “perhaps we should be focusing on the more pressing matter at hand—like not dying.”

  His words were light, Kalyre wasn't if it was to break the tension or if it was something more akin to amusement.

  She pushed the thought away. She was just tired. That was all.

  A rustling below sent a fresh jolt of tension through the group.

  The horde was almost up to the lower branches where Torrin, Seriss and Kalyre were standing.

  Seriss was the first to move, agile and silent as she pulled herself to a higher branch.

  Kalyre turned to help Torrin. His claws dug into the bark as he scrambled upward, his body still shaking from grief and exhaustion.

  Almost there. Just a little further.

  Then—a snap.

  The branch beneath Kalyre gave way.

  Her stomach lurched as she dropped, instinct taking over as she lunged, fingers locking around the tree’s trunk.

  Her fingers found the bark—barely—but something else had shifted

  A tiny, weightless shift on Kalyre’s shoulder.

  Pablo.

  Her heart stopped as she turned—just in time to see his small form tumble off her shoulder.

  Straight into the horde below.

  She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate.

  Pablo had been with her through everything. Through every loss. Every battle. Every lonely night. The one thing that had never left. The one thing she had left.

  She had already given up everything for him once. And without hesitation, she did it again.

  With no time to think she flung herself into the void, the world blurred around her as she plummeted, wind tearing at her cloak, her arms reaching.

  She caught him.

  Her fingers closed around his tiny body, pressing him against her chest.

  For a split second, relief flooded her.

  Then—impact.

  The undead monstrosities broke her fall. They moved beneath her, writhing, clawing, reaching.

  Kalyre landed hard, the force of impact knocking the breath from her lungs. But it wasn’t the landing that filled her with terror.

  It was what she had landed on.

  A nightmare of flesh surrounded her, stitched-together horrors, pieced from broken bodies, their grotesque, mismatched limbs jerking unnaturally as they reacted to her presence.

  Dwarfs, Scaelmars, Demonfolk like herself, once living now cut apart and repurposed into monstrosities barely resembling humanoids.

  One twitched beneath her, its oversized arm—a Scaelmar’s muscular limb sewn onto a too-thin torso, thrashing wildly. Another creature lurched toward her, a face half-Demonfolk, half-Elf, its mismatched eyes glowing with vacant hunger.

  These were not corpses.

  They were stitched abominations, made from the dead—but still moving.

  A clawed hand wrapped around Kalyre’s wrist.

  Another grasped at her leg.

  Then, they pulled.

  She kicked, twisted, clawed at the writhing bodies—but it was like fighting quicksand.

  More hands latched onto her, jerking her downward in broken, unnatural movements.

  The weight of their struggling bodies crushed her ribcage, stealing her air in sharp, desperate gasps.

  The stench burned her throat as she gasped for breath that wouldn’t come

  A shrill, mindless screech erupted beside her as one of the creatures missed its mark, sinking its jagged teeth into another abomination instead.

  The second creature howled in fury, its mismatched limbs flailing as it lashed out in retaliation. Others turned at the commotion, snapping and clawing at anything in reach—friend or foe.

  For a brief moment, the horror beneath her descended into chaos, a frenzy of gnashing teeth and rotting limbs.

  But they didn’t stop pulling.

  They didn’t stop dragging her deeper.

  She sank beneath their weight, breathless and blind—until there was nothing left but the dark.