The wooden door of the back room creaked open, and for a moment, the main living area of the hut fell silent.

  Virelle emerged first. She was no longer sitting or walking; she was suspended a few inches above the floorboards, her lavender skirts billowing softly as if caught in a phantom breeze; her prismatic orb followed at her side, spinning with its usual rhythmic grace. Aiven walked just behind her, his hand hovering near her elbow as if still instinctively ready to catch her.

  Rysa, who had been sitting on the floor with her back against a sapphire-root pillar, looked up and let out a long whistle. "Well, look at that. The Master of the Arcane is back in the air. Glad to see you’re not sleeping in agony anymore."

  Virelle tilted her head, a familiar, smug smirk playing on her lips. "I am glad to see you were so concerned, vixen. Though I suspect you were merely hoping for my prolonged absence so you could hog my Master’s attention all for yourself. A predictable, if entirely futile, ambition."

  "Virelle, come on now," Aiven sighed, though there was a hint of relief in his voice.

  Rysa just laughed, shaking her head as she stood up and stretched. "It’s fine, Aiven. If she’s back to making snide remarks, it means she’s fully recovered. I’d be more worried if she was being nice to me."

  Aiven turned to Rysa, his expression clouding over. The warmth of the rescue was fading, replaced by the cold reality of their situation. "Rysa... what do we do now? The mission is a total failure. Oakwood is... it's gone. There’s no village left to protect, and the Chief... everyone we were supposed to help is dead."

  Rysa’s eyes grew hard. She leaned against her pillar, crossing her bandaged arms. "We do the only thing we can. We head back and report the details to the Guild. An anomaly of that scale—plus those vampire freaks—isn't just a D-rank problem anymore. The Guild will have to take their own courses of action."

  Aiven looked at Aelira, who was busy pouring the last of the tea. "Aelira, you mentioned a malicious threat. From what you’ve sensed in the forest... do you know anything more about what’s happening?"

  The forest spirit set the pot down, her eyes reflecting the flickering emerald fire of the hearth. "I do not know the full shape of this darkness," she admitted softly. "Only that the balance is being forcibly tilted. The mutations among the monsters are becoming more frequent, more aggressive. But my pixies have whispered of something else. Hooded figures have been sighted lurking in the deep shadows of forests across all of Aerilis—not just here in Lowhaven."

  Aiven felt a chill that had nothing to do with the forest air. "Hooded figures? You think there are more of them?"

  His mind raced. Valerion and Sylphaine had nearly cornered Virelle—a mage who could erase boss-class monsters with ease. If there was an entire organization of beings like them, or people commanding them, the threat was unfathomable.

  He looked at Virelle, who was idly watching a pink pixie dance near her orb. If those two vampires called her the 'Key'... if she has memories of Hearthport... does that mean she was once one of them? For a split second, a desperate thought crossed his mind. If I asked her to try and remember more... if we pushed her to find the answers, could we find out who or what the source of the problem is?

  But then, the memory of Virelle’s agonizing scream echoed in his ears. He saw the way she had crumbled on the cot, weeping and begging for the pain to stop.

  Aiven shook his head violently, his brass arm clicking in response to his sudden movement. How could I even think that? he scolded himself. She’s suffered enough. I won't trade her sanity for a few answers.

  Virelle suddenly drifted closer, her cool, translucent sleeve brushing against his shoulder. She looked at him, her gaze perceptive and unnervingly soft. She didn't ask what he was thinking; she didn't have to.

  "Master," she said, her voice a steady, melodic anchor. "I do not yet know the path forward, or the nature of the chains they wish to bind me with. But I shall rack my brain for answers as we travel. You are not alone in this."

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  Aiven looked at her, then at Rysa, who was already checking her gear.

  The warmth of the green flames in Aelira’s hearth seemed to dim as the reality of their situation pressed back in. Aelira stood by the wooden table, her eyes scanning the three battered adventurers.

  "The hour is late," Aelira said, her voice like the rustle of leaves. "My home is small, and there is but one bed, but you are welcome to stay for the night and recover your strength."

  Aiven looked at the bed, then at the flickering, cracked mana stone on his left arm. The white light was stuttering now, a rhythmic glitch that felt like a localized heartbeat in his shoulder. "Thank you, Aelira, truly. But there's no time to waste. We need to head back immediately.”

  Aelira nodded slowly, a look of understanding passing over her delicate features. "Very well. I can release you from this dimension, though I cannot carry you across the distance. You will have to reach your destination by your own means."

  Virelle, who was now floating with a renewed, if slightly somber, confidence, gave a playful flick of her translucent sleeve. "A distance? Master, please. With me at your side, getting back to that dusty Guildhouse is but a finger's snap away. The world is only as large as I allow it to be."

  Aiven turned to Aelira, bowing his head in sincere gratitude. "Thank you for everything. Without you, I don’t think any of us would have survived."

  "I did only what I have always done," Aelira replied with a humble smile. "Saving kind souls who find themselves lost in the shadows of my trees. It is the forest's way to protect its own."

  She led them to the door of the hut. "Walk straight. Do not look back, and do not veer from the path the pixies show you. The woods will return you to the world you know."

  Aiven and Rysa thanked the spirit one last time before stepping out into the colorful clearing. As they walked, the sapphire-blue trunks and neon-orange leaves began to blur and fade. The teal glow of the grass died down, replaced by the familiar, rough texture of pine needles and damp earth. Within minutes, the surreal brilliance of the Painted Woods had vanished, leaving them in the pitch-black silence of a regular forest at midnight.

  Rysa exhaled a cloud of cold air into the night. "Alright. Back in the real world. So, how are we doing this? You really want to use teleportation?"

  "Yes, we can’t afford to meet the vampires nor any other anomalies again," Aiven answered for her, looking at Virelle. "But Virelle, can you drop us somewhere close to the downtown entrance? Not the main gates. If we appear in a flash of lavender light in front of the midnight guards, we’re going to be answering questions for six hours."

  Virelle sighed, a theatrical sound of disappointment. "You always insist on being so... invisible, Master. But very well. If you wish to arrive like a common thief in the night, I shall oblige."

  She snapped her slender fingers.

  The world didn't just blur; it folded. Aiven felt the familiar, stomach-churning tug of spatial magic, and a heartbeat later, the scent of pine was replaced by the smell of coal smoke and stagnant water. They were standing in a narrow, deserted alleyway just outside the downtown sector. The cobblestones were slick with dew, and the only light came from a distant, flickering gas lamp at the end of the street.

  "The Guildhouse is only a few minutes from here," Rysa said, adjusting her gear and looking at the quiet city. "We should be able to wake up the night clerk and get the report filed before dawn."

  "Rysa," Aiven said, stopping at the mouth of the alley. He looked down at the Armvil Mark 3. In the moonlight, the fractures across the mana stone looked like a spiderweb of jagged glass. The white light beneath was dimming, a sickly, uneven pulse that made the brass casing feel uncomfortably hot. "I need your help. Can you handle the report? Tell them the things that are crucial—the anomalies, the vampires, Oakwood. But-"

  Rysa interrupted, "I know, leave out the detailed stuff about Virelle's powers and your concern about her memories."

  Aiven nodded.

  She then frowned, "Where are you going?"

  "I have to pay Marnie a visit," Aiven said, his voice tight with anxiety."

  Virelle let out a long, exaggerated groan, her hair whipping around as she drifted toward the ceiling of the alley. "Ugh. Not the soot-infested lair of the dwarf again. Master, my skirts have only just recovered from the humidity of the forest! Must we truly return to that den of grease and blunt instruments?"

  "She's the only one who can fix it, Virelle," Aiven said, already turning toward the Industrial District. "Come on. We don't have much time."

  Rysa watched them go, her expression unreadable. "Fine. I'll handle the bureaucrats. Just... try not to let that thing blow your shoulder off before you get there."

  Aiven looked at Rysa, his expression genuinely grateful. "Thanks, Rysa. I owe you one for this."

  Rysa gave a dry, short laugh and adjusted the strap of her pack. "Make that two. I’ll be back at the Guildhouse tomorrow morning. You better show up."

  "I'll be there," Aiven promised.

  He then sprinted toward the glowing chimneys of the forge district with Virelle floating beside him, clutching his flickering brass arm.