I reach into my coat and produce the map, spreading it open next to the symbols carved into the massive crystal. The moment the map touches the crystal’s surface, a pulse of energy thrums through the air. The warmth intensifies, spreading up my fingers like a living current. Then, the glow begins—blue light seeping from the carved symbol on the crystal, while the mark on my map ignites in a soft, flickering orange. They respond to each other, as if connected, as if one calls to the other across some unseen thread of magic.

I inhale sharply, my pulse quickening. This is no ordinary map, no simple guide drawn by human hands. It knows something, holds a power I do not yet understand.

I turn to Felix, intent on voicing my thoughts, but something in my periphery halts me. A shadow, a flicker of movement against the distant line of trees. My body tenses instinctively, my breath stilling as my eyes snap toward the figure shifting just beyond the clearing’s edge.

We are not alone.

Felix notices my change in posture, his own hand drifting subtly toward the hilt of his blade. He doesn’t ask—he doesn’t need to. I keep my gaze locked on the trees, on the space where I glimpsed the movement. The glow of the crystal and the map feels almost blinding now, a beacon in the dim forest gloom.

We were followed.

The tension in the air coils tighter as Felix and I shift, turning toward the trees where the figure had moved. My heart beats heavy in my chest, my breath slow and measured. Felix’s eyes flick across the woodline, sharp and calculating, searching for any sign of movement beyond that first glimpse. His stance is poised, ready—not yet drawing his weapon, but near enough to do so in a heartbeat.

Above us, Nyx lets out a piercing screech, the sound cutting through the unnatural stillness of the clearing. Her wings flare, and in a swift motion, she descends onto my right shoulder, talons gripping the fabric of my coat. I can feel the tension in her, the way her feathers stand rigid, her sharp eyes fixed on the unseen threat. She is a creature of instinct, and instinct tells her we are not safe.

I tighten my grip on the map, feeling the residual warmth from the crystal beneath my fingertips. The glow has not faded; it pulses softly, as though waiting. The clearing, which moments ago had felt like a sanctuary from the unrelenting cold, feels exposed, vulnerable.

The figure steps forward from the shadows of the trees, its movements slow yet deliberate. As it crosses into the clearing’s light, I see it fully—a towering construct of fire crystal, its jagged form refracting the glow of the sigil-carved stone at the clearing’s heart. It stands a head taller than Felix, humanoid, but only barely. Its body is made of interlocking shards, sharp-edged and angular, like a statue sculpted by an unfeeling hand. The crystal catches the light, making it seem almost fluid, shifting and alive despite its rigid form. No face, no eyes—only the runes carved deep into its surface, glowing in unison with the markings on the central crystal. The same color, the same pulsing rhythm, as if they share a single heartbeat.

Felix stiffens beside me, his fingers twitching toward his sword. I can feel the tension radiating from him, from Nyx, from the very air around us. Yet the guardian does not attack. It does not charge or lash out. It merely stands, its presence imposing, ancient. Watching.

I notice something odd. The being seems to be constructed of the same fire crystal that warms the clearing, the same that hangs around me neck, but something is different. Viens of deep purple seems to criss-cross it’s body. Beneath it’s glass-like exterior, lines of purple spiderweb throughout. The same wretched purple color of the blight.

I take a slow, measured step forward, my boots pressing into the soft grass of the clearing. The crystalline figure does not move, does not react beyond the steady pulse of light coursing through the runes etched into its body. The glow is rhythmic, deliberate—like the beating of a heart.

Felix’s hand shoots out, fingers curling around my forearm in a firm grip. “Axl,” he warns, voice low with unease. “We don’t know what it is.” His eyes remain locked on the construct, his body taut like a bowstring, ready to pull me back if needed.

I place my free hand over his and give a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend, but steady. “It hasn’t made a move against us.”

His grip lingers a moment longer before he releases me, exhaling through his nose. I know he doesn’t like this, but he trusts me.

I turn back to the being, taking another careful step closer. The warmth radiating from it is different than the crystal at the center of the clearing—not harsh or scalding, but steady, like the lingering heat of embers long after a fire has burned down.

Up close, I can see that the symbols carved into its body are not haphazard or crude. They are intricate, precise, etched with purpose. The same language as the one on the crystal and my map.

I let out a slow breath, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “Can you understand me?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

The construct does not speak, but for the first time, it moves. A slow, deliberate shift as it raises one angular arm—its hand open, palm facing outward. The glow intensifies, pulsing in response.

Felix’s blade scrapes free of its scabbard, the sound sharp against the stillness of the clearing. His stance is rigid, every muscle tensed like a coiled spring. “Axl, move,” he snaps, his voice edged with urgency.

But I don’t move. The crystalline being does not react to Felix’s aggression. It doesn’t turn, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge the threat of steel. Its outstretched hand remains steady, hovering just inches from my left shoulder. Then I see it. A faint glow, sickly and wrong, creeping along the fabric of my cloak. A twisting tendril of blight, its color muted in the daylight but unmistakable against the dark weave of my clothing. A curse we had not been able to outrun.

My breath catches in my throat. Felix and I had been brushing the cursed filth from our clothes each morning, a grim ritual before setting out anew, but I must have missed this. It had taken root in the folds of my cloak, spreading in silence, biding its time.

Nyx lets out an uneasy croak, her talons tightening against my shoulder. She feels it too—the shift in the air, the weight of unseen forces at work.

The guardian remains still, its hand poised above the blight’s slow advance. The runes along its body pulse once, a deep and steady glow. Not a warning. Not an attack. A response.

Understanding dawns, cold and sudden. It’s not reaching for me. It’s reaching for the blight.

Felix doesn’t lower his blade, though his grip on the hilt slackens slightly as he watches the display unfold. The crystalline being continues its methodical movement, its carved runes pulsing softly as the last wisps of corrupted smoke vanish into its palm. The lines beneath its surface shift and writhe, unnaturally.

I exhale, barely realizing I had been holding my breath. My fingers brush over the fabric of my cloak where the blight had been, but there’s no trace left—no decay, no lingering sickness. It’s as if it had never been there at all.

“It’s collecting the blight,” I say, the excitement threading into my voice before I can temper it. I turn to Felix, who remains tense, his shoulders rigid with distrust. “The runes must be some sort of spell. It’s removing the blight and storing it inside.”

Felix’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at me, only at the being, his posture still locked in wary readiness. “And what happens when it’s full?” His voice is low, cautious. “When it can’t hold any more?”

I don’t have an answer. I glance back at the construct, its glowing veins still writhing beneath the crystal surface, as though the corruption trapped inside is searching for a way out. The thought sends a chill through me. But for now, it isn’t attacking. It isn’t harming us. If anything, it helped us.

I take a slow step back, watching as the being straightens, lowering its hand back to its side. The glow of the runes settles into a steadier rhythm, as though the magic within is… satisfied.

Felix hesitates, then exhales sharply, finally lowering his sword—but not sheathing it. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “We don’t know what it is, what it’s doing with that blight.”

I nod, but my mind is already racing. Who created this? Could it have been the wizard we are seeking?

Felix sheathes his sword with a smooth, practiced motion, the blade sliding back into its scabbard with a low, metallic scrape. His eyes remain fixed on the crystalline being, cautious yet intrigued. Despite the tension in his posture, there is a curiosity burning in his gaze—a need to understand this strange construct that stands before us. With a determined breath, Felix takes a step forward, closing the distance between him and the pulsing guardian. The air is thick with anticipation, the clearing hushed and watchful, as if the very forest holds its breath, waiting to see what will unfold.

I keep a close watch on Felix as he approaches the being, ready to intervene if necessary. But the construct does not react to his advance. It remains as it was—silent, unmoving, its runes pulsating in steady rhythm. The light within its crystal form flickers softly, casting shimmering patterns across the ground like scattered firelight. Felix pauses a mere arm’s length away, his gaze sweeping over the etched symbols that adorn the being’s surface. I see him studying the intricate patterns, his brow furrowing as he attempts to discern their meaning. The being stands tall and unwavering, a silent sentinel amidst the swirling energies of the clearing.

“It’s like… it’s waiting,” Felix murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Waiting for something from us. Or maybe it’s just… observing.”

I nod, feeling the same sense of wonder and caution. “It didn’t attack when it had the chance,” I say, my words thoughtful. “And it could have. But it chose to cleanse the blight instead.”

Felix turns his head slightly, meeting my gaze with a mix of skepticism and belief.

Just then, I remember something, the ritual that Mother Brynn gave me. I reach into my coat and feel for the small, weathered parchment. It is folded carefully, edges softened by time and travel, but the symbols on it are still distinct. I had almost forgotten it amidst the chaos of our journey.

I draw it out carefully. The parchment is cool against my fingers, its surface soft and worn with age. The symbols inked into it are intricate, each one a delicate swirl of lines that interweave to form a pattern that speaks to something ancient and primal. I have never used magic, not intentionally anyway, so I don’t exactly understand how this will work. Do I just say the words and wait for the crows to come? Will they be actually crows, or is it some sort of metaphor? Will anything happen at all?

Felix glances over, curiosity mingled with concern in his eyes. He has always trusted my instincts, even when they led us down paths as uncertain as the one we now tread. I catch his gaze and nod, feeling the connection between us.

I can sense some sort of arcane energy from the parchment, a subtle hum beneath the surface. With a breath of steely resolve, I unfold the parchment fully, allowing its power to wash over me. A gentle breeze stirs the edges of he fraying paper. I close my eyes and focus, feeling the world narrow around me. The sound of the forest fades, the rustle of leaves and the distant call of the wild falling away until there is only the soft murmur of my own breath. Opening my eyes, I speak the incantation under my breath, feeling the words unfurl like tendrils of light into the world.

Nothing.

Felix steps closer, his presence a steady anchor in the swirling uncertainty. His hand brushes mine, a brief touch, a reminder that I am not alone. Together, we face the unknown, each step a testament to the bond we share.

“Maybe you should say it louder?” Felix says, a look of amusement on his face. I can’t tell if he is poking fun at me, or genuinely urging me to try again.

I clear my throat and look up to the tops of the trees at the edge of the clearing. “Corvi sapientes, umbris surgite, adeste!” I shout to the treetops.

I feel something in the air, like the electric charge that sometimes precedes the strike of lightning, but it fades as quickly as it comes. Then I see something. From darkness of the tree-line, a single crow swoops into the clearing. It lands with a soft flutter, its dark wings cutting through the stillness of the clearing. It perches atop the crystalline protector’s head, its beady eyes gleaming in the sunlight. The moment I meet its gaze, a chill runs down my spine—something about its stare seems unnervingly intelligent. The crystal being does not react at all.

Felix’s voice cuts through the tension. “It’s thought the ritual summoned a flock of helpful crows. This one isn’t helpful at all.” His tone is dry, a mix of weariness and bemusement as he looks around for more crows. He takes a step forward to observe the lone crow more closely. The crow tilts its head, watching Felix approach, but it doesn’t move. Not at first. Then, with a loud, jarring caw, the bird suddenly takes flight, wings flapping violently against the still air. It darts toward the opposite side of the clearing, its dark shape cutting through the sunlight like a shadow, before disappearing into the trees.

I shake my head, still staring at the spot where the crow had been. “You scared it away!” I say, playfully punching at Felix’s shoulder. “Maybe we’re meant to follow it?”