The moment the stone doors groaned shut behind them, the light dimmed as though swallowed by the air itself. No wind. No echo. Just thick, stifling silence.
Kodi held the torch higher, its flame jittering as if nervous. The narrow corridor stretched forward, carved from the same ancient obsidian stone as the chamber they'd left, but colder now—almost moist to the touch. Each step was muffled by dust, like they were walking across the ash of the dead.
"This place is… different," Kodi muttered.
Aaliyah didn't answer. Her eyes were locked ahead, tracking something invisible. She hadn't drawn her blade, but her hand hadn't strayed far from it either.
The walls began to shift. Not physically—but subtly, psychologically. Patterns in the carvings twisted, reforming when glanced at from different angles. Kodi saw symbols that reminded him of constellations his father used to chart. Aaliyah saw battlefield maps. And sometimes, they both saw things that weren't supposed to be there at all.
Like faces.
Stretched, hollow-mouthed, and silent—screaming faces pressed into the stone as if trying to escape. The torchlight seemed to make them twitch.
"I hate this," Aaliyah muttered under her breath, breaking the silence.
After the first hour, the labyrinth began to turn on them.
Corridors looped endlessly, feeding them back into chambers they were sure they'd already left. Kodi marked a wall with charcoal; it vanished the next time they passed. At one point, a passage ahead appeared straight, only for Kodi to step forward and immediately slam into an invisible wall. The torch slipped from his hand and sputtered as it rolled across the stone.
"Great," he muttered, picking it up, fingers slick with cold sweat.
And then came the voices.
They started as whispers—barely audible above the sound of their footsteps. But soon, the voices spoke in full sentences. Some sounded like strangers, others disturbingly familiar.
"Kodi, wait up."
"I warned you."
"Turn around."
"You're not ready."
Kodi clenched his jaw and kept walking. Aaliyah didn't mention what she heard, but her eyes were darker, more distant.
Then came the mirror chamber.
They stepped into a circular room—smooth walls, smooth floor, every inch polished like glass. Their reflections warped as they moved—elongated, twisted, fractured. Kodi approached one mirrored panel and froze.
The reflection was him—but older. His eyes were pale. Empty. His mouth moved, but no sound came.
Behind him in the reflection: Aaliyah, bleeding, a hand pressed to her chest. She mouthed something too.
Kodi turned sharply—she was fine. Beside him. Breathing.
"A trap," Aaliyah whispered. "Don't look too long."
They pushed forward.
The deeper they went, the colder it became. The air took on a coppery tang, like dried blood. Kodi's fingers numbed around the torch, and Aaliyah began to tremble, not from fear, but from sheer exhaustion.
Then came the bloodfall.
A narrow passage opened into a chamber where crimson liquid trickled down the walls like rain. It wasn't water. Too thick. It smelled metallic and old. Kodi tested a drop between his fingers.
"Not real blood," he said, trying to convince himself.
But as they moved through, the walls wept harder, rivulets turning into streams, dripping into a shallow pool in the center of the room. Reflections danced across its surface—some accurate, others nightmarish. In one, Kodi saw himself holding the skull, laughing, his skin flayed back from his jaw.
"I think this place is showing us what we could become," Aaliyah said quietly. "If we're not careful."
They left quickly, the echoes of their steps drowned in the dripping.
Eventually, the labyrinth began to shift again. The ceiling lifted. Tree roots broke through the stone above like veins, reaching for the light. The carvings grew sparser, replaced by moss and fungal blooms that pulsed faintly.
And then: a breeze. Real, cool, earthy.
They followed it, quickening their pace, until the passage opened into a vast archway of black stone. On the other side: a dense forest wrapped in mist.
The transition was jarring—one moment surrounded by dead stone, the next facing living, breathing earth.
The forest was like no place they'd ever seen. Trees stretched toward the clouds, bark warped and blackened as though burned centuries ago. Branches twisted into unnatural shapes. The undergrowth glowed faintly—violets, greens, sickly blues. The air was thick with fog and buzzing with insects that chirped in arrhythmic patterns.
A stone marker stood at the edge of the labyrinth, half-cracked and nearly overtaken by vines. Kodi cleared the moss.
"TO STEP FORWARD IS TO BE JUDGED.
TO RETREAT IS TO BE FORGOTTEN."
They exchanged a glance.
"No going back," Kodi said.
The stone behind them shuddered—then crumbled silently into dust. The labyrinth sealed itself off, as if it had never existed.
The trees stirred. The forest watched.
Their next trial hadn't started yet.
But the forest had already begun its test.
The forest swallowed him whole.
Kodi spun in place, fog twisting around his limbs like shackles. The branches above clawed at the dim sky, letting through no sunlight. Trees, once trees, were now jagged silhouettes with bark like old bone. He couldn't hear his own breath. Couldn't hear Aaliyah.
"Aaliyah?" he called out again, louder this time. "Where are you?"
No answer. Just silence, and then—
"You always call for her."
The voice was behind him. Sharp, feminine, venom-laced. He turned, but no one was there.
Then another voice, deeper, mocking:
"Like she'll come back."
A whisper licked his ear from the fog:
"She's already gone. Just like before."
Kodi's jaw tightened. He kept walking, shoving through a wall of low branches that clawed at his jacket like greedy fingers. He was breathing too fast. Every step felt wrong. The ground pulsed beneath his boots like it hated him.
The fog parted ahead.
There stood a clearing. Wrong in shape, jagged at the edges like someone had carved it out with shaking hands. In the center was a crumbling mirror mounted to a tree. Kodi approached it without meaning to.
In the reflection, he was a boy again—ten years old, eyes wide with fear.
Behind the boy stood his father, tall and stern, his expression colder than Kodi remembered.
"I did everything you asked," the boy whispered. "I read the texts. I memorized the runes. I watched the rituals—"
His father's voice was low, final:
"And still you were not enough."
The mirror cracked. A second reflection bled through—a younger Aaliyah, her face hard, disgust curling her lip.
"You don't get to act like you cared," she spat.
"You wanted the skull more than you ever wanted me."
"No," Kodi said aloud. "That's not true—"
"You always choose obsession," she hissed. "You're just like your father."
Crack. Another fracture. Now his reflection smiled back at him. But it wasn't right—the eyes were hollow, black. The smile too wide, too sharp.
"You think this is about fate?" his reflection whispered. "It's about rot. You let it in. You wanted it."
The ground beneath him trembled. Roots burst from the earth, writhing. Shapes formed in the fog—dozens of them. Each one wore a familiar face.
His mother, her throat bruised, her eyes glassy.
An older version of Kodi, scarred and mad, muttering to himself in circles.
Aaliyah again, impaled, her face turned toward him in silent blame.
And the child—again the child—Kodi at five, holding a shattered compass, blood on his hands.
They began to speak at once. A wall of voices.
"You left us."
"You killed him."
"You dragged her into this."
"You're the reason she'll die."
"The skull won't save you."
"The skull sees you."
"The skull wants you."
"You're hollow."
"You're nothing without this quest."
"You're nothing, Kodi."
"You're nothing."
Kodi dropped to his knees. His ears rang. His hands shook as he clamped them over his head.
"No," he whispered, "No, I didn't mean for any of this—"
One of the phantoms stepped closer. The reflection of himself, distorted and cruel. It crouched beside him, eyes black pits.
"You'll die in this forest," it whispered.
"And the world won't even notice."
The fog surged forward, swallowing Kodi in full. The cold pierced deeper than skin—it reached his mind, his core. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Only the voices, tearing at his identity.
Then—
A single, soft note. A chime.
Bright and pure.
The fog twitched. The forest flinched. The phantoms shrieked and dissolved like ash in wind.
Kodi fell forward, gasping.
The trees stood still again. The fog pulled back. And ahead, he saw the faintest break in the canopy—light, golden and weak, seeping through.
He staggered toward it.
But even as the forest let him go, he heard them—quiet now, whispering from the roots, the bark, the very soil.
"She'll see who you are, Kodi."
"And she'll leave you anyway."
The forest closed in like a fist.
Aaliyah's every breath hung in the cold air, shallow and sharp. She turned in a slow circle, scanning the shadows. Kodi was gone. The trail had vanished, swallowed up by twisting roots and fog that clung to her like oil.
"Kodi?" she called.
The forest suddenly became deathly quiet.
No birds. No wind. Just the rhythmic crunch of Aaliyah's boots over brittle leaves. Kodi was gone — somewhere behind her or ahead of her, the woods had swallowed him without a sound.
She didn't panic, not yet. This forest wanted her to panic. It waited for the crack in her armor.
Still, her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade. Her heartbeat was louder than her footsteps. Each tree looked the same — tall, ancient things, their bark veined like dying skin.
And then she saw it: a door.
It stood in the middle of a clearing, rooted into nothing. Half-rotted, iron-bound, just wide enough to step through. It shouldn't have been there.
But it was.
Her hand moved toward the handle before she could stop it. Her gut screamed, but something deeper — curiosity, or guilt — screamed louder.
The door opened on its own.
She knew this room.
The second she stepped through, she felt the air change — thinner, colder, suffocating. Pale blue light leaked down the stone walls, just like it had that night. The floor was uneven, still scarred from the cave-in. There was a smear of dried blood on the wall to her left — she remembered dragging Rashad that way, trying to pull him out before the ceiling came down.
Only now… there was no blood.
There was no ruin.
There was just him.
Rashad.
He stood across the chamber, his dark curls wild, his face lit with a boyish grin — the one he always wore when he thought she was being dramatic.
"Aaliyah," he said.
Her chest tightened like a vice. Her knees almost buckled.
She whispered his name. It barely came out.
"Is it over?" he asked, eyes full of hope. "Did it work?"
The words stabbed her like knives. She remembered that moment so clearly — the days after the collapse, the hopeless scramble for the artifact, the desperate prayers. The sting of ash in her nose when she placed it in his hands. And nothing happened.
"It didn't work," she choked out. "I—I tried, Rashad, I tried everything."
He took a step closer. "But you promised. You said it would bring me back."
Her voice cracked. "They lied to us. The artifact was fake. It was just a story."
Rashad's smile slipped. "Then I died for nothing."
She shook her head, panic rising. "No, no, I didn't know, I thought—"
"You dragged me through hell for that thing. You said it was the only way. And now you're chasing another one, aren't you?"
She took a shaky step back. "This is different."
"Is it?" he whispered.
The blue light shifted. Behind Rashad, shadows began to move — slow and steady. Faces began to form in the dark, pale and silent. Familiar.
Dead.
Aaliyah staggered as she recognized them. Her old crewmates. Friends she'd left behind. A girl named Tenya with glassy eyes. Malik, whose screams haunted her dreams. Their skin sagged like wax. Eyes black. Silent.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
"You told me I mattered more than the mission," Rashad said. "But I remember you saying 'Just one more step.' 'Just one more clue.' I remember begging to go home. I remember dying alone."
His voice never rose. It stayed calm. That's what made it worse.
"I thought I could fix it," she said. "I thought if I could just bring you back—"
He tilted his head. "And if the skull doesn't work either? What will you burn next? Who will you bury?"
The phantoms moved closer.
Tenya reached out with a blistered hand. Malik smiled with teeth cracked down the middle. A dozen others stared from the edges of the room. Silent. Judging.
"You chase salvation like a child chases lightning," Rashad said, stepping forward. "And you drag everyone else into the storm."
Aaliyah sobbed — not from fear, but from the truth of it.
She had dragged him along. She had chosen the chase over his fear. And when the rocks caved in, when his screams were lost in the dark, she was already halfway to the next clue.
She had never forgiven herself. But the forest had.
It wanted her to relive it.
"You're not here," she whispered. "You're gone."
"I am," Rashad said, touching her cheek. His fingers were ice. "But your guilt isn't."
And then the floor opened beneath her.
She fell, clawing at roots, stone, anything — but there was nothing to hold onto. Just cold wind, flashing memories, screams behind her, and the weight of every broken promise dragging her down.
And then — she landed.
Flat on her back in the forest.
Gasping. Choking.
Alone.
The trees above loomed like watchers. No door. No chamber. No Rashad.
But she could still hear his voice.
"You'll lose him, too."
She sat up, shaking, her body numb, throat raw.
She couldn't tell if the tears on her face were from fear or grief anymore. Maybe both.
She got to her feet.
And started walking.
Because somewhere out there, Kodi was fighting his own ghosts. And she couldn't lose anyone else — not again.
The forest finally let go of its grip on Kodi.
One step forward, then another — roots clawing at his boots, leaves whispering at his back — until the trees thinned and the haze began to lift. The cold that had gnawed at his bones started to fade, but it left something else behind. Guilt. Raw and dragging.
Then he saw her.
Aaliyah stood at the edge of the clearing, the moonlight catching in her hair like silver thread. Her shoulders were stiff, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face set in that unreadable way she had when she was trying not to feel too much.
He stopped.
She looked up, and her eyes met his.
Neither spoke.
Not right away.
And then, all at once, the air between them collapsed.
Aaliyah crossed the distance in seconds, and Kodi barely had time to brace before she slammed into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He caught her and held her tight, forehead pressing into hers, eyes squeezed shut.
"I thought…" she started, but her voice cracked.
"I know," he whispered.
Her breath trembled against his neck. "I didn't think it was real. What I saw. What I heard. Rashad—he was standing right in front of me. Blaming me. Telling me I wasn't enough."
"I saw my father," Kodi said, voice low. "Telling me I'd fail. That I'd turn out just like him."
She pulled back slightly to look at him, her hand resting against his chest. "You're not him, Kodi."
"And you didn't fail Rashad."
Her eyes welled. He knew she hated crying, hated looking vulnerable. She didn't pull away, though.
"I chased a lie," she said, her voice breaking. "A stupid, desperate lie. And I dragged him into it."
A brief, still moment.
Her skin was warm. His breath ghosted against her cheek.
Too close.
Aaliyah froze first. Just a flicker of hesitation in her shoulders, her arms loosening. Kodi noticed it at the same time he realized how his heartbeat had started thudding harder in his ears.
They both pulled back — not all the way, just enough that their eyes met, a little too aware.
Aaliyah cleared her throat and stepped back a half pace, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Right. You're—okay. That's… good."
"Yeah," Kodi said quickly. "You too. I mean—not you too as in you're me, I mean—"
She smirked, just a little. "You still talk like you're being hunted by words."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. Lot going on in my head."
"Yeah. Same."
They stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds, the emotional weight of what they'd just been through still lingering, but neither of them quite ready to dive into it again.
Kodi shifted his pack higher on his shoulder. "So. Should we… find somewhere to camp before this place throws more ghosts at us?"
"Yeah," Aaliyah said, glancing around. "Somewhere with fewer haunted trees would be ideal."
As they started walking, they kept close — closer than before. But their hands didn't quite touch. Their shoulders brushed once or twice, neither of them pulling away.
Something had changed. Neither of them said it. But it was there.
And in the quiet that followed, neither of them dared break it just yet.
The forest felt wrong again.
It wasn't just the cold, or the way the mist clung heavier now. It was the silence. The kind of silence that warned of something circling, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Kodi gripped his blade tighter. "Something's coming."
"I know," Aaliyah said, her voice low, her gaze darting between the trees.
Then it spoke.
"It's already here."
The voice came from everywhere — smooth, mocking, and too close. The shadows between the trees thickened, pooling together, forming the shape of the figure they'd seen before. This time, it didn't just watch. It stepped toward them, and the air grew colder with every step.
"Stay back," Aaliyah warned, her blade raised.
The figure chuckled. "Oh, Aaliyah. Still pretending you have control. Still carrying that blade like it means something. But we both know the truth — you're not trying to fight. You're trying to survive. Just like last time."
Aaliyah froze.
The figure's voice softened, cutting like a whisper in her ear. "Tell me, does Rashad haunt you? Or just the silence he left behind?"
Her grip faltered, the blade lowering slightly. "You don't know me."
"Don't I?"
The shadows surged, and suddenly the figure was beside her, too fast to follow. Its gloved hand brushed her cheek — not with force, but something worse. Familiarity.
"You carried him to his grave. You told yourself it was for him, but it wasn't, was it? It was always for you. The Skull won't fix that. Nothing will."
"Stop," she hissed, her voice trembling.
The figure leaned closer, its breath cold against her ear. "You'll let him down too. Just like you did your brother."
Kodi lunged. His blade swung clean through the figure — but it hit nothing, just air and shadow.
The figure turned to him, its voice shifting, hardening. "Ah, Kodi Prime. Always so quick to fight. So quick to prove you're not like him. But we both know…"
The shadows rippled, warping the space around them. For a moment, the forest disappeared, and Kodi stood in his father's study. The firelight flickered. The scent of ink and parchment filled the air.
And there he was.
His father. Sitting in the chair by the hearth, his back turned.
Kodi's chest tightened. He stepped forward, almost forgetting the shadow entirely.
"Dad?"
The figure chuckled. "You see? Always running back to him. Always chasing approval from a ghost who never gave it in life. Do you think he'd be proud of you now? Or would he see you for what you really are?"
Kodi clenched his jaw. "I'm nothing like him."
The shadow surged, its form shifting until it wore his father's face, distorted and cruel. "You're exactly like me."
"Shut up!" Kodi shouted, swinging his blade again, but the figure was gone before he could connect.
It reappeared behind him, its voice colder now. "You drag her along like an anchor, but she's the one who'll sink you. She'll run. They always run. And you'll die alone. Just like your father did."
"Enough!" Aaliyah roared.
The figure turned, its face unreadable beneath the hood. "You're fragile things. Running from ghosts. Pretending you're strong." Its voice sharpened, turning cruel. "The Skull will break you. But don't worry — I'll enjoy watching."
Then the shadows surged.
They struck at once, a swirling storm of cold and claws, forcing Kodi and Aaliyah apart. Kodi stumbled, his blade slipping from his hand as something wrapped around his legs, pulling him to the ground. Aaliyah slashed at the tendrils clawing toward her, but the shadow wasn't fighting to kill. It was fighting to unmake.
"Do you see?" the figure's voice boomed, echoing through the storm. "You can't even stand together. You're already broken."
Kodi gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his knees. "You're wrong."
Aaliyah's blade cut through another tendril. "We're still here."
The figure paused, its form flickering like a flame about to go out.
And then it laughed.
Soft at first, then louder, sharper, echoing through the trees like shattering glass.
"For now."
The shadows recoiled, ripping themselves free from the forest floor and retreating into the figure. It stepped back, its glowing eyes narrowing.
"You'll wish you had listened to me."
The figure disappeared, swallowed by the dark.
The forest fell silent.
Kodi and Aaliyah stood still, their breathing ragged, the cold of the shadow lingering on their skin.
Kodi retrieved his blade, wiping dirt from his face. "What the hell was that?"
Aaliyah didn't answer right away. She was staring at the ground, her fingers flexing around her weapon. When she looked at him, her eyes were clear but darker than before.
"It was right about one thing," she said quietly. "The Skull will break us. If we let it."
Kodi stepped closer, his voice steady. "We won't."
She didn't argue. But she didn't look entirely convinced either.
The forest didn't press so hard now.
The shadows were still there, watching from the edges, but the suffocating weight was gone. The air was thin, cold, but it didn't cling like before. A fragile sort of peace had settled — not real, not safe, but enough for them to catch their breath.
Kodi sat with his back against a tree, blade resting across his knees. His shoulders were slumped, his head low, hair damp with sweat. Every inch of him felt heavy, like the shadow's words had crawled beneath his skin and stayed there.
Aaliyah paced a few feet away, her movements stiff and tense. Her blade was still in her hand, knuckles pale from the grip.
"We let it get to us," she said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Kodi looked up. "How could it not?"
"That's not the point," she snapped, stopping mid-stride. "It knew us, Kodi. Not just who we are — it knew everything. Rashad. Your father. It knew exactly where to hit."
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away sharply, pressing a hand to her face.
Kodi watched her for a moment before standing. His legs felt unsteady, but he crossed the space between them and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.
"Aaliyah."
She didn't pull away, but she didn't turn either. Her voice was muffled. "It said I'd let you down."
Kodi hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly. "It told me the same thing about you."
She huffed a bitter laugh, lowering her hand. "Guess we're both doomed, then."
He stepped around to face her. "No, we're not."
Her eyes met his, and he saw it — the guilt, the exhaustion, the doubt. The cracks she tried so hard to keep hidden.
"Rashad wasn't your fault," he said softly.
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't argue.
"And you're not going to lose me," he continued. "Not to this place. Not to the Skull. Not to anything."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, looking away. "I don't know how to stop running, Kodi."
His hand moved to her arm, grounding her. "Then we figure it out. Together."
For a moment, she let herself lean into the touch, her shoulders dropping slightly. But only for a moment. Then she straightened, stepping back just enough to put space between them.
"You should hate me," she said quietly.
"I don't," Kodi replied immediately.
"You should," she insisted, her voice rising. "You've heard the stories. You know how many people I've left behind. You know what happened to my brother—"
"And I know why you're still here," Kodi interrupted. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through hers. "You could've run already. You didn't. You stayed."
Aaliyah didn't answer. She crossed her arms tightly, her fingers digging into her sides.
Kodi lowered his hand, letting the silence stretch before speaking again. "What the shadow said — it wasn't real. Not all of it. It twisted things to make us doubt each other. To make us doubt ourselves."
"It worked," she muttered.
"For now," he admitted. "But it doesn't get to win."
She glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching upward, faint but real. "You've got a way of making everything sound like a challenge."
"It is," he said, his tone lightening slightly. "You're just scared I'll win."
Her smirk widened, but only for a second before fading again. She exhaled slowly, tension melting just a little from her frame. "You're annoyingly good at that."
"At what?"
"Making me not hate myself," she said, and this time, her voice was softer.
Kodi didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached down and picked up a loose branch, tossing it into the nearby fire pit he'd hastily built. The flames flared brighter, casting long shadows across the trees.
"Rest," he said. "We'll need it."
She nodded, finally sitting down on the other side of the fire. They didn't talk much after that, just let the silence settle between them — quieter now, not as sharp. The forest was still out there, waiting, but for now, they had this.
And for the first time in a long while, it felt like it was enough.
The fire crackled softly, throwing faint shadows across the forest floor. Aaliyah sat with her back against a tree, legs stretched out in front of her, arms resting loosely over her knees. Her blade lay within easy reach, but her focus wasn't on the forest anymore.
It was on Kodi.
He was across from her, poking absently at the fire with a stick. His shoulders were slumped, his face caught in the orange glow. He looked tired, but not in the same way she felt. His exhaustion was raw, immediate. Hers ran deeper — the kind that felt like it had been there for years, dug into her chest like roots.
He looked older, she realized. Or maybe that was just her guilt talking. The weight of the forest had pressed on them both, but it had a way of revealing things she didn't want to see. Things she'd been trying to bury.
She turned her gaze back to the fire, refusing to let her thoughts linger too long on his face.
"You should sleep," Kodi said without looking up. His voice was steady, even, like he already knew her answer.
"I'm fine," she replied.
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "You always are."
Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged, tossing the stick into the fire. "It means you say you're fine when you're bleeding. You say you're fine when you're breaking. You could probably say it while dying and make it sound believable."
She wanted to snap back, but the words stuck in her throat. He wasn't wrong. That was the worst part.
She exhaled through her nose, fingers tightening around her knees. "I have to be fine, Kodi. If I'm not, what's the point?"
His gaze lifted to hers, softer now. "The point is, you don't have to be fine all the time."
The air between them felt heavier suddenly. The fire seemed too bright, casting shadows that moved like they had a will of their own.
She shook her head. "You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me."
Her stomach twisted. She hated when he did this — pushed her just enough to make her think about things she didn't want to. Things she couldn't afford to dwell on.
"Why are you still here?" she asked suddenly, the words sharper than she meant them to be.
Kodi frowned. "What?"
"You don't have to follow me," she said, quieter now. "You don't owe me anything. You've got your reasons for chasing the Skull. You don't need me to do it."
He leaned back against his tree, studying her like he was trying to piece something together. "I'm here because I want to be."
"That's not a reason."
"It is to me."
Her chest tightened. "You'll get hurt. People around me always do."
Kodi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think I don't know that? I've seen what you've been through. I've seen what the forest dragged up. But I'm still here, Aaliyah. And I'm not going anywhere."
Her throat felt tight, and her gaze dropped to the fire. She wanted to argue. She wanted to push him away, to make him stop looking at her like she was worth something. But the words wouldn't come.
"You should hate me," she said instead.
"I don't," Kodi replied immediately.
"You should," she insisted, her voice rising. "You've heard the stories. You know how many people I've left behind. You know what happened to my brother—"
"And I know why you're still here," Kodi interrupted, his voice calm but steady. "You could've run already. You didn't. You stayed."
She stared at him, her fingers curling against the ground. The firelight reflected in his eyes, softening the hard lines of his face. For a second, just a second, she let herself think about what it had been like before — when things between them were easier. When she hadn't been so afraid of letting him see her.
"I shouldn't have stayed," she murmured, but the conviction was gone from her voice.
He tilted his head. "Why?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Because she didn't have an answer. Because some part of her didn't want to leave. Some part of her still remembered the way things used to feel, before the guilt and the grief buried everything else.
Instead of answering, she let the silence stretch, her gaze flicking back to the fire. "You should sleep."
"So should you," Kodi replied.
She didn't. Neither did he.
They sat in the firelight, shadows flickering around them, each of them caught in thoughts they weren't ready to share. And as Aaliyah leaned her head back against the tree, she felt it again — that faint, unwelcome warmth in her chest that always seemed to linger when Kodi was close.
She hated it.
But she wasn't sure she if she would ever want to let it go.
The forest hadn't let up.
The shadows still hung heavy, and the trees whispered threats Kodi couldn't quite make out. The damp chill crept into his bones, and the weight of everything — the visions, the figure's words, the unrelenting spiral of doubt — pressed down on him like a stone.
But something was different now.
It was faint at first. Barely there. A glimmer in the distance, flickering through the fog like a distant star.
Aaliyah was asleep, her head resting awkwardly against the tree where she sat. He hadn't told her to rest — she'd just stopped talking, her breathing evening out as exhaustion won. Kodi couldn't blame her. They were both running on fumes.
But the glimmer pulled him.
Careful not to disturb her, he stood and moved toward it, blade in hand. The forest didn't react this time. No branches reached for him. No whispers hissed from the roots. It was quiet, almost still, as if it was holding its breath.
The light grew brighter as he stepped closer.
It wasn't fire. It wasn't harsh or blinding. It was soft, warm, golden, like sunlight catching in water. It hovered low to the ground, dancing over a patch of moss. A spark. A flicker. A reminder of something he couldn't name.
Kodi knelt, his blade forgotten at his side. The light didn't shy away from him. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
He didn't touch it. He didn't dare. But he let himself look at it — really look at it — for the first time since entering this cursed forest.
It reminded him of home.
Not his father's study. Not the empty house that came after. But something simpler. Warmer. It reminded him of the times when his father was just a man, not a shadow to outrun. The nights when the world felt bigger and brighter, and Kodi believed he could take on anything.
He hadn't felt that in a long time.
The spark pulsed again, stronger this time, and Kodi swore he heard a faint sound. A laugh. A familiar laugh — Aaliyah's.
He turned sharply, but she was still slumped against the tree behind him, motionless. He looked back at the spark, his chest tightening.
This was a test. It had to be.
But instead of fear, something else stirred in him. Something stronger.
Hope.
Not hope for the Skull. Not hope for power or redemption or legacy. Just hope that this journey wasn't futile. That he and Aaliyah could get through this without losing themselves. Without losing each other.
The spark flared, then rose slowly, hovering higher. It drifted back toward the trees, deeper into the mist, leaving a faint trail of light behind it.
He followed.
Not far. Just enough to see where it led.
The trees thinned, revealing a clearing he hadn't noticed before. In the center stood a stone pillar, weathered and cracked, covered in faint carvings. A single rune glowed faintly on its surface — the same golden hue as the spark.
Kodi approached cautiously, running his fingers over the rune. The stone was warm beneath his touch, and the glow brightened as his skin met the surface.
It wasn't just a symbol. It was a map.
Or a direction, at least.
A path out of this forest.
For the first time in hours, he smiled. It was small, barely there, but it felt real.
"Hope is a stubborn thing," he murmured to himself.
The spark circled him once before fading into the night, leaving the rune glowing faintly behind.
Kodi turned back toward the camp. Aaliyah was still there, just as he'd left her, the firelight casting soft shadows across her face.
He sat beside her, staring at the flames, his heart lighter than it had been since the forest began its games.
They still had a long way to go. But for the first time, he believed they'd make it.