The road clawed forward like a scab that wouldn't heal right—raw and stretched thin, always one bad breath from tearing open again. It didn't welcome them. It didn't care they'd survived the Flats. That place was nothing but a bruised smear now on the edge of the horizon, some filthy memory pressed flat against the sky. The Flats hadn't let them go so much as spit them out. Like gristle too tough to chew.
Ahead, green crept back in. Shrubs first. Then tufts of grass with color pretending to be real. It looked like the world was trying to fix itself, but the new green felt fake, like stage paint slapped over rot. Pretty enough to fool a tired man, maybe. But under the surface, it was all wrong.
Verek stayed at the front. He didn't say much. Hadn't, really, since they walked out with the ninth shard. Caylen had carried that one. The green one. The silence that came after had sunk in deep. Verek's boots chewed up the dirt with a purpose that didn't need words. He carved the path like if he kept moving fast enough, maybe the world behind him wouldn't catch up.
Ezreal lagged behind him a few paces, shoulders tilted back as if the weight of the pack had grown bones. Nine shards clattered inside it. They bumped together like old teeth in a jar. Fire, lightning, silver, black, bronze, green... he couldn't keep track anymore. Sometimes one of them throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Sometimes two. Always slightly off. Like they were trying to figure out how to beat for him instead of with him. He hated that. Didn't say it out loud. He wasn't even sure the others noticed.
They hadn't spoken in hours.
Caylen stuck to the center, walking like a soldier in a parade no one asked him to join. His eyes scanned every twitch of leaf and shadow, like he was begging something to jump out just so he could feel his sword in his hand again. He kept brushing the hilt with his fingers, not drawing, just... remembering how it felt.
Dax brought up the rear, big as a barn and twice as grim. He didn't march. He dragged his boots like he wanted the road to remember his weight. His mouth stayed hard, locked shut like he was holding back something bitter. Every time a bird called the wrong note or the breeze moved sideways, his fingers twitched toward his blade.
Even their steps sounded tired now. The forest chewed up sound. Spat it out behind them.
It wasn't empty, the silence. It was a threat held just shy of snapping. Like someone had cocked the hammer and forgotten which direction the barrel was pointing.
They passed into a grove that didn't feel finished. The trees were too close together, twisted wrong like they'd tried to grow away from something but got stuck halfway. Light bled through the canopy above in gray streaks, pale and nervous, like it didn't want to be seen touching this place. The shadows here shifted on their own. The roots were coiled too tight. The air stank faintly of rot and syrup and something sharp underneath—like old copper, or hunger with teeth.
Verek stopped first.
He raised his hand and didn't speak. He didn't have to. One twitch of his fingers and everyone froze. That was enough now. They didn't need commands.
Then came the laugh.
It was quiet, coiled low and dragging like nails across stone. No joy in it. Just someone liking the sound of your skin crawling.
Two figures stepped out from the trees like the bark had peeled itself off to let them through.
One was a man, the other a woman. Both dressed like they'd been sewn together from shadow and moss. Leathers in shades of dirt and decay. Hoods that never quite let the light in. Their eyes gleamed, but not from reflection—there was something knowing behind them. Like they'd read the pages of this trail a dozen times already and were bored of the ending.
Their smiles were clean, too clean, like they'd been carved in wax. Nothing lived behind them.
"You carry too much," the woman said. Her voice was soft, like a lullaby that had been passed around too many dying mouths. "Burdens you chose to wear. Chains you wrapped around your own wrists."
The man tilted his head and grinned wider. "And now the links dig deep. Here, maybe you learn what that costs. Or maybe you see what you're really worth."
Ezreal opened his mouth, but Verek stepped forward before a single word could get out. His voice came low, steady, dry as worn leather. "Speak plain or don't speak at all. We're done bleeding for riddles."
The woman smiled wider, her eyes tightening.
In her hand bloomed a black rose.
It didn't shimmer. It dripped. Not red. Not anything that had a name. The petals bled oily and dark, like ink on water, like grief trying to be pretty.
"We're what you made," she whispered. "Doubt. Regret. Temptation. Pick your favorite."
The man moved too, slow steps brushing the grass. "Mirrors. If you've got the guts to look."
Caylen stepped beside Verek, hand closed tight on his sword's grip now. His voice hit hard, cracked raw. "We don't have time for whatever game this is. Get out of our way."
The man let out a short bark of a laugh. "Then you're already lost, boy. This forest doesn't play games. You brought the question with you."
Overhead, the branches creaked. The trees leaned just slightly inward, groaning like old bones finally moving after a long wait.
Dax didn't shift his weight. Didn't blink. His voice came blunt and solid. "What do you want?"
The woman's smile vanished. Her eyes turned sharp, like broken glass looking for a soft place to land.
"We want to listen," she said. "To hear the things you choke down. To see how far you'll bend before you snap."
Ezreal felt it then. Deep in his chest. Like a rope pulled tight around his lungs. The ache that lived beneath everything. The shards in his pack thumped once. Then again. Slow, out of sync, like waking heartbeats trying to find rhythm.
Verek didn't move. "If you know us," he said, "then you know we don't break the way you're hoping for."
The man cocked his head again. His grin had too many teeth now. "No. But we know where your cracks live."
The woman stepped forward, black rose in her outstretched hand. "Take it," she said. "Let's see what your chains are really worth."
Verek reached out.
The world split. Not loud. Not bright.
It shattered like memory.
Ezreal was alone in a maze of mirrors, each one spiderwebbed with cracks that twisted his reflection. One showed him walking away as a village burned. Another, standing over a body—his father maybe, or someone close—no emotion in his face. A third showed him gripping a shard, smiling, while the world crumbled behind him.
"You run," said one of the reflections. Its mouth moved with his, but the voice was wrong. "You always run."
He clenched his jaw. Said nothing.
Caylen stood in a silver field too clean to be real. His younger brother laughed and ran ahead of him.
Then the earth split. Sudden. Violent.
The boy fell.
Caylen reached.
He missed.
The laughter echoed, then turned into something else. A whisper that came from inside his own chest. "You failed."
The voice wasn't cruel. It didn't need to be.
Dax knelt beside a fire that didn't burn right. The flames curled backward, sucking in instead of reaching out. Around him stood his old squad. Faces half-recognized. Burned. Broken. Staring.
"You chose," the fire whispered. "You pointed the way."
He didn't flinch. He just shut his eyes.
And Verek—
He stood in a place with no sky, no floor. Only a void full of faces. All the ones he'd failed. Men. Women. Children. Eyes full of questions that never got answered.
He didn't run.
He met them.
One breath. Then another.
"I remember you," he said. His voice broke once, then held. "All of you. And I still walk. Because I have to. Because I won't do it wrong again."
The void trembled.
The air twisted.
Something rose from the dirt. A shape made of shadow and screams, too many limbs, too many mouths. A thing born of all the things they wouldn't say aloud. Its voice came in layers. All of theirs, twisted together.
It attacked.
They didn't run.
Ezreal's hands sparked hot. No flair. No flourish. Just fire meant to hurt.
Dax moved like he'd been waiting. His blade hit hard, carving space through the creature with each swing.
Caylen brought light. Weak, but steady. A thin beam drawn like a line in the dark.
And Verek stepped into the center.
No blade. No magic.
Just his voice.
"I know what I've done," he said. "But you don't get to use it. Not anymore."
The creature screamed with their voices.
Then it split apart like old bark soaked through.
Ash fell.
The black rose hit the ground and melted.
Where the woman had stood, the roots pulsed once.
A shard. Pale gold veined with green. Soft light. No warmth.
Ezreal picked it up. His hands trembled like it was something alive.
Caylen came up beside him. Dax stood behind, breathing hard.
Verek nodded once.
No one spoke.
They didn't need to, the forest eased.
No more riddles, no more mirrors, no more watchers.
Just trees.
Just breath.