They walked in silence.

  The forest changed around them — the soft, sloping terrain becoming dense with mist and thorns. Trees bent like they remembered pain. Somewhere ahead was Deepgrove, where the sacred beasts waited. Where judgment would fall.

  Rell carried the egg bundle close, the baby manticore riding on his shoulder, half-snoozing. Thessia trailed behind, watching him — and the strange way nature seemed to part slightly in his presence.

  “You feel it?” she asked, quieter than usual.

  “Forest… watching,” Rell muttered. “Heavy air. Not angry… but waiting.”

  She nodded. Even her breath came shallow here.

  They reached a break in the trees and found a clearing scattered with roots like claws. Umbwe stood at its center, mane lit faintly by the twilight glow. Beside him: Ko Mala, staff spinning idly in his hand. And in the shadows — a coiled serpent in the shape of a man. Siv’Varth. Silent. Watching.

  “You return,” Umbwe said, voice low and thick.

  “Eggs… safe. One hatch,” Rell answered, holding the bundle forward.

  Umbwe stepped forward, his massive paw gentle as he uncovered the cloth. The baby manticore blinked at him.

  “This one,” Umbwe rumbled, “not born of pure line. Curse coiled inside.”

  Thessia tensed.

  “He protect,” Rell said. “Soul-tied. Mine now.”

  The forest stirred at those words. As if listening.

  Ko Mala stepped closer. “We sensed another. A corrupted aura near your trail. Show us.”

  —

  They led them east — to a place where the trail had gone wrong.

  A patch of blood. Scorched bark. And a body: one of the beast-tamers, arms twisted, face glassy.

  Nearby, a broken egg.

  Its shell was blackened with runes. Its contents gone.

  “What happened here…” Thessia whispered.

  “A ritual,” Ko Mala said. “Forced hatching. Cursed forging. Weapon-making.”

  A growl rolled through Umbwe’s chest. “They make relics of the unborn.”

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  Just then, the trees bent back violently — a roar erupted through the canopy.

  From the treeline burst a creature. It should’ve been a cub — a simple hatchling. Instead, it was a warped, slavering beast stitched from unnatural muscle and dark magic.

  Thessia reached for her weapon — Rell stepped forward instead.

  “No!” she shouted. “You’ll—”

  “Quiet,” he said. “Mine to end.”

  He walked calmly into the clearing, eyes low.

  The beast charged.

  Rell didn’t flinch.

  His hand lit with copied magic. Not pure. Not blessed. His own blend — pain-mixed, learned through failure.

  He sidestepped the lunge, slammed his palm to the beast’s neck. Magic and force collided. The creature shrieked. It staggered — swiped — he ducked, countered, and spun behind it.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink.

  His movements were fluid — instinctual.

  When the beast struck again, he brought both hands to its skull and forced it downward. Into the ground.

  It wailed. He screamed. One final burst — then silence.

  Rell stood, body shaking.

  He didn’t want to kill it. But he did.

  The baby manticore let out a low whine behind him.

  He turned. His eyes were glassy.

  “Had to. It… was already gone.”

  Umbwe stepped forward and laid a paw on his shoulder. “Mercy… not weakness. You see that now.”

  Ko Mala raised his staff and a circle of runes lit the area.

  Siv’Varth whispered something only the trees heard.

  The air settled.

  The cursed had been laid to rest.

  Rell walked back to Thessia.

  “Still… more like this. Somewhere.”

  She nodded. “Then we don’t stop here.”

  From the woods, more beasts emerged — silent guardians of Deepgrove. Some bowed. Others merely watched.

  The manticore cub hopped down and sat between Rell’s feet.

  Home — for now — had accepted them.

  —

  END CHAPTER 3