The light split her world apart.
It tore through the last shadow, through the forest's screams, through the suffocating dark that had wrapped itself around her heart. It wasn't fire this time—it was air, wind, motion. A rushing sensation that filled every nerve in her body with both agony and release.
Then came the silence.
A silence so sharp, she thought for a moment that she was gone.
Until she felt it—the soft press of grass beneath her fingers.
Emily gasped. Her lungs burned as if she'd been holding her breath for days. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. Her body ached. Her throat was raw. But she was alive.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the sky—bright and endless blue. Not the twisted canopy of the forest, not the sickly moonlight that had stalked her dreams. Just daylight.
The second thing she saw was the edge.
Behind her, the remnants of the forest shuddered and crumbled like smoke dispersing in the wind. The last of the black roots twisted once, then turned to ash, carried off by the breeze.
Before her stretched a familiar meadow—the real one.
She had made it out.
Her hands trembled as she pushed herself upright. Every muscle screamed in protest. Her vision swam, but she forced herself to her knees.
For the first time, she truly saw the difference between the worlds.
The air here was crisp, real. The ground didn't hum beneath her touch. The sunlight didn't waver like breath on glass. It was steady, clean, warm.
She looked down at her arm. The spiral mark—the one that had branded her since she'd counted that first night—was gone.
Only a faint scar remained, pale as a whisper.
Her voice broke as she laughed. "I did it," she breathed. "I'm out."
But her relief was short-lived.
Because the forest wasn't done yet.
The wind shifted, carrying a sound that made her blood run cold.
Leaves rustling. Branches creaking.
She turned, heart hammering.
The forest's edge shimmered like heat on pavement. Behind it, the shadow of trees wavered—trees that should no longer exist. Their roots clawed at the border between worlds, refusing to fade.
A voice—deep, distorted—rumbled from within.
"You cannot leave what you've become."
Emily stumbled back, clutching the shard of Wren's charm around her neck. Its faint glow flared, responding to the threat.
"I'm not yours," she said, her voice shaking.
The air rippled. The light dimmed.
The forest pushed against the edge of reality, its form twisting and expanding, reaching for her with arms made of shadow and bark.
Branches cracked through the invisible barrier, scattering dirt and light.
The ground trembled under her knees.
It was pulling her back.
"No," she whispered. "No, I'm done. I'm done!"
She tried to run, but her legs gave out. The pull was too strong. It was like gravity—like the earth itself wanted her returned to its roots.
A shadow hand burst from the ground, grasping her ankle. Another followed, cold as death, wrapping around her wrist.
The forest's voice deepened, vibrating through the air.
"You are the last Seeker. The forest breathes through you. Without you, we die."
"Then die," she spat.
The roots constricted, dragging her toward the darkness. Her fingernails tore through the soil as she screamed, clawing for purchase.
"Help me!"
The world answered.
A soft glow flickered in the corner of her vision.
Then another.
And another.
Golden lights—hundreds of them—emerged from the ash at the edge of the forest. They floated like fireflies, surrounding her in a protective circle. Within their light, shapes began to form.
Children.
The lost.
Devon. Wren. Lila.
Even the nameless ones she had never known.
They stood together, radiant and silent, between her and the shadows.
The forest recoiled.
The roots snapped back as if burned.
"They belong to me!" the forest roared.
Devon stepped forward, his voice steady. "Not anymore."
Wren raised her hand, the charm around Emily's neck flaring to life. "You can't have her. You kept us too long."
Lila's voice joined theirs, fierce and clear. "We are not your secrets. We are your ending."
The forest screamed, the sound tearing the sky apart. The border wavered violently, the light and darkness colliding in waves of gold and black.
Emily's hair whipped around her face. She could barely breathe.
"Run!" Devon shouted.
But she couldn't. Her legs were trapped, half buried in shifting soil.
Wren turned, eyes glowing. "Then we'll carry you!"
The spirits surged forward, their forms dissolving into streaks of light that wrapped around Emily like ribbons. The warmth was overwhelming, flooding her senses with their strength, their memories, their hope.
Her body lifted from the ground.
The roots screamed, splintering under the light.
For the first time, Emily felt what freedom truly was—not just the absence of chains, but the presence of others pulling her toward life.
The golden light brightened, forcing the forest back inch by inch. Its edges collapsed in on themselves, the shadows folding, the screams turning into whispers.
"You will come back…" the forest hissed. "One day, one will always come back…"
"Not if I remember," Emily whispered.
The light flared one final time, blindingly bright.
And then—silence.
When her eyes opened again, she was lying on the edge of the field.
The forest was gone.
Completely gone.
Only a faint line of ash marked where it had stood. The air smelled of rain and earth, fresh and clean.
Emily lay still, panting, her body trembling with exhaustion.
The charm around her neck pulsed once—softly, gently—before fading to a dull gold.
Above her, the sky stretched wide and blue.
She rolled onto her side, staring at the horizon. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, "I made it."
The wind brushed through the grass, whispering in response—no words this time, just peace.
She let her eyes close, her fingers still wrapped around the charm.
For the first time, she wasn't afraid to rest.
Hours passed before anyone found her.
A passing hiker saw her collapsed at the field's edge, clothes torn, hair matted with dirt, but alive. He called for help, his voice breaking through the quiet morning.
By the time the paramedics arrived, the ash line was already fading into the soil.
They asked her name.
She whispered it softly, like something sacred. "Emily."
They asked what had happened.
She stared toward the horizon, where the wind bent the grass in soft waves.
"Just a game," she said quietly. "And it's finally over."
That night, from her hospital bed, Emily dreamed of the field.
The golden sapling had grown taller, its leaves glowing faintly in the moonlight. Beneath it, the children stood—watching, smiling, waving.
Devon mouthed a single word.
Free.
Emily smiled in her sleep.
And when she woke, the first rays of dawn painted the sky gold—just like the light that had carried her home.