The forest hadn't stopped whispering since she agreed to follow us.
Every time the wind moved through the trees, it carried her name in pieces.
Seraphine. Seraphine. Seraphine.
She walked ahead now, her crimson cloak brushing the gray moss that had once been green. The hem smoked where it touched the ground. Even her steps seemed angry.
I watched her from behind, Eclipsera balanced across my shoulders, the black-orange miasma drifting in slow curls around the group. The rest of the Eclipsed Seven moved in easy silence—predators who didn't need to speak to understand their hunt.
Veyra hummed. Lyra counted the rhythm of her own footsteps. Kaen cracked his knuckles every few minutes like thunder in a cage. Alinor drifted beside me, half here, half dreaming. Sareth brought up the rear, his cloak dragging a faint trail of ash that never quite touched him. And Cirel—Cirel watched Seraphine with the lazy fascination of a cat watching a candle burn.
"You said this path leads to your capital," I said after a while.
Seraphine didn't answer at first. She only glanced back at me, eyes glowing through the shadows. "It leads to civilization," she said. "Whether you survive meeting it depends on how long you keep your blades away from my people."
"Then we'll die quickly," Veyra said brightly.
Seraphine's jaw tightened. "You think everything is a joke."
"No," I said, "some things are art."
She didn't look at me again.
⸻
The deeper we went, the stranger the forest became.
The Demonwood thinned into patches of burned-black grass and skeletal trees. The air grew heavier. You could feel the world noticing us now—its pulse quickening, the soil humming as if trying to hold itself together.
Alinor stopped once to watch a moth.
It beat its wings twice, froze mid-air, then drifted upward like it had forgotten gravity. Her eyes followed it until it disappeared into the red sky.
"This world is beginning to fold," she murmured.
Lyra turned her head. "Already?"
Alinor nodded slowly. "It isn't strong enough to bear us."
Kaen chuckled. "Then it should learn to be stronger."
"Worlds don't learn," Cirel said. "They break."
"Everything does," I added.
Seraphine kept walking. I could see the muscles in her shoulders tense beneath the cloak, like she was pretending not to hear us.
⸻
When night came, the sky didn't darken; it bled. Clouds tore open like wounds, light leaking through in thin red streams. We made camp beneath a ridge of black stone where the trees twisted into archways.
Seraphine refused to sit with us. She stood by the fire we didn't need, staring into the distance where the horizon pulsed faintly—her capital's direction, perhaps.
"You're quiet," I said, stepping beside her.
"You talk enough for all of us."
"Does my voice bother you?"
"It offends the silence," she said.
I smiled, faint and patient. "You'll get used to it."
She turned toward me. The firelight painted her face in bronze and scarlet. "You think I'm afraid of you," she said. "You think fear keeps me close."
"It keeps you alive," I said. "That's enough."
Her lips curled. "You could kill me now, and the Court would burn your corpses by dawn."
"That's a pretty dream."
She looked away. "You underestimate us."
"No," I said softly. "You overestimate everything else."
Behind us, Veyra laughed at something Kaen said; Lyra was humming as she stitched two dead branches together with silver thread just to see if they'd breathe; Sareth sat motionless, his eyes reflecting the fire but never blinking. Monsters at rest.
Seraphine finally whispered, "You aren't demons. You aren't anything."
I leaned close enough for her to see the crosses burn brighter in my eyes.
"Exactly," I said.
⸻
We left at dawn—if you could call it dawn. The red light never changed, only shifted hue, darker near the horizon, brighter overhead. The land rolled downward, revealing a valley of obsidian cliffs and rivers of dim light.
Seraphine slowed as we approached a stone bridge spanning one of those rivers.
"This is the border," she said. "Beyond it lies the outer province. There are villages, patrols, and temples to the old gods. You'll keep your weapons lowered and your mouths shut."
"Temples," Veyra said dreamily. "I love temples. So many fragile believers."
Seraphine glared. "Touch them, and—"
"—and what?" Kaen asked. A thin ribbon of heat wavered from his shoulders, not quite flame yet.
Seraphine met his gaze. She didn't flinch. "And I'll kill you."
Kaen's grin was slow and genuine. "You can try."
Sareth's voice drifted from behind them, quiet but heavy. "If you fight here, the bridge will fall. The river isn't water."
We all looked down. The current below was luminous and slow—liquid soullight, the waste of a thousand cremations flowing toward the sea. It hissed softly when it brushed the stone.
Seraphine crossed first. I followed, my boots leaving faint orange prints that faded behind me.
Halfway across, the bridge moaned. Fine cracks spidered across the railing.
Lyra touched one with her fingertip. "It's dying faster now," she said.
"It feels us," Alinor murmured. "It wants to forget."
"Then let it," Cirel said.
By the time we reached the other side, the far half of the bridge had begun to crumble. Seraphine looked back, eyes wide. "That bridge was older than our capital," she said.
I shrugged. "Then it should have lasted longer."
She faced me, fury sparking. "You—"
"Don't," I said, softly enough to still her.
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried. Even Kaen stopped smirking.
"You wanted to guide us," I said. "Guide us. Don't confuse that with authority."
She swallowed hard, then turned away without another word.
⸻
By midday we reached the outskirts of a settlement.
Or what had once been one. The air smelled of sulfur and metal. Small houses of blackened stone leaned at odd angles, their windows glowing faintly from within. No smoke, no sound.
Lyra stepped forward and nudged a door open. It didn't creak; it sighed, as if relieved.
Inside were statues. Dozens of them. Perfectly shaped demons, frozen mid-movement, faces carved in terror.
Veyra bent to touch one. "Not stone," she murmured. "Flesh. Burned so clean it polished itself."
Seraphine's hand flew to her mouth. "These were scouts. The last patrol I sent north."
"Your world's air is too thin," Alinor said dreamily. "It's breaking under us. They probably just… stopped existing."
Seraphine stared at her, horror flickering behind her composure. "Stopped— existing?"
"Mm-hm." Alinor smiled faintly. "Happens all the time."
⸻
That night we camped outside the ruins. The sky rippled like heat over water; distant mountains seemed to fold and unfold. I could hear the world's pulse now, faint but uneven.
Seraphine sat apart again, sharpening her blade for no reason except control. Cirel approached her, crouching in the dirt beside her. "Still believe your Court can fix this?" she asked.
"My people will endure," Seraphine said.
Cirel smiled without warmth. "Not if I stop believing that they exist."
Seraphine froze, glancing up sharply. Cirel's eyes were half-closed, voice soft, nearly kind. "I'm joking," she said. "Probably."
Seraphine looked to me, furious. "Keep her away from me."
"She likes you," I said.
"I don't want—"
"She doesn't care what you want."
She stood, sword in hand. "Then kill me and end this game."
I rose too, slow and calm. "If I kill you, who'll show me the capital?"
For a heartbeat we stood there, fire between us, her fury bright enough to make the shadows dance.
Then she lowered her weapon. "I'll lead you," she said, "but when we arrive, you stay silent before the throne."
"Of course," I said, smiling that gentle, mocking smile. "We always respect royalty."
Behind me, the others laughed quietly.
⸻
We reached the valley mouth by the third day. The path wound between cliffs of glass where the world's crust had melted long ago. The reflections in the walls didn't match our movements anymore; they lagged, sometimes walking a few seconds behind.
Lyra touched her mirrored double and whispered, "It's learning me."
"Break it," Kaen said.
She smiled. "Not yet."
Seraphine walked faster. The closer we came to her capital, the stiffer her shoulders grew. I wondered what she'd do when she realized the city she loved couldn't survive our arrival.
The air began to sing again—soft, unstable. Every note out of tune. I could taste ruin coming. The horizon shimmered gold, not with sunlight but with heat from the world's failing shell.
Sareth looked at me once, his voice a low murmur. "It will end sooner than you think."
"I know," I said.
"Do you plan to stop it?"
"No."
He nodded, satisfied.
⸻
By the time night fell again, we could see the towers of the Demon Capital—black spires rising from a sea of mist, their peaks crowned with red fire. Bells tolled in the distance, faint and uneven, as if the city's heart were struggling to keep rhythm.
Seraphine stopped at the ridge overlooking it. The wind tugged at her cloak. "Home," she whispered.
I stepped beside her. "Enjoy it," I said. "Homes don't last long around us."
She turned, anger flashing, then faded when she saw my smile.
Mocking. Gentle. Promising ruin.
The others gathered behind us, silent silhouettes against the bleeding sky.
Below, the city waited—unaware that its final sunrise would never come.
And as the wind carried the sound of distant bells, the ground under our feet trembled once, lightly, like a heartbeat skipping a note.