The breach died behind them like a collapsing star.
Its light shredded into fragments that drifted upward, turning the sky into a spiraling array of fading luminescence. Each mote lasted a heartbeat before dissolving into ash-like dust. The unnatural glow sank into the soil, leaving the ground trembling beneath Zerrei's feet.
But the shaking did not stop.
It intensified.
The forest's Pulse—once steady, once ancient, once comforting—now echoed like a frantic heartbeat too weak to sustain its own rhythm.
Zerrei felt every tremor inside his chest as though it were his own failing breath.
Lyra helped him stand, her grip steady but gentle. "Zerrei. Slowly. Ground yourself."
"I'm trying," Zerrei whispered, voice cracking.
He could still feel the Creator's whisper in his bones, like cold air clinging beneath his wooden seams.
I am coming, the voice had spoken.
Not a threat.
A promise.
His Heartglow reacted now with faint, irregular pulses—shaken by the echo of that psychic intrusion.
Arden steadied his axe and spat toward the shattered breach. "Hate to say it, but I'm impressed. Most villains monologue, but this guy? He just forces his creepy voice into your soul. Efficient."
Oren glared. "Arden, please—this isn't the time for commentary."
"This is ALWAYS the time for commentary!" Arden snapped back. "I need to cope!"
"Cope quietly," Lyra ordered.
Arden shut up. Mostly.
Vessel Five stood death-still at the edge of the ridge, its tall frame silhouetted against the darkening forest. Its blue core flickered painfully—not unstable, but strained by proximity to the Creator's influence.
Zerrei stepped toward him weakly. "Are you… hurting?"
Vessel Five turned its head, movements slower, heavier than usual.
"…resonance… disrupted… Creator… near…"
"How near?" Oren breathed, dread creeping into his expression.
Vessel Five's chest jerked with mechanical shudder.
"…far… but… walking…"
Arden froze. "Walking? As in—walking here?"
Vessel Five nodded once.
"…approaching… slowly… steadily… inevitable…"
Zerrei's breath hitched. Lyra moved closer, steadying him again.
"He isn't here yet," she said. "We still have time."
"Time for what?" Arden barked. "Building a fortress? Summoning a miracle? Praying to a deity we don't even believe in?"
"No," Lyra said evenly. "Time to prepare. Time to understand what he wants. Time to intercept him."
Zerrei pressed a hand to his chest. "He wants me."
Arden groaned. "Yes, Zerrei, we KNOW—"
"No," Zerrei said, shaking his head. "Not just me."
Lyra frowned. "Explain."
He stared at the dim forest, watching how the light bent unnaturally between the trees, how the shadows flickered like dying flames.
"He wants everything connected to me."
Oren stiffened. "The forest. The vessels. The Heartwood."
Zerrei nodded.
"And my evolution."
Arden blinked. "He wants your—what now?"
"Evolution," Oren repeated, voice heavy. "Zerrei's growth wasn't planned. Vessel Five's autonomy wasn't planned. Vessel Three's survival—unexpected. Vessel Two's refusal to obey—unpredictable. Zerrei's ability to resonate with the Heartwood—unprecedented. To the Creator, this is a lost experiment. And a fascinating one."
Arden groaned. "I KNEW this would turn into a mad scientist trying to reclaim his homework."
Lyra crossed her arms, protective tension radiating off her. "Then he won't get it back."
The ground trembled again.
Zerrei steadied himself on Vessel Five's arm. He felt the hum of the hunter's mana—strained, but steady. Vessel Five's claws dug into the ground in a way Zerrei recognized instantly:
It was anchoring itself.
"…protect… Zerrei…" Vessel Five whispered.
Zerrei swallowed. "You don't have to."
"…choice…"
The single word struck Zerrei harder than any Pulse the Heartwood had forced through him.
Arden whistled softly. "I swear, that thing's going to surpass your emotional vocabulary soon."
Zerrei didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because deep inside him, something shifted.
Not physically.
Not magically.
Emotionally.
Before the Heartwood, Vessel Five had been an enemy.
Then a pursuer.
Then a broken directive.
Then a creature seeking identity.
Now—
A companion.
Not a friend in the human sense.
Not a mirror or a replacement.
Just another living being trying to understand itself.
Like him.
Another tremor crossing the ridge broke the moment.
This one was stronger.
Longer.
Worse.
The forest let out a low groan—a sound Zerrei had never heard from it before.
It sounded like pain.
Lyra immediately scanned the surroundings. "Zerrei. What does that mean?"
Zerrei placed his palm against a trembling trunk.
The moment he touched it, he felt the forest speak—but not with words.
With urgency.
With fear.
With need.
"It wants us to move."
"Move where?" Arden demanded.
Zerrei pointed north—toward uneven terrain where light flickered between massive roots.
"Toward the next breach point."
Lyra exchanged a quick glance with Oren. "He's making more?"
"Of course he is," Oren said grimly. "The Creator never relies on one point of entry."
Zerrei nodded weakly. "He wants the Heartwood from every angle. If he can't force his way through where we stabilized, he'll try another place. Maybe several."
Arden groaned internally. "So instead of walking toward ONE possible apocalyptic tear, we're walking toward MULTIPLE. Wonderful."
Lyra turned to Zerrei. "Can you sense where he'll open the next one?"
Zerrei hesitated.
His chest ached.
His Heartglow flickered.
The golden-thread mark thrummed with faint pain.
"Yes," he whispered. "But it hurts."
Lyra softened. "We don't need you to suffer to guide us."
Zerrei shook his head. "But we can't waste time. He's moving faster. The closer he gets, the more the forest bends."
Oren nodded. "Then we follow Zerrei. Carefully."
They began to move.
The terrain changed again—steeper now, winding like a broken spine. Massive roots jutted out of the ground, some petrified, others glowing faint blue where the forest still fought back. The trees leaned inward, their branches creating heavy barricades Zerrei seemed to naturally slip through, though Lyra and Arden had to force them apart.
Zerrei whispered, "It's guiding me. And shutting behind us."
Arden paled. "Why is it closing?"
"To protect itself," Oren said softly. "Or to protect him."
Arden groaned. "I can't believe I miss normal monsters. Regular teeth and claws. No existential dread."
Lyra kept her eyes on the path. "Be ready for worse than monsters."
She wasn't wrong.
The deeper they went, the more corrupted the environment became. Not by taint born of monsters—but by something foreign, metallic, cold.
Creator-energy.
Even the air smelled different—like sharpened metal and sterile laboratories.
Zerrei began to shake again.
Lyra's hand closed over his wrist. "Zerrei. Look at me."
He did.
"You're not trapped," she said quietly. "You're not back in his lab. You are here. With us. You are Zerrei."
He breathed—slowly.
In.
Out.
The tremors eased.
Arden leaned toward Oren and whispered, "If I ever pass out, you won't hold me like that, right?"
"No," Oren whispered back. "I'll leave you there."
"Rude."
"Realistic."
Vessel Five halted suddenly.
It raised its head, eyes widening.
"…Creator's… steps…"
Lyra froze. "Where?"
Vessel Five lifted one claw and pointed—directly ahead.
"For real steps?" Arden asked. "Physical?"
"No," Oren answered. "Echoes. Mana footprints. He is beginning to push his real body into our side."
Zerrei felt cold.
"He's coming sooner than I thought."
They reached a clearing.
A wide, circular space where the forest's roots twisted violently away from the center—
—and where the ground was split open by another rift.
Not as large as the first.
But much more active.
This one pulsed rhythmically, like a beating heart.
Blue-white light surged through it.
Mana spirals twisted upward, igniting motes of drifting arcane dust.
Arden whispered, "That's… that's worse than the last one."
Oren's voice was tight. "Yes. Because this one is complete."
Lyra lifted her blade. "Complete?"
Zerrei swallowed hard.
"Yes. He's not just reaching through this one."
Vessel Five stepped forward, blue eyes darkening.
"…he is stepping…"
Zerrei nodded weakly. "He's trying to enter physically."
Arden yelled, "WHAT DO WE DO?!"
Zerrei's answer came quietly.
Softly.
Terrifyingly.
"We hold the breach."
Oren nearly dropped his staff. "We cannot stop him if he forces a physical manifestation!"
"No," Zerrei agreed. "But we can slow him. We slowed him once. We can again."
Lyra looked at him long and steady. "Zerrei."
He met her eyes.
"You don't have to do this alone."
His Heartglow pulsed—warm, steady, grounding.
"I know," he whispered.
The rift surged.
Light flared.
The trees bent backward.
The ground cracked open.
And from within the breach—
a faint outline appeared.
A humanoid silhouette.
Tall.
Still.
Calm.
The Creator's real form—
or the beginning of it.
Zerrei stepped forward.
Lyra's hand shot out, gripping his arm. "No."
"Lyra—"
"No!" Her voice broke with more emotion than she ever allowed herself to show. "You will not walk to him alone."
Arden roared, "SHE'S RIGHT! NONE OF US ARE LETTING YOU WALK TOWARD DOOM UNSUPERVISED!"
Oren nodded fiercely. "Reckless decisions require collective reckless support."
Vessel Five lowered itself beside Zerrei.
"…I… stand…"
Zerrei's voice cracked. "He built us to serve him."
Vessel Five shook its head violently.
"…no…"
Zerrei touched its arm.
"You're right."
He turned toward the rift.
"I am not his."
The breach flared violently—
as if reacting to his voice.
Lyra pulled her blade. "Positions."
Arden raised his axe. "Battle stance of total panic!"
"Whatever works," Oren muttered.
Zerrei stepped forward, the golden-thread mark burning bright.
His name echoed inside him—
His own voice this time.
Not the Creator's.
Not the forest's.
His.
I am Zerrei.
He reached toward the breach—
And the chapter ends as the Creator's silhouette steps one fraction closer to crossing the world's threshold.