As we emerged from the Shadow Realm, the shadows did not release me willingly.
They clung.
Not to my body — to my presence. Thin tongues of dark flame curled around my arms and shoulders, stretching as I pulled away, like something reluctant to let go of its claim. Each step back into the Hallow felt resisted, as if I were peeling myself out of a place that believed I belonged to it.
The pull lingered even after my boots found solid ground.
It wasn't physical. It was inward — a quiet insistence, a suggestion without words.
Let go.
Drop it.
Be lighter.
Let go of what?
The question flickered through my mind, urgent and unresolved. It felt like the shadows wanted me freed from something — a burden, a restraint, a piece of myself — but I couldn't grasp what it meant. The understanding sat just beyond reach.
I wanted to stop and think it through.
I didn't have time.
Every second we stood still was a second the creature on the next rib still existed between us and escape. I forced the thoughts down and turned back to the others.
We stood fully in the Hallow again.
"It didn't work," I said, frustration tightening my face. "With Trace there, the pull got stronger. Control got harder. I could barely focus. The original plan was to take both of you through — but like that, it'll fail."
Sare studied me instead of reacting. "Did Trace use her attribute inside?" she asked.
"No," I answered quickly. "Why would that matter?"
"Because we test it properly this time," she said evenly. "You take both of us. Trace — use your flare. Light the path inside."
I shook my head immediately. "No. That makes it worse. More variables, more strain. This isn't the time to add another person."
My voice came out sharper than I intended — edged with something close to desperation.
She ignored it.
Trace stepped closer. "Let's try," she said quietly. "If it helps us get out, it's worth testing."
It's not worth it if I lose control, I thought. Not in there.
"It will hurt if I can't hold it," I said under my breath.
Sare's gaze didn't waver. "It will work," she said. "Believe that."
I exhaled hard through my nose.
"Damn it," I muttered — then nodded once.
"…Alright."
With both Sare and Trace holding onto me, I began to submerge again, drawing the Shadow-Realm open beneath us as the darkness answered instantly, long black tendrils rising and wrapping around our bodies before slowly pulling us downward. The sensation was heavier this time, not in weight but in presence, as if the realm recognized that more than one consciousness had entered with me and adjusted itself accordingly. The last fragments of the Hallow blurred above us and vanished, replaced by the endless depth of shadow, and the moment we fully crossed over the pull returned stronger than before — not violent, not forceful, but impossibly persuasive, pressing gently against my thoughts until resisting felt unnatural.
It was calm.
Too calm.
The strain I carried in my body loosened piece by piece, pain fading into something distant and unimportant while the constant tension inside my chest unraveled without resistance. With Sare here the pull multiplied, spreading through my awareness like warm water, washing away urgency, washing away doubt, washing away the need to struggle at all. For the first time since entering the Hallow, everything felt quiet inside me, free from expectation, free from fear, free from the version of myself that was always preparing to survive the next moment. The realm did not drag me downward; it welcomed me, convincing me that sinking deeper would simply mean peace.
I almost let it happen.
Somewhere nearby a voice reached through the darkness, faint and distorted as though traveling across an impossible distance. Trace was saying something, her words muffled against the pressure surrounding my mind, but another voice followed — quieter, steady, commanding despite its softness.
Trace, ignite your flame.
The instruction felt distant to me, like hearing someone speak through water, and for a moment I realized how close I was to losing focus entirely, how easy it would be to stop thinking and allow the shadows to decide my direction instead. The pull tightened gently around my consciousness, patient and certain, as if it already knew resistance would eventually fade.
Suddenly, like a shoreline reappearing after being swallowed by an endless ocean, my thoughts returned. The drifting sensation receded all at once, clarity breaking through the haze as if something had pierced the depths and pulled me back toward the surface. The pressure around my mind loosened, the persuasive calm unraveling just enough for awareness to take hold again.
But as it faded, another thought rose instinctively — desperate, quiet, almost ashamed.
Don't go.
Please… come back.
Don't make me feel again.
The plea echoed only inside me, unwanted yet honest. For a fleeting moment I mourned the loss of that emptiness, the freedom from weight and expectation the Shadow-Realm had offered. As clarity returned, so did everything else — doubt settling back into place, fear sharpening at the edges of thought, survival instincts tightening around my chest, anxiety threading itself through every decision waiting to be made. The familiar burdens of being myself returned one by one, heavier now because I had felt what it was like without them.
The longing for that silence lingered, but it slowly quieted as my consciousness stabilized, reality anchoring itself firmly again.
I turned toward Trace, my gaze finding her hand first. Light spilled from it in steady pulses, her flame burning brighter than before, its glow cutting through the oppressive dark like a path carved into nothingness itself. The shadows recoiled subtly where the light touched them, thinning just enough for direction and distance to exist again.
"Your flame," I said, realization settling into my voice as breath returned easier. "It's shedding light… it's letting me think."
Trace's voice answered immediately, calm and grounding, carrying easily through the darkness so both Sare and I could hear her.
"Good," she said, steady and sure. "Then your plan works."
The words anchored me further, and for the first time since entering the Shadow-Realm with both of them, the pull no longer felt absolute. It was still there — patient, waiting — but now it had something pushing back against it.
Light.
And with it, choice returned.
I pulled us out of the Shadow-Realm quickly, unwilling to linger even a second longer than necessary. The darkness folded away from us, releasing its hold as the Hallow rushed back into place. Cool night air filled my lungs, sharp and real, the forest sounds returning all at once — distant wind through branches, the quiet settling of bone beneath our feet.
It was already night.
The sudden absence of the pull left a strange emptiness behind, like stepping out of deep water and realizing how heavy gravity actually felt.
"We should rest," I said, my voice quieter now, steadier but worn. "We'll continue tomorrow. I'll take watch tonight."
Trace stretched her arms overhead, a tired groan escaping her as tension finally left her shoulders. "Wake me when it's my turn, alright?" she said, already turning toward where she planned to lie down.
I nodded once. "Yeah."
She walked a short distance away and lowered herself onto the rib, exhaustion claiming her almost immediately. The faint glow of her earlier flame faded completely, leaving only moonlight and shadow behind.
Silence settled between Sare and me.
I turned toward her, something lingering at the back of my thoughts — a question that refused to stay buried. My body stiffened slightly before I even realized I was going to speak.
"How did you know that would work?" I asked.
My voice came out quieter than intended, edged with curiosity… and something closer to concern.
Sare didn't answer right away.
She stood facing the distant ribs, the night wind moving faint strands of her hair as her gaze remained fixed somewhere far beyond what I could see. For a moment I wondered if she hadn't heard me at all.
Then she exhaled softly.
"I didn't," she said at last.
The answer should have ended the question — but something about the way she said it felt incomplete, like the truth stopped just short of revealing itself.
She turned her head slightly toward me, not fully meeting my eyes.
"I just knew you wouldn't fail."
The words settled heavily in the quiet between us.
Not confidence.
Not reassurance.
Something deeper.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, the certainty in her voice unsettled me more than doubt ever could.