Orla fixed Daithi with a piercing gaze, her mind racing as fragments of observations and half-formed suspicions coalesced into a chilling realization. "Daithi," she began slowly, her voice steady despite the turmoil around them. "All winter, we've faced shortages—the fishing nets returning empty, the storehouses running low. The entire town has been on edge, fearing starvation."

She took a deliberate step closer, shadows flickering across her determined expression. "I expected you, as the storehouse master, to raise alarms, to ask the council for more resources or impose rationing. But you never did, did you? In fact, you assured us repeatedly that we had enough to get by."

Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke more to herself, the pieces clicking into place. "At first, I thought you were just trying to keep everyone calm, to prevent a panic. But then I noticed the inconsistencies—the ledgers that didn't add up, the supplies that seemed to replenish without explanation."

"I remember seeing shipments arriving at odd hours, crates that bypassed the usual inspections. And every time I questioned it, you brushed me off, changed the subject, or gave vague answers about 'new sources' and 'favourable trades.'"

She shook her head slowly, her expression a mix of disbelief and mounting anger. "But there were no new trade agreements, were there? The passes have been snowed in, and few merchants have come through all season. So where have you been getting the extra supplies?"

Leora gasped softly beside her, the colour draining from her face as she began to grasp the implications.

Orla's eyes bore into Daithi's, "You've been accepting goods from Finnian, haven't you? Unchecked, unrecorded—bypassing all our protocols. You brought his food and drink into our storehouses, and distributed them to the town without so much as a second thought."

She clenched her fists, her voice rising with emotion. "Did you ever stop to wonder why he was so generous? Why, when everyone else was struggling, he seemed to have abundance? Or were you so blinded by desperation that you ignored the glaring signs?"

Daithi opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he took a shaky step back.

Leora's eyes filled with tears as she whispered, "Daithi, how could you? We trusted you."

Orla continued relentlessly. "You were entrusted with our welfare, our survival. And instead, you've jeopardized everything. Was it greed? Fear? Or were you complicit from the start?"

"Stop," Daithi whispered.

"You might as well have handed Finnian the keys to the town. You've betrayed us all, Daithi. And now—" She gestured to the mayhem erupting around them—the screams, the shadows, the transformed figures wreaking havoc. "Now we're paying the price."

A heavy silence hung between them, the weight of her accusations settling like a shroud.

“Orla, please…” Daithi’s heart raced, panic flooding his senses. “I thought it was just temporary. We needed something to hold us over, and the tavern’s offerings—”

“Offerings?” Orla interrupted, her voice rising in disbelief. “You mean the tainted food and drink? You accepted them without questioning where they came from! You let this happen!”

Leora’s eyes widened, fear mixing with betrayal. “Daithi, you… you knew what we were dealing with. And you still took from him?”

“I thought I could manage!” he stammered, desperation creeping into his voice. “I wanted to help! I wanted to protect us!” But even as he spoke, the words felt hollow, echoing back with the weight of his guilt.

Orla stepped back, shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. “You’ve betrayed us, Daithi. We trusted you to lead us, to keep us safe. And now—” Her voice broke, the pain of her realization palpable. “Now we’re facing a nightmare because of your choices!”

“Orla, I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Daithi’s voice cracked, his desperation rising. “I was trying to find a way through! I thought it was just a few supplies, not a—”

“Not a what?” Leora spat, her anger and fear boiling over. “Not a curse? Do you think we don’t see it? We are standing on the edge of oblivion, and you played a part in it! You’re as complicit as Finnian!”

“No!” Daithi shouted, panic flooding him. “You don’t understand! I wanted to help! I wanted to keep everyone together, to find a way out of this! Please, don’t write me off like this!” The desperation in his voice was unmistakable, a plea that fell on deaf ears.

“Write you off?” Orla’s voice quivered, sorrow mingling with her fury. “You’ve already done that to us, Daithi. You’ve chosen to turn a blind eye to the truth, and now it’s too late. We can’t trust you. Not anymore.”

The weight of Orla’s words hit him like a physical blow, and he staggered back against the pillar. “No…” he whispered, feeling the ground slip from beneath him. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” Tears brimmed in his eyes, and for the first time, he felt the cold tendrils of despair wrapping around his heart.

“Daithi, we need to focus on surviving,” Leora said softly, though her voice trembled with uncertainty. “We can’t afford to be distracted by—”

“Survive?” he repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “What’s the point of surviving if we can’t trust each other? What’s the point if we’re already lost?” The hopelessness seeped into his bones, and he felt himself beginning to unravel.

Just then, Ada and Marin approached, having overheard the exchange. Their eyes widened in disbelief as they took in the scene—the tension hanging thick in the air, the palpable despair in Orla and Leora's expressions, and the shattered remnants of trust glinting like broken glass around Daithi.

Marin stepped forward; his gaze fixed on Daithi. “You… you’ve been hiding this from us? You’ve been accepting supplies from Finnian? How could you betray us like this?”

Orla’s expression hardened as she turned to Ada and Marin, but there was no fire left in her eyes—only the extinguished spark of betrayal. The weight of Daithi's sins hung heavily in the air, suffocating and undeniable. Leora, still reeling from the realization, stared at Ada and Marin, her thoughts racing but her mouth shut tight in disbelief.

“We brought a cleansing potion for you two,” Ada said, glancing at Orla and Leora, who were frozen in their judgment of Daithi. “We were going to share it, to help—”

But the moment was electric, charged with a decision that felt monumental. It was a silent judgment, a stark rejection of Daithi’s existence in this moment of despair.

“Here,” Ada said, her voice firm but trembling as she held out the vial to Leora, who remained rooted to the spot, eyes wide. “Take it. You need it more than he does.”

Daithi's eyes widened as he realized what they meant. "Wait... please. The potion—I need it. I can fight this!" Desperation seeped into his voice as he reached out toward Ada.

But she took a step back, her grip tightening around the vials. "I... I can't," she whispered, pain evident in her tone. "I'm sorry."

Marin placed a protective hand on her shoulder. "It's too late, Daithi. You made your choice."

A deep sense of dread settled over him as he watched them turn away, his outstretched hand lingering in the air. The people he'd sworn to protect—the ones who had trusted him—now looked at him with fear and disdain.

“No… no, please…” Daithi choked, his voice a desperate whimper, raw with despair. His knees buckled, his hands flying up to claw at his throat, as if he could tear out the corruption by sheer force of will. But it was too late. The darkness spread, veins bulging and twisting beneath his skin, his flesh warping and rippling as if something alive moved beneath the surface.

With every heartbeat, the shadows thickened around them, the chaos swirling like a storm. Daithi’s vision blurred as the weight of their betrayal settled over him. The room felt like it was closing in, and he could hear the whispers of darkness creeping into his mind.

“Didn’t… I... didn’t want…” he babbled, the words slurred and garbled, barely recognizable as the proud councilman’s voice. “Didn’t… want to… town... starv—” The sentence cut off with a wet, choking sound, his throat twitching grotesquely as if something inside him was trying to break free.

And then his jaw—his entire face—split apart with a sickening crunch, his scream rising to a raw, guttural shriek that echoed through the hall, reverberating off the stone walls like the wail of a dying beast.

Dark, glistening scales erupted along his skin, spreading rapidly, the flesh beneath tearing and twisting as bones shifted and reshaped. His fingers elongated, the nails curving into jagged, cruel claws that raked deep furrows into the stone floor as he collapsed, writhing.

It was a pitiful, brutal transformation, each convulsion, each twitch of his limbs stripping away what little remained of his humanity. Daithi’s spine arched, his back rippling with muscle, his neck elongating, teeth sprouting along his twisted jawline. His eyes—once bright, fierce—warped grotesquely, turning milky and lifeless.

And then his scream… changed.

It deepened, thickened, turning into a low, guttural gurgle, like the sound of a man drowning in his own flesh. A bubbling hiss escaped his throat, a horrible, wet sound that sent shudders down the spines of those watching.

Orla murmured; her eyes fixed on Daithi's convulsing form. "We have to go."

His features contorted, shifting between human and something far more sinister. A guttural scream tore from his throat—a sound of pure agony and despair.

Leora turned away, unable to watch. "We need to move," she urged, her voice barely audible.

Marin guided Ada, who was still staring, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Come on," he whispered gently. "We can't help him now."

As they retreated, the last remnants of Daithi's humanity faded. He lifted his gaze, now filled with a haunting emptiness, and let out a primal roar that echoed through the Great Hall.

The moment was heavy, heart-wrenching. The man who once stood as a pillar of their community was gone, consumed by the very darkness he had unwittingly helped unleash. The realization that they had lost not just Daithi but perhaps their entire way of life settled over them like a suffocating cloud.

Amid the chaos, Thorn staggered back, every movement slow and sluggish, as if the very air around him were thick and heavy. His limbs ached; his chest burned. He could feel the remnants of his earlier strength fading, and the oppressive atmosphere of the hall wrapped around him like a shroud.

Finnian towered over Thorn like a creature summoned from the deepest abyss, his form grotesque and otherworldly. The shadows clung to him, swirling and writhing, making it impossible for Thorn to pinpoint his next move. Finnian’s eyes gleamed with malevolent delight; an insatiable hunger reflected in their depths.

A low, guttural laugh rumbled from Finnian, reverberating through the hall like the grinding of stone. “You thought you could save these people, didn’t you?” His voice dripped with disdain, mocking Thorn’s resolve. “Your efforts are fruitless.”

With a deliberate slowness, Finnian stretched out one of his many limbs—a thick, sinewy tentacle lined with wicked barbs that glistened ominously in the dim light. It lashed out, the movement deceptively languid, but the speed at which it closed the distance was shocking.

The tentacle whipped through the air with a sharp crack, narrowly missing Thorn’s head and embedding itself deep into the stone pillar behind him. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, shattering rock and sending fragments skittering across the floor like deadly shrapnel.

Thorn barely had time to react, adrenaline surging through him as he ducked low, instinct driving him. The destruction around him felt like a harbinger of doom, the echoes of Finnian’s laughter intertwining with the cries of the council members in the background.

“You should have stayed away,” Finnian taunted, his voice a slithering whisper that crawled beneath Thorn’s skin. “Now, you’ll bear witness to the true power of the abyss. You are nothing against me.” The tentacle withdrew, but the threat hung heavy in the air, palpable and suffocating.

Thorn’s breath quickened as he felt the weight of Finnian’s dominance. Each passing moment drained his resolve, and the shadows grew thicker, coiling around him, suffocating his spirit. But deep within him, a flicker of defiance sparked. He was not finished yet.

“Is this all you have?” Thorn called out, forcing the words through gritted teeth. He straightened, squaring his shoulders against the oppressive weight of Finnian’s presence. “You may have the power of the dark, but I am not afraid of shadows.”

Finnian’s laughter echoed, mocking and cruel. “Bravery without strength is foolishness. You’re playing a game you cannot win.” He lunged forward, and the room seemed to shudder with his movement. Thorn braced himself, feeling the rush of wind from Finnian’s massive form as he prepared for the inevitable clash.

But as Thorn stood his ground, he could feel the shadows tightening around him, pulling him down, whispering his doubts and fears. Would he be able to withstand the tide of darkness? The echoes of despair reverberated in his mind, a reminder of everything at stake.

“Survive,” he whispered to himself, summoning every ounce of willpower he had left. “Fight for them.” The flickering flame of hope ignited within him, and he could not afford to let it extinguish.

Finnian surged forward, the shadows at his back, and in that moment, Thorn knew he had to rise against the darkness, not just for himself, but for all those who had already been lost.

A wet, gurgling sob drew Thorn’s gaze to the centre of the room. Selis stood at the edge of the ritual pool, his face pale, his eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the chaos that surrounded them. The once-proud shaman appeared broken, the fervour of his beliefs shattered. His lips moved, forming silent words, and his hands trembled as he stared into the churning, dark water that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

“What... have... I... done,” he whispered, his voice a thin, broken rasp. “The people... they were right.” The truth settled heavily on his shoulders; each syllable laced with a sense of profound despair.

As Selis lifted his gaze to Finnian’s monstrous form, a flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes. “You… you’re one of them… aren’t you?” His voice trembled, disbelief mingling with horror as the realization sunk in.

Finnian’s many eyes fixed on him, a terrible grin stretching across his misshapen faces. “One of them?” he mused, his tone light and mocking, dripping with disdain. “No, little shaman. I am beyond them.” The words hung in the air, thick with menace.

Selis’s eyes widened, horror dawning on him like a dark cloud blotting out the sun. His mouth opened in a wordless cry as the truth clawed at his sanity, unravelling the last threads of his mind. The weight of his actions crashed over him like a tidal wave, and he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

He staggered back, crumpling to the ground beside the pool, his hands scrabbling at the cold stone edge as if trying to anchor himself to reality. “Forgive me,” he babbled, his voice high and shrill, echoing with desperation. “Forgive me, gods, forgive me…” The words tumbled from his lips, each one a plea soaked in anguish. “I didn’t know… I didn’t see…”

His trembling fingers grazed the surface of the water, and in that moment, the darkness within him surged forth, the corruption he had unwittingly embraced taking root in his very soul. The visions of his past actions—rituals performed in blind faith, promises made to unseen forces—swirled before his mind’s eye like phantoms, haunting him.

“Selis!” Thorn called out, but the word barely reached him through the growing chaos. A pulse of despair emanated from Selis, raw and potent, as he fought against the realization of his own complicity in the horror unfolding around them.

With a shuddering gasp, Selis pitched forward, his body surrendering to the dark, roiling water. It enveloped him instantly, swallowing him whole, the ripples spreading outward like the echoes of his final words. The surface churned, dark and oily, and he didn’t rise.

Thorn's heart sank.

“Forgive me,” the echoes of Selis’s voice lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the price they all paid for their blind faith and the manipulation of power.

As the pool settled, a heavy stillness enveloped the room, the ominous reality of their situation crashing down around them.

The townsfolk recoiled, sobs and cries of horror filling the air. There was no escape from the nightmare unfolding before them.

Finnian’s many eyes glittered with delight, his monstrous form looming above the writhing, twisting figure that had once been Daithi. “Ah, Daithi… so willing to please, Selis… so eager for recognition” he murmured mockingly, his voices—multiple, discordant—blending into a dark, malevolent chorus. His grin widened, the mouths scattered across his grotesque form snapping and twitching in vile amusement. “But you’re not alone, are you?”

A low, keening moan rose from somewhere to the left. Thorn’s gaze snapped to the sound, his heart lurching painfully as he saw it—another person, a young man clutching at his chest, his eyes wide and terrified. The veins beneath his skin pulsed, rolling grotesquely. His lips moved soundlessly, his expression twisted in agony as his body twitched,shuddered—

“No… no, please, not me!” the man whimpered, his voice breaking into a high, thin wail. But the corruption was relentless. His back arched violently, his skin darkening, thickening. Scales sprouted along his arms, his face twisting, elongating. “No, no—NO!”

With a shuddering gasp, he fell forward, his hands scrabbling at the floor, his limbs twisting and warping into something long, sinuous, almost serpentine. He let out a horrible, bubbling cry as his spine snapped, his body contorting grotesquely. His scream—a high, thin shriek of pure agony—cut off, his mouth splitting open to reveal a row of needle-like teeth.

And then another one fell. And another.

One by one, they dropped, their bodies writhing, twisting in grotesque parodies of life. Scales and fins sprouted, limbs elongated, twisted, sprouting webbed digits and cruel, hooked claws.

Some sprouted gills along their necks, others erupted with rows of jagged spines along their backs, and still others lost their limbs entirely, their bodies collapsing into a writhing mass of tentacles and claws.

The chamber was filled with the sound of bones snapping, flesh tearing, the wet, sickening gurgles of men and women choking on their own transformations. Thorn could only watch in horror as the townsfolk—these people—became something else, something monstrous.

Finnian watched it all, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted joy. “Yes… yes, give in,” he purred, his voice resonating through the room, echoing off the stone walls. “Accept it. Accept my power, my gifts.” He leaned forward, his monstrous form casting a long, twisted shadow over the struggling, writhing forms. “It will hurt less if you stop fighting.”

A woman—young, barely more than a girl—let out a shuddering sob, her body trembling violently as the dark veins pulsed beneath her skin. Her eyes—glassy, unseeing—locked onto Finnian’s terrible form, her lips parting in a wordless cry.

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And then, slowly, her expression shifted. Her shoulders relaxed. Her eyes slid closed.

She smiled.

And in that moment, her transformation accelerated—scales burst forth along her neck, her legs fused together, forming into a long, sinuous tail tipped with a wicked, barbed fin. Her fingers elongated, the nails curving into long, cruel claws. She let out a soft, wet gurgle, her smile stretching impossibly wide, her eyes snapping open—milky white, devoid of any humanity.

She lunged, faster than thought, her claws raking through the air as she attacked.

The scream that followed was high, piercing—one of the remaining, a man who had backed away too slowly. He fell, his hands clawing at his throat as her claws ripped through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed, staining the stone floor, the water, as the newly formed thingthat had once been a girl let out a horrible, gurgling hiss of delight.

And then the others followed.

One after the other, the newly-formed abominations turned—snarling, hissing, their twisted forms moving with a grotesque, unnatural grace. They lunged at the people still clinging to their humanity, claws and fangs flashing, eyes blazing with mindless hunger. Screams filled the air, the sound of tearing flesh, breaking bones—

Selena clutched Callen tightly, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tremors of his body. He had collapsed against her, the transformation overtaking him in agonizing waves. His skin shimmered with a sickly hue, and she could see the dark veins creeping beneath the surface, twisting and writhing like angry serpents.

“Callen, please!” she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. “You have to fight it! I need you to stay with me!” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rocked him gently, willing him to hold on just a little longer. “Don’t leave me! Remember all those nights we spent talking about your fishing tales?”

His eyes flickered open, clouded but still familiar, a hint of that easy-going charm breaking through the pain. “Selena…” His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the chaos surrounding them. “I’m… I’m so tired…”

“Don’t say that!” she urged, her grip tightening around him as she felt his body convulsing. “You’ve faced down drunkards with knives in the tavern and laughed them off! You can beat this, too! Remember that time you caught the biggest fish and boasted about it for weeks? You’re tougher than you think!”

A weak smile ghosted across Callen’s lips, a fleeting glimpse of the man she knew. “I always had the best bait,” he managed, but his laughter quickly turned into a cough, a grim reminder of the darkness encroaching on him.

“Exactly! You’ve always been resourceful, always had a way of getting through!” Selena pressed, her heart aching as she cupped his face in her hands, desperation and determination warring within her. “You can’t give in to this! We still have so many stories to make together!”

But as the transformation intensified, she felt him slipping away, the weight of despair threatening to pull her under. The shadows twisted around them, whispering doubts and fears. “Callen, please!” she begged, her voice a fierce mixture of love and panic. “You’re not alone! I’m right here with you! You have to keep fighting!”

His eyes shimmered with pain, and she could see the shadows flickering at the edges of his consciousness. “Selena…” he gasped, fear creeping into his voice. “What if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll fight for you!” she declared, her voice rising above the chaos. “I won’t let you go! We’ve been through too much together for it to end like this!” She pressed her forehead against his, trying to channel every ounce of strength and hope she possessed.

Just then, a commotion erupted nearby, and Selena turned her head, searching for the source. Her heart raced with anxiety as she scanned the chaos, dread coiling in her stomach. But then she saw them—Serena and Ben rushing forward, their faces grim but determined.

“Selena!” Serena shouted, urgency lacing her tone as she held up a shimmering vial. “We need to get it to him now!”

For a brief, surreal moment, everything else faded away. As the chaos of the hall swirled around her, Selena’s heart leaped at the sight of her sister. The realization hit her like a wave: after all the horrors they had endured, the missing townspeople, the sickness—she had believed her twin sister was dead. The thought of losing her sister in this nightmare had haunted her, and now here she was, alive.

“Serena!” Selena gasped, her voice choked with emotion. “I thought you were… I thought I’d lost you!” Tears sprang to her eyes as they locked gazes, the bond between them rekindling in an instant. The fear and sorrow melted away, replaced by a fierce determination.

“Not now, Selena!” Serena cut through the moment, her voice sharp with urgency as she stepped forward. “Drink this!” She thrust the vial toward Selena, her expression fierce and unwavering.

The meaning past instantly between them and with absolute faith, Selena downed her vial.

“Please, hurry!” Selena cried, her heart racing as she turned back to Callen, who lay crumpled and pale in her arms. “He’s losing the battle!”

“Callen, you need to drink this!” Ben urged, his hands shaking slightly as he took the last potion from Serena. He knelt beside them, eyes wide with concern. “It’ll help! Just a little, please!”

Selena’s heart raced as she cradled Callen’s face, forcing herself to stay calm. “Callen, look at me,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “You must take this. It will make you stronger. We can’t lose you, not now.”

Callen’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he seemed to focus on her, the recognition igniting a flicker of hope. “Selena… I…” His voice was weak, barely a whisper.

“Come on, Callen,” Serena whispered, her voice steadying. “You’re not done yet. We’re here with you.”

In that moment, time seemed to freeze. Callen’s eyes flickered with doubt, the darkness swirling around him as he fought against the tide. Selena held her breath, the weight of the world pressing down on her. “You can do this, Callen! Just trust us!”

With trembling hands, Ben tilted the vial toward Callen’s lips, coaxing him gently. “Please, Callen. Don’t give in now.”

Finally, with a shaky breath, Callen managed a weak nod. He opened his mouth slightly, and Ben poured the potion into his mouth, the liquid shimmering with hope and promise.

Selena held her breath as Callen swallowed, the transformation pausing for a heartbeat. The dark tendrils receded slightly, and for a fleeting moment, the light in his eyes sparkled again. “Selena…” he murmured, and her heart soared at the sound of his voice, still fighting to be heard amidst the chaos.

A wave of relief washed over her as Callen began to recover, the darkness around him dissipating like mist in the morning sun. “You did it!” she exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. “You’re coming back to us!”

But even as the hope blossomed within her, the looming threat of Finnian hung heavily in the air. They were still surrounded by darkness, and the battle was far from over. But in that moment, as Callen’s strength began to return, Selena knew that they would continue to fight together.

Through it all, one sound rang clear in Ada’s ears, piercing the nightmare that was unfolding around her. Finnian’s laughter—a terrible, twisted symphony of delight and malice—echoed through the chamber, filling every crevice, every darkened corner.

It was a sound that shattered hope. The kind of sound that broke people.

And it was breaking her.

Ada huddled against the cold, slick wall, her body trembling, her heart a wild, desperate rhythm in her chest. Her fingers dug into the stone, nails scraping against the rough surface as she struggled to hold herself together. All around her, the townsfolk screamed and sobbed, their faces twisted in horror, their eyes vacant and glassy with despair. The sight of them—the people she’d grown up with, lived beside—warping, contorting into monsters—it was too much. Her mind screamed at her to look away, to shut it all out, to run.

But she couldn’t. There was nowhere to go.

And then her gaze found him.

Thorn.

He stood alone amidst the chaos, his back straight, his blade held firm. The rising water lapped at his boots, shadows coiled and hissed around his legs like serpents, but still, he stood. Defiant.

“Look!” Marin said, pointing toward the chaos in the centre of the room.

Orla and Leora, huddled nearby, turned their gazes toward the fight, the fear in their eyes momentarily replaced by concern. “What are you two doing here?” Orla asked, her voice tight with worry. “You should be safe, away from all this madness!”

“We couldn’t just stand by,” Ada replied, her voice shaking but resolute. “We had to see what was happening, to help if we could.” But even as she spoke, doubt clawed at her. What could they possibly do against the darkness that had engulfed their town?

Leora frowned, her brow furrowing deeply. “You both need to be careful. Anyone who drank from the ritual pool is tainted, and we don’t know how long Finnian has been poisoning us. Have you felt anything strange? Any symptoms?”

“There’s no way to tell,” Marin said quickly, trying to reassure her. “Serena gave us the potions but there wasn’t enough for us to drink, if we can get out of here, there’s a chance she can help us make more.” His tone turned serious, the weight of their situation pressing down on him.

A deafening crack echoed across the hall as Finnian lashed out, a sinewy tentacle striking at Thorn. Ada’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Thorn stagger under the blow, his stance faltering.

“No!” Ada gasped, her heart racing. “Thorn!”

Finnian's laughter boomed, drowning out everything else. “You think you can defy me, little wanderer? This is the power of the abyss!” With a flourish, he drew intricate runes in the air, the water around him shifting and warping as he conjured a wall of darkness that obscured Thorn’s vision.

Thorn’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as the shadows spiralled around him. “I won’t—” he started, but the words were lost as Finnian’s tentacle struck again, catching him across the ribs.

Thorn grunted in pain, doubling over as the blow knocked the wind from his lungs. The water surged higher around him, rising to his waist, and he could feel the darkness pressing in, suffocating his resolve. He fought against it, pushing himself back to his feet, but the fatigue weighed heavy on him, each movement a battle.

“Fight!” Ada shouted; her voice raw with desperation. “You can do this!”

But the shadows wrapped tighter around Thorn, coiling around him like a vice. Ada’s heart raced as she watched him struggle, witnessing the toll the battle was taking. Finnian was relentless, a mocking grin spreading across his grotesque features.

With a surge of instinct, Ada took a step forward, her heart pounding in her ears. “We have to help him!”

“Wait!” Marin grabbed her arm, urgency colouring his voice. “We can’t rush in. It’s too dangerous!”

“But he’s losing!” she insisted, her eyes locked on Thorn, who was still fighting valiantly but appeared to be faltering under the relentless onslaught.

“Thorn!” she cried, the name breaking free from her lips as she focused on him, her mind racing. In that moment of clarity, she remembered the rune she had drawn for her stone bird, the power it had held. She had never attempted anything like it in a life-or-death situation, but this was her chance. This was all they had left.

Summoning every ounce of her strength, Ada concentrated, her fingers tingling with the energy of the spell. "I can do this," she whispered, the world narrowing to just her and Thorn. "I can save him." Her heart raced, a wild drumbeat of fear and determination echoing in her chest.

Frantically, she reached for her notebook, flipping through the pages until she found the one where she had drawn the rune. The symbols glimmered softly in the dim light, each curve and line a memory of the magic she had begun to understand. This was her moment—the culmination of all her practice, her struggles, and her unyielding desire to protect those she cared for.

She recalled how she repaired the stone bird, how she had traced the rune with care, her mind focused not just on the symbol but on her intent to make the bird whole again. It wasn't merely the drawing—it was the desire, the belief that it could be fixed. The realization dawned on her: magic was as much about the heart as it was about the mind.

But doubt flickered at the edges of her thoughts. What if she failed? What if her magic wasn't enough? Images of Thorn falling, consumed by shadows, flashed before her eyes. The darkness that loomed around him seemed insurmountable, a relentless tide ready to sweep him away.

"No," she told herself firmly, pushing the fear aside. As she glanced back at him—his figure a solitary beacon against the encroaching abyss—she felt a surge of courage. This wasn't just about magic; it was about the connection they shared, the trust he had placed in her, even unknowingly. If she could harness that bond, channel it into her spell, perhaps she could tip the scales.

Taking a deep breath, Ada closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning Thorn healed and strong, his wounds mended, his spirit unbroken. She felt a warmth bloom within her—a fierce, protective instinct that ignited her very soul.

With her resolve hardening, she opened her eyes and began to trace the rune in the air, her fingers moving with newfound confidence and grace. Each stroke was deliberate, infused with purpose and the clarity of her intent. The symbols shimmered brightly, responding eagerly to her will, the energy around her building with every movement.

"Repair," she whispered, her voice steady. Then, louder, "Repair!" The word echoed through the hall, slicing through the cacophony—a declaration of defiance against the darkness.

As she completed the final stroke, the rune blazed with radiant light, momentarily illuminating the entire chamber. The spell surged forward, a cascade of shimmering energy spiralling toward Thorn. The magic enveloped him, its glow pushing back the shadows that clung to him.

Thorn felt the warmth wash over him—a soothing tide that eased the burning in his lungs and the ache of his battered body. He looked down in awe as the gashes on his arms closed seamlessly, the torn fabric of his clothes weaving itself back together. Strength flooded his limbs, and the fog of exhaustion lifted from his mind.

He straightened, inhaling deeply as vitality surged through him. His eyes met Ada's across the chaotic expanse—a moment of profound understanding passing between them. A flicker of gratitude and unspoken encouragement shone in his gaze.

Finnian recoiled slightly, a snarl twisting his grotesque features. "What is this?" he hissed, his eyes darting between Thorn and the lingering glow of Ada's spell.

"Now, Thorn! Fight back!" Ada urged, her voice ringing with unwavering conviction.

With renewed vigour coursing through him, Thorn tightened his grip on his blade. The air around him stirred, a subtle breeze. He faced Finnian with a resolute calm, his stance firm and unyielding.

Finnian's eyes narrowed, fury contorting his visage. "Insolent wretch! You cannot defy me!"

“You can’t give up now, Thorn! You’re our only chance to stop Finnian!” Ada urged, her voice breaking through the chaos as the spell continued to work its magic.

The magic Ada had woven around him fuelled his spirit, empowering him to confront the monstrosity that sought to destroy everything they loved.

Finnian attacked.

A massive, coiling tentacle whipped through the air, faster than lightning, crashing toward Thorn like a hammer. Ada’s breath caught in her throat, her heart freezing in her chest.

“No…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no, move!”

But he didn’t move.

The tentacle slammed down, the force of it shattering the stone tiles, sending cracks spiderwebbing out in all directions. Ada’s heart lurched painfully, her entire world narrowing to that single, terrible moment.

“Thorn—MOVE!” she screamed, her voice raw, desperate.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. The tentacle, massive and dark, coiled and twisted around the spot where Thorn had stood. Ada’s eyes burned, her vision blurring as she stared, willing him tomove, to stand—

And then she heard it.

A low, soft murmur. Words—whispered, but clear. A chant, lilting and powerful, resonating through the air like the sigh of a distant wind.

“Winds, I call to thee… Guide my path, lift my steps…”

His voice grew stronger, deeper, the words reverberating through the hall with a power that seemed to make the very air hum. Magic coiled around him, shimmering like the first light of dawn piercing through the darkest night.

“By storm and gale, by breath and breeze,

Unbind my soul, unleash and seize!

Hear my cry, heed my call,

Carry me forth, let not my courage fall!”

The air thickened, the very atmosphere vibrating as the chant swirled and twisted, a living thing of power and will.

Thorn’s blade began to glow, a brilliant, blinding light that pulsed with each word, each syllable resonating like a heartbeat. The wind gathered, swirling around him in a furious cyclone of light and power.

An unnatural wind began to stir in the hall, rustling the hair of those nearby, creating a palpable tension in the air—a whisper of the tempest that was about to be unleashed. The very atmosphere felt charged, as if a tornado was about to form.

Thorn stood resolute amidst the chaos, his voice rising higher, filled with desperate defiance and unyielding strength. Magic rippled outward in waves, the wind grew stronger, swirling around him like a tempest, pulling at the edges of his cloak and tousling the hair of those who dared to watch.

The chant reached a crescendo, a terrible, beautiful song that seemed to shake the very foundations of the hall. Thorn’s eyes blazed with a golden fire, their intensity matching the power gathering around him.

As he lifted his weapon, the wind intensified, forming a howling gust that echoed the fury in his heart. The people, transfixed, could feel the energy pulsating in the air, a promise of change that ignited a flicker of hope within them. The chaos momentarily stilled, as if the world itself recognized the strength that Thorn was about to unleash.

Thorn became one with the tempest, channelling the very essence of the air around him, preparing to confront Finnian with all the power of nature at his back.

“I call to thee—winds, both fierce and kind,

Shatter the chains, unshackle my mind!

Let no darkness, no terror, no beast,

Stop the wrath of the Whisper wind unleashed!”

Thorn swung his blade, the winds erupting in a blinding, howling storm of light and fury, tearing through the darkness like a tempest from the heavens.

“No,” Finnian growled, his many eyes narrowing in sudden, wary focus. “What is this?”

The light erupted from Thorn’s form, a blinding surge that lit up the hall like a second sunrise. Finnian let out a furious roar, his massive form rearing back, tentacles coiling around him protectively.

“Whisper wind, Form One,” Thorn whispered, his voice steady, calm.

He disappeared.

For a single heartbeat, the hall was still.

And then—

A flash, a whirlwind, and Thorn was upon them.

His movements were a blur of speed, faster than the eye could track—a gust of wind given human form, a storm bound in flesh. One instant, he was in front of Finnian, his blade arcing upward in a blaze of silver light. The next, he vanished, reappearing at the far end of the hall, cutting through the twisted monstrosities that had once been human—Daithi’s abominable form among them—before they could even register his presence.

Finnian's furious voice echoed through the chaos. “You think you can defy me?” he bellowed, rage boiling in his many mouths. “I will make you pay for your insolence!”

With each sweep of Thorn’s blade, another creature fell, and the hall transformed into a maelstrom of motion and fury. Thorn flickered in and out of existence, weaving through the darkness with silent precision.

“Thorn!” Orla cried, her voice trembling with disbelief as she watched him move with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. “What… power”

Leora stood beside her, eyes wide as she struggled to comprehend the sight. “I can’t believe it! How is he doing this?” The fear in her voice was tinged with an awe that resonated throughout the hall.

The townspeople gasped as the truth of the moment dawned on them—their defender was not just surviving; he was reclaiming the fight, a beacon of hope against the darkness that had enveloped them.

Finnian’s furious roars filled the chamber as Thorn deftly evaded his attacks, each strike landing with deadly precision. “You’re nothing!” Finnian screamed, thrashing wildly. “You think you can stop me? You’re just a blip in the shadows!”

But Thorn remained silent, an embodiment of the storm as he continued to strike. Each blow was met with a howling wind that seemed to echo his defiance, and the shadows recoiled before him.

Callen, cradled in Selena’s arms, blinked in astonishment. “He’s fighting like he’s possessed,” he murmured, a mix of disbelief and admiration in his voice. “How can he be so powerful?”

Serena, wide-eyed and breathless, added, “He’s channelling the wind! Look at him go! It’s like he’s part of the storm!”

Eyes watched in rapt attention, the tide of fear slowly turning into something resembling hope. The realization began to dawn on them—Thorn was not only fighting for himself; he was fighting for them all.

“Fight, Thorn!” Ada urged, her heart racing with hope. “You can do this!”

Finnian howled in frustration, his monstrous form twisting and writhing as he struggled to land a hit. “I will crush you!” he roared, but Thorn was already gone, a whisper of wind darting away from his grasp.

The hall erupted with energy, the air alive with the sound of Thorn’s battle—a silent storm against the cacophony of Finnian’s rage. The townsfolk began to rally behind him, emboldened by the sight of their defender reclaiming the fight, pushing back against the encroaching shadows.

Orla and Leora exchanged incredulous looks, their disbelief slowly morphing into determination. “We have to believe,” Orla whispered, her voice steadying as she felt the shift in the air.

“Together,” Leora replied, her eyes locked on Thorn. “We can’t give up. Not now.”

Thorn’s silent fury surged within him as he faced Finnian once more, the shadows retreating before him. He moved like the wind itself, ready to reclaim their future.

Thorn’s figure blurred again, a streak of light and shadow, and a beast that had once been a woman crumpled to the ground, its malformed head severed cleanly from its shoulders. Finnian’s limbs lashed out in all directions, tentacles snapping and flailing, but Thorn wove between them effortlessly, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision.

“Nooo!” Finnian’s roar was a tidal wave of fury, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. His form shifted, twisted, shadows erupting from him in a dark, roiling wave. But Thorn was gone before the tendrils could close around him.

And then—he was behind Finnian again, his dagger carving a bright, searing path along the creature’s spine. Black blood sprayed in a thick arc, hissing as it hit the stones, and Finnian staggered, his many eyes bulging in pain and rage.

“Do you see now?” Thorn’s voice rang out, clear and strong, cutting through the chaos. He reappeared a dozen paces away, standing tall, his blade gleaming with an ethereal light. “This is my power, Finnian. This is what you fear.”

The hall fell silent, save for the faint drip of water and the ragged breaths of the terrified survivors. They stared, wide-eyed, as Thorn stood unbowed amidst the carnage, his figure wreathed in light, his presence blazing like a beacon in the suffocating darkness.

“He’s winning…” someone whispered, a tremor of disbelief in their voice.

Ada breathed, her eyes locked on Thorn’s figure, her heart swelling with hope. “Look at him—he’s winning!” She turned, her voice rising, desperate and fierce. “Look, everyone! He’s not giving up!”

Around her, faces lifted, eyes wide and stricken, yet shining with the first glimmers of something long thought lost—hope.

“Fight!” Marin’s voice joined hers, trembling but determined. “He’s still fighting! We have to believe!”

And slowly, like the first crack of light in the dark, the words began to spread.

“Fight…”

“Fight!”

“Fight!”

The chant rose, soft at first, then louder, swelling as more and more voices joined in. The remaining people, huddled on the platforms, clinging to the walls, stared down at the battle below—the battle that had seemed lost, hopeless—and something shifted. Eyes that had been dull and lifeless brightened. Faces contorted with fear and despair straightened, jaws setting with grim determination.

“Fight!” they shouted, louder now, their voices ringing through the hall, echoing off the stone walls.

“Fight!”

“Fight!”

Finnian snarled, his monstrous form recoiling from the sound. His many eyes blazed with fury, his limbs trembling, twitching as if the chant itself burned him. He lashed out blindly, tentacles flailing, but Thorn slipped through the onslaught like a breeze, his blade a blur of motion, cutting through shadow and flesh with unerring precision.

“You will not take this town,” Thorn said softly, his voice carrying through the hall like a vow, strong and unbreakable. “Not while I still stand.”

And then, as if in answer, the chant swelled to a roar—a wave of defiance, of strength.

“Fight!”

Finnian’s roar of fury shook the very air, his form swelling, warping, shadows pouring from him in a great, seething mass.

“Then you will fall, Thorn,” he hissed, his many mouths twisting into a savage grin. “And I will drown you in despair.”