The treeline stood just ahead. A few more steps, all that cover, and with this weather... they'd be home free. Yet, close as he was, Malcolm couldn't move.

His body was locked up, a painless cramp that wouldn't budge so much as an inch regardless of how much he tried. He could still feel it—every muscle tensed and tired, rain washing them in prickling beads—but it felt like something entirely outside himself, like a scale model he just happened to be looking out from.

Ahead, he saw it was much the same for Clover and Daphne, both of them paralyzed mid-run, hovering impossibly in the air between steps. The Scouts behind him hadn't yet passed him by, so they were probably frozen too.

Malcolm reached for his Spirit but felt something heavy pushing it down, a lead weight pinning the energy in place. It rose and fell, easing slightly with each of his efforts, but ultimately it was too much for Malcolm to shove off. He tried to breathe and fuel his Spirit, but his lungs weren't working. Were they frozen too? How was he not asphyxiating?

What a Trick, he thought. Locking some four dozen people in place like this, all of them struggling to free themselves... It was terrifyingly impressive. Whoever was doing it must have had quite a bit of Spirit themselves.

But damn. Daphne's firefly cover wouldn't work forever. Any second now, the ELD security forces would run out after them and find their prey far too vulnerable.

Several yards away, Dimple was thinking exactly the same thing. He watched from under the giant upturned root that made up the stables, beady eyes darting back and forth between the Scouts and the World Tree's entrance chamber. The opening was still filled with fireflies, but they were thinning.

Trying to get away, Dimple thought. To warn the world. They're so close!

Standing next to him, Jenny hummed, skin a dark green under the shade of night. "Looks like Councilman Silviamon got them just in time with his Art," she said. Stepping forward, she looked up at the Tree, eyes narrowed on the spiral platform wrapping around its trunk. "He has to be up there somewhere. Can you see him?"

Dimple shook his head, though he didn't bother trying to look. Mostly he was thinking about how if the Scouts got caught now they'd be put back in that jail room, and if that happened no one on the outside would know what the High Council was up to before it was too late, and if that happened then his uncle...

His uncle would become a mass murderer.

Breathing hard, Dimple felt his hands tremble. Wouldn't he become a mass murderer, knowing what he did, if he did nothing now? Wouldn't it at least make him complicit?

He... He had to... What?

Jenny noticed the minotaur's shaky breath. "Hey, you alright?"

"I..." Dimple licked his lips, head churning. "I need your help."

Worried now, Jenny put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay, are you sick? Or... did that human hurt you after all?"

"I feel sick. But no, not hurt, just... Look." Dimple took her hand and held it tight, staring her in the eyes. She blushed and pulled away, but he held on, speaking fast. "Look, the Council is doing something. Something wrong, and we need to stop them. I can't explain everything, but please trust me. Please?"

Jenny raised a brow, not used to him being this insistent on... well, anything. On his face she saw blatant fear and nerves, but something else too. Something in the set of his jaw, the flare of his nose. Limp noodles like him didn't get all serious like this for no reason. And as long as it wasn't too crazy...

"Alright," she decided. "I guess... tell me what to do."

High above them on the platform, Silviamon could feel his Spirit weaken second after second, could feel all the little nibbles on his concentration as each of his victims pushed up against his hold. With both pairs of hands clasped together, his technique was iron-tight, but enough people pulling in the same direction could break off any set of chains. Not to mention how hard it was to keep them all in view through all this rain.

Well, just a bit longer. Surely that brute Alexander and his new elf sidekick would come out soon.

That thought comforted Silviamon for all of about two seconds before he noticed a blue-white bulge come up to the group of humans below.

No.

The thing—a riding snail—turned to a clump of humans in front and just passed by behind them, breaking Silviamon's line of sight.

No no no.

The humans jerked alive, stumbling on their feet and looking around in momentary confusion before dashing off into the tree line.

No!

Silviamon grit his teeth, annoyance blooming in his chest as the snail doubled back, trying to break more of the humans free. Who was that riding on it?

Glowering, the forest demon kept track of the figure from his periphery, unable to take his eyes off the center point of the human group for fear of letting the ones at the edges wriggle their way out of his Art. He couldn't trap the thing while Evil Eye was already active, and if he canceled Evil Eye to trap it then who knew how many more humans might get away in the intervening time?

Damnation, where was that bullheaded fool?!

There. Sighing with relief, Silviamon saw Alexander and several guards finally run out to the humans. The guards surrounded the remaining humans, spears pointed at them, one for each. Meanwhile, the snail and its rider—a small dark clump—fled at once, riding out after the escaped humans.

Sighing, Silviamon let Evil Eye drop. He put a pair of hands on his hips and crossed the other, catching his breath, glaring down at the rain and watching the humans regain their movement only to freeze up again, this time due to the pointy weapons at their necks. At least only a few got away.

A traitor now of all times. Just their luck after a day like this.

A yawn suddenly broke from his lips. Well, Silviamon thought, no one can say I didn't do my part. Time to check on Harmony, make sure they had started the ritual, and then get a good night's sleep. Anything beyond that was no longer his problem.

- - - — MKII — - - -

Malcolm lost count of how long he ran, but by the time Daphne had them stop he had to raise his arms over his head, gasping for air, before putting a hand on a slick tree, before finally settling for just leaning his back on it and sliding down to a tired sit. Clover did worse than him, hunched over kneeling, hands firmly on the muddy forest ground. Even Daphne, though standing, had her arms akimbo, chest heaving harshly.

The only one who seemed fine all things considered was Sam, who stood arms akimbo like Daphne, but his breath rose and fell slowly, calm and collected.

Still, all of them were exhausted, covered in dirt and grime and a bit of blood, absolutely drenched from the rain, here in the middle of a dark forest right before the end of the world. Not the worst night of Malcolm's life, but definitely the second worst.

"We... lost them," Daphne said, words coming out between breaths. "Don't think they'll follow too far... Enough Scouts to deal with back there already. Silviamon, that bastard... " The woman ran a hand down her face, wiping water from her eyes. "God, we left so many behind..."

"I think... we're lucky any of us got out at all," Clover said. She settled onto a kneel, hands on her thighs. "It's not your fault, Mom."

Daphne shook her head, and Malcolm couldn't tell if it was from disagreement or the sheer surreality of their circumstances. Maybe both.

"We outta thank you," Sam said, looking over at the fifth member of their little group. "I don't know what you did, but we'd probably still be stuck there too without you."

A giant snail purred nearby, and atop its saddle sat Dimple, hands tight on the reins. "Don't thank me yet," he said, voice low. "If you know what's coming..."

"Oh, we know alright," Malcolm muttered.

"Then you know how important it is for you all to keep going. Get far away enough to use those phones of yours. Let people know. People who can stop Harmony before it's too late."

"It's already too late," Malcolm said tiredly. "Your director's probably getting through that ritual right now."

"Maybe Red beat them," Clover said, and Malcolm snorted at the thought. He wasn't feeling optimistic enough to even consider it.

Dimple, though, drew forward with clear interest. "Wait, Red? Guy with that mark on his cheek, that Red?"

The others looked at him, surprised. "You know him?" Clover asked.

We're buddies, Red had said. But Dimple didn't have the heart to repeat it. "I'm... I was, um, his tour guide?"

"The guy went off to fight Harmony," Sam said, crossing his arms. Unlike the rest, he'd just about regained his breath. "Guess he helped distract some of the guards, but honestly seemed sorta pointless."

"No," Dimple said. "He had the right idea. Don't... Don't you know how the ritual works?" The minotaur watched their heads shake hesitantly with wide eyes. Hand on his temple—running over the nub of his horn—he tried to remember what his uncle had told him. "It's a Talisman. Harmony bonds to it, and then the effect sort of... spills out from there?"

"We know it'll take a day for it to go out around the world," Clover said, slowly.

"It'll become a part of them. Feed off their Spirit. So to stop it..."

Malcolm snickered. It was a dark laugh full of spite, harsh and grating. Taking his glasses off—smeared all over—he palmed his face and laughed right into his hand.

"Bishop, Knight, Rook," he said, chuckling. "That guard said Harmony was the Queen, and there wasn't a King. But that's not exactly true, huh? There just wasn't a King yet." He shook his head, laugh faltering, though his lips were still drawn up. This was really too much. "Just like a chess game. To win, all we have to do is kill the King. We could've all tried for that with Red, but instead we ran and ended up here. Great. Fantastic."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Daphne clicked her tongue, head bowed. Clover glanced at her, then at Malcolm, who kept smiling but held the bridge of his nose. Looking up, she caught Sam's eye, his shrug, his glance away. They fell into silence, the weakening rain pattering all around them.

"Okay," Clover said. "It's not looking good. I get that. But we can't sit here feeling sorry for ourselves." With a sharp intake, she rose, wiping her dirt-covered hands on her only marginally cleaner shirt. "First thing's first. We need to get somewhere with a signal and contact the RC. Get a team of Enforcers out here."

"We're at least a hundred miles away from the nearest road," Daphne said. "On foot, that'd be, what? Fifteen hours? More? By then, what'll it even matter?"

"There'd still be time to stop the Talisman's effect from reaching half the world. And we don't all have to go. Some of us—" Clover stopped, afraid of the reaction, but built up the guts to say it anyway. "Some of us should go back to try and beat Harmony."

Malcolm groaned, and Daphne stomped her foot. "Absolutely not. We barely got out as it is, and now we wouldn't even have the numbers for that. Going back would be suicide."

"Maybe, but don't you see? That's how far Harmony and the rest of the Council are willing to go. You think the Enforcers won't end up coming here anyway after it's all done? The Council have to know they can't win that fight." Clover walked to her mother, glaring up at the woman. "They've decided they don't care if they die. Well, maybe we shouldn't either. If it means saving lives—"

"I can't put you in that kind of danger, Clover!" Daphne said, grabbing the girl's shoulders. "You're my daughter. Damn the world."

"You don't mean that."

"I do! You're..." Daphne shut her eyes tight, letting out a shaky breath. "You're the only family I have left, girl. Being together.. Living together... That's all that matters. Can't you understand that?"

That gave Clover pause. She opened her mouth and, for a long moment, couldn't find the right words. But then she found some that weren't hers.

"Before I can live with other folks I’ve got to live with myself," she said.

Her mother's eyes opened, and Clover set her own sad eyes on them. Then, she saw the smallest smile pull on Daphne's lips.

"Your dad's favorite," the woman said, and Clover nodded. "That's not fair."

Clover gave her own smile. "It's not, but it's true. Mom, I love you, and I'm scared. But we can't just give up. Even if we survive, I won't ever forget not doing what I knew I had to. I don't think you'd forget either. And when we meet Dad again..."

"We shouldn't be ashamed," Daphne finished. Leaning down, she set her forehead on Clover's, breathing in her girl's presence, and let out a soft chuckle. "I'm the mother here. You're not supposed to be this good at lecturing me."

"I've learned from the best. So..."

"So fine." Pulling away, Daphne nodded. "Let's give it a try."

Clover's smile grew, though it dimmed a bit when she turned back to the others, who had silently watched the exchange. "Guys, I know it's a long shot, and it's dangerous, but—"

Malcolm raised a hand, the other one still on his face. "I accept, so don't bother asking," he said. Leaning his head back on the tree he sat against, he blew out a sigh. "I'm already here, right? Might as well finish the job."

Clover nodded, then turned to the other Scout. "Sam?"

"I, uh, well." Sam scratched the back of his head. "I dunno how handy I'll be in a fight, but I did cross country back in college. I can be the one to run for help. Sorry, I just—"

"That's perfect," Clover said. After all, chances were they wouldn't win anyway. This way, they could at least salvage something when they lost.

"Hey," Daphne said, eyes narrowing. in the dark. "Where did Joseph go? The minotaur boy?"

Blinking, Clover looked around herself and like her mother could not find said Greenkin or the snail he rode on.

"The guy left while you had your little... moment," Malcolm said. "I guess since he's the one who helped us run he probably won't tell where we are, right?"

"Right..." Clover couldn't help feeling disappointed; they needed all the allies they could get. But, ultimately, the minotaur had risked enough already. "I'd have liked saying goodbye, at least..."

Daphne stepped forward and put her arm around Clover's shoulder, hugging the girl close. "I'm sure he had his reasons," she said. "For now, let's rest. Sam, you'll have to start on your way as soon as you feel ready."

Sam gave her a salute. "Feeling ready as ever, I guess."

"Good. As for us..." Daphne looked at Clover, then at Malcolm. They both looked just about ready to drop, and if Daphne was honest with herself she wasn't doing much better. She hummed, considering it. "Four hours," she finally said, and feeling Clover about to protest she tightened her grip on the girl. "I know, hon'. And we will fight, but there's no point if we can't put up a fight. Rest. Sleep if you can. I'll use the time to get ready too." Now, uncharacteristically, she smirked. "After all, being out here does give us some advantages..."

- - - — MKII — - - -

The humans had made too much of a tumult to keep things quiet. It might’ve been easier back when most of the Greenkin in the ELD lived out in the forest, but now with all of them taking up room in the World Tree itself, it would be just about impossible to tell them all that noise that had woken them up in the middle of the night had come from nothing.

So there Alexander was in the pavilion, too busy to appreciate Halcyon’s full bloom, personally explaining to the crowd of half-worried and half-irritated Greenkin that a rambunctious and very punished group of people had gotten into a bit of a tiff. Scouts and guards were both culpable, because it was less suspicious than pinning it all on one or the other, and it had all been a very personal matter driven out of control by too much wine.

Thankfully the humans had already been led by spearpoint back to their holding cell, so they couldn’t exactly chime in with their version of the story. Jahdiel was probably having a great time leading that effort.

Not for the first time since the escape attempt—the battle, as many of the guards called it—Alexander felt a migraine coming in. Pixies, gnomes, and an assortment of beastmen in pajamas looked up at him as he laid out the details.

It felt… strange, lying to their expectant faces, but Alexander couldn’t very well tell them the truth and risk a panic. Better to have them go back to sleep annoyed but reassured that nothing was wrong.

Not that what we’re doing is wrong, Alexander thought sternly. That nephew of his was too kind, a fine enough trait during most times, but not when blood had to be spilled. It’s good he wasn’t here for this.

Someone was making their way through the crowd of sleepy Greenkin and guards. Soon enough, Alexander saw their head chef of all people standing there before him, a short satyr in an apron and topped by a tall white hat nestled between his horns.

"Councilman,” the chef said, face red and streaked with sweat. "It was hard work, but it’s ready."

Alexander blinked down at him. "Is… Is what ready?"

"Is what—" The chef sputtered, stomping forward and grabbing Alexander. He tried to shake the minotaur but only managed to rock himself back and forth. "The damned last-minute emergency buffet for those Scouts, you big pile of fur! There were three of us in the kitchen when we got that order, Councilman! Three! To make a meal for fifty damned stomachs! We need someone to bring it up for them, or do you expect us to do that too?"

And there it was. The migraine. Alexander rubbed his temples right under the base of his horns. Personally he’d have let the humans feel the hunger overnight as punishment for all the hassle they’d caused, but he supposed Harmony had ordered them fed. Plus, it wouldn’t do to have the chef make more of a scene than he already was.

"Any Saplings here," he said, "please go with Chef and carry the food up to the Scouts on level sixty." A hand came up to forestall the complaints he could already hear coming up. "And consider yourself free tomorrow. If anyone asks, tell them I excused you from your duties."

Grumbling turned into mild interest, and it wasn’t long before the chef left with a groggy yet willing band of helpers.

Among them was Jenny, who had closed up at the stables and then gone up to see what all the fuss had been about. All throughout Alexander’s explanation she’d just gone over Dimple’s few words in her head again and again.

The Council is doing something. Something wrong. We need to stop them. Please trust me.

Saddling Bessie back up hadn't been all too hard. Watching Dimple ride out to help the humans without stopping him had been a lot harder. But it was too late to take that back.

Alright, Jenny thought, walking right behind the chef and in between two other dryads like her. I trusted you. Now I need to make sure it was the right choice.

And who better to ask than the humans themselves?

- - - — MKII — - - -

The rain was letting up. Dimple noted it all disinterestedly, letting Bessie lead them through the trees back home. What used to be a constant sheet of water now trickled in a soft drizzle, and no thunder had growled across the sky for a good while.

He hoped the humans would figure something out, tired and scared as they'd seemed. He hoped no one but Jenny had seen him help them in the night. But mostly, he hoped what that Scout girl had said wasn't true. Ranger Corps Enforcers coming after Operation Checkmate was over and just killing the High Council in retribution. Killing his uncle.

This was all too complicated. It made Dimple's head hurt, and he rubbed at his little nub horns again. If only they'd been bigger, then he could be a warrior like Alexander and not have to think about things so much. Life would be a lot easier if he could just fight his way out of everything.

Bessie suddenly stopped, making Dimple start forward. He almost slipped off the saddle but caught himself just in time, looking down at the snail. "What's wrong?" he asked. Then he glanced up.

White fur smeared with mud. A gallant mane in damp clumps. Gnarly claws, a gnarlier black scorpion's tail, and two brown, broken wings wrapped up in bandages and stilts. Khurang the chimera got up on his paws, maw opening to growl, eyes glinting in the dark.

"Ohmygosh." Dimple pulled on Bessie's reins, but apparently the snail had entered fight-or-flight paralysis because nothing he did could move her. The chimera drew closer, prowling. "Ohmygosh."

It was only when Khurang came close enough to touch that a voice droned out from behind the beast. It was low and dry, even a bit snide.

"That's not a snack, furball."

Now it was Khurang's turn to freeze up, and to Dimple's utter shock he saw actual fear fill the chimera's eyes.

"Good. Now buzz off. Let the poor guy breathe."

Heaving hard—Dimple could smell the chimera's dank breath smack him over and over—Khurang drew down, head lowered, and slowly backed away. Watching it, Dimple remembered to breathe. Twice in one night he'd been saved from the same monster. This better not become a habit.

Looking over, Dimple saw the one who'd saved him. A man with a long, green cloak and a low, wide-brimmed hat of the same hue stared back at him from behind a pair of sunglasses. Sitting carelessly on the wet ground, hugging a long staff made of gnarled wood between his arms, the man waved a lazy hand.

"Yo."

"Uh... Hi." Dimple didn't know what to say—he certainly hadn't been expecting to find anyone out here—but then he saw another body lying on the floor alongside this stranger. It was smaller and wrapped up in bandages like a mummy, but the face was more or less uncovered and on it the minotaur could just barely make out a certain mark. "W-Wait, Red?! Hey, is he alright?!"

"Hm?" The man looked down at the unconscious boy next to him. "Oh, you know this kid? He fell outta the sky, y'know. I patched him up. Was hoping he'd wake up sometime soon and tell me what's going on over there." He gestured towards the World Tree. "Hearin' lots of chaos." Now the man looked back at Dimple, and even behind the sunglasses, his eyes burned intensely. "You wouldn't happen to know, would ya?"

- - - — MKII — - - -

Harmony walked into their quarters, cradling their broken hand in the other. That was a trip to the infirmary, late as it was, but it could wait a few more minutes. Now, all their focus was just on the box sitting on the table at the center of the room.

A decade ago, they'd stood right there by the balcony and told the others in the High Council their plan. A decade ago, they'd started on this long, arduous path. And it had all hinged on that little, black box. Reaching it, Harmony stood there and stared down, feeling... satisfaction.

Yes, satisfaction, because inside lay the Crown of Thorns.

Quite the legendary artifact. The fairy mused on it, turning it about in their hand. Dark and thin, it was hard to hold without pricking their fingers, though Harmony supposed that was the point, what with all the thorns and all. Was it the real one, or a replica? It was a question they hadn't been able to answer in all these years.

Wear it and be granted absolute authority for as long as you live. Hard to know what that meant, and Harmony wouldn't find out, seeing as it had been modified, original or not. Now, those thorns could be plucked out and planted like seeds, where they lay in wait underground.

That's what they'd been doing all these years. Whatever authority Harmony would gain, it would only be over them. That was enough. It would take time, but eventually the command to bloom and sow death would reach each and every single one.

With one hand, Harmony closed their yellow eyes and placed the crown gingerly atop their head. The thorns immediately stabbed into their scalp, drawing blood, and Harmony could feel their Spirit suckled as if through a million straws, flying up, out to the world.