Davey's head was throbbing more painfully than his injuries. Nausea and agitation had become his constant companions since they had passed through Brixton station. He had intended to discuss his worsening condition with the Warlock, but a growing voice in his mind was insistent that the Warlock was the cause of his suffering. As they ventured deeper into central London, the urge to lash out at the Warlock—or perhaps even the Runelord—grew stronger. It was a troubling thought, but with every mile, as they drew closer to their destination, the pain surged in waves, gnawing at his resolve like an insistent tide eroding a sandcastle.

The party crossed the Thames via the Grosvenor Railway bridge, heading towards Victoria Station. Their next step was to enter the Underground network and travel on the Victoria Line to Warren Street. The city around them was still, but not silent. Screeches and bellows of sprites clashed with those of other clans, creating a cacophony of chaos. Despite Cypher’s protective runes and the Hollow Knight’s potent aura shielding them, they remained as concealed as possible. The city, this deep, was devoid of human life.

As they neared Victoria Station, Warren’s heart sank. The once-grand train terminal was now completely encased in a tangle of thorny brambles and creeping vines, an anomaly that had emerged from the mist. It was a disheartening sight, a wild and uncontrollable growth overtaking what had once been a symbol of human progress. Warren sighed heavily and sat down, feeling the weight of fatigue and dwindling motivation. Cypher and the Hollow Knight approached the barrier, intent on inspecting it.

“It’s human,” the Hollow Knight finally concluded.

“Human magic?” Cypher inquired.

“It’s partially aetherial, but there’s a strong sense of humanity within. It tastes threatened and sad.”

“You can taste it?” Captain Marshall asked, her hand instinctively resting on her sword’s hilt.

“Perhaps ‘taste’ was not the right term, Captain,” the Hollow Knight responded, a hint of apology in her voice. “It’s part of how my kind tracks and hunts. We sense the essence of humanity, and your various emotional states give your souls distinct qualities.”

“It is what it is,” Captain Marshall said, shrugging but still keeping her hand on her weapon.

“Great, I can’t just burn a path through if it’s human,” Warren grumbled.

“You might need to investigate it yourself, Warlock,” Cypher suggested.

Warren rolled his eyes. Sid was right; whatever this barrier was, it had enough power to envelop the station in thorns. Sid’s current level made him ill-suited for handling significant danger, and while Sid's Runeguard could handle sprites, their effectiveness diminished outside their coordinated unit. The interior of the station was unknown and could disrupt their tactics.

“Alright, I’ll go in. Hollow Knight, you’re with me.”

“I cannot accompany you,” the Hollow Knight said apologetically. “I fear my presence may exacerbate the situation and make it more hostile.”

Warren grumbled as he stood, removing his cape and dropping his pack to avoid them catching on the thorns.

“If I’m not back in an hour, assume the worst and find an alternative route,” he said, hearing distant screeches from the mist.

“I sincerely hope you don’t die,” Captain Marshall said as Warren used his spear to carefully push aside a tangle of thorns and entered the station. Her words were not filled emotional longing, but the clear tactical appraisal of a seasoned veteran who knew she was at risk of losing a powerful asset.

"Me too," said the Warlock as he entered the station.

Warren pushed through the thicket, brambles scratching his face and snagging his hair. Each step was a battle against sharp thorns that jabbed into his arms and legs, causing him to wince with muted exclamations of pain. After what felt like an eternity navigating the dense growth, he finally reached a platform where the vegetation was less oppressive. He pulled himself up and surveyed his surroundings.

The station was a tangle of overgrowth, but still passable. Lights flickered above, obscured by a dome of wild, tangled plants that had taken over the glass roof. The station screens glowed a bright, unsettling blue, showing no advertisements or information—just a default screen. The air was thick with heat and the stench of rotting vegetation. Warren carefully made his way to the concourse, where the heart of the madness was revealed.

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A massive trunk of twisted, woody stems dominated the central space, stretching upward through the shattered glass ceiling and out into a chaotic web of thorns. Roots had invaded the concrete, pushing through to the surface and creating new tangles of vegetation that sprawled in all directions. At the core of this wild growth, a wooden figure sat on a throne of thorns.

As Warren approached, the wooden figure stirred. The bark on its surface cracked and flaked away, revealing a vibrant green undergrowth. The figure’s eyes, once hidden beneath moss and leaves, opened to reveal brilliant yellow orbs that fixed on Warren. The Warlock realized that this was not a mere wooden carving animated by magic but a man who had somehow become part of the plant life.

“Hello, friend,” Warren said, lowering his spear to avoid appearing threatening. “You are friendly, correct?”

The figure took a moment to scrutinize Warren before responding, its voice faint and reedy.

“Ah, it is you. The one from my dream. How curious for you to be here.”

“What is strange, friend, is that you dream of me at all,” Warren replied, hoping the conversation would remain civil.

“No. The dreams are strange. I have many dreams, frequent and lengthy. The most recent ones feature the Red Tower and the Twin Candles. You are the Twin Candles.”

“I’m flattered, but I’m the Warlock of Canterbury, not the Twin Candles,” Warren said.

“Once again, no. I am not mistaken. I see you now as you appear in my dreams—two candles burning, one of white fire and the other of black. This is true.”

Warren recalled what the Hollow Knight had mentioned about a black ember in his soul, linked to the Dread Queen, and shuddered.

“And you know about my quest to reach the Red Tower. Will you assist me?”

“That is not my decision to make, Twin Candles. It is yours. What would you have me do?”

“Well, perhaps we could start with your name?” Warren suggested, feeling unsettled by the portentous exchange.

“I am... I am the Green Man,” the figure finally replied. Each word sounded laboured, like it was incredibly difficult for the Green Man to remember how to talk. Warren noticed the Green Man's gaze drop to his hands, where a small skull was cradled delicately between gnarled fingers.

“Was that your child?” Warren asked, taking cautious steps forward. “Back before everything went wrong?”

The Green Man blinked several times, and a thick tear of tree sap rolled down his face.

“Yes. My child. My boy. He was ten. He wanted us to play garden wizards. That was what he called the game. I chose the botanimancy pathway for him, and I was an earth mage. So long ago now. We were here in the station, fleeing east when the mist came. He said the game magic could defeat the monsters. I did not believe him. He sacrificed himself to protect a young girl. I believed him then. I tried to do the same with my magic, but I was too weak. I took his MetaTEC and placed it on my other wrist. That was my mistake. A mistake made a long time ago, but I relive it in my dreams.” His voice trailed off into a pensive silence.

“Apologies, but are you saying that wearing two devices is what turned you into this... thing?” Warren asked.

The Green Man nodded solemnly. Warren found his hand instinctively moving closer to his mentor’s memento, which was safely tucked away in its pouch. For a moment, the device felt like a dangerous relic he had been carrying without realizing its potential hazards.

“Indeed, Twin Candles. I transgressed the terms of agreement. That only one device shall be worn at a time. As such, I have become a thing of the aether, as you see me now. I draw from it and, in many ways, have become part of it. Although I have been granted power and dreams, I would not wish this curse on anyone. But now, Twin Candles, it is time for you to choose which of your flames will burn the brightest. Already, the Master of the Blood Tower sends his minions for you. I can feel them, unhallowed things, scrabbling about my roots in the tunnels below. You have encountered them recently, I saw this in my dreams. So now the question remains, what would you have me do?”

Questions whirled in Warren's mind like an uncontrolled cyclone of doubt and uncertainty. He felt like a pawn in a game with cosmic rules he neither understood nor wanted to be part of. The hard, simple life he had carved out for himself back in Canterbury seemed distant and almost idyllic compared to the chaos surrounding him now. He knew he could walk away from everything at this moment and return to the semblance of normalcy he once knew. Yet, the path he was on had led him here, facing yet another abominable creation of the apocalypse. The Warlock found his answer amidst the storm of his thoughts.

“There is a settlement a few hours' walk from here, full of desperate people. One of their Magus is pregnant, and the settlement is planning on relocating to safer territory in the south. I want you to go with them, as far as Ashford. Protect them from the horrors of that place, and you can have it.”

“Oh?” said the Green Man, his tone curious. “Would you not prefer I lend you my power to take the Blood Tower?”

The question felt like a challenge, a veiled provocation. Warren could sense the weight behind it, but its true meaning remained obscured, hidden by the enigmatic strands of fate.

“No, we have enough power. There are those in worse condition who need strength where they can find it.”

“I understand,” said the Green Man, his voice tinged with melancholy. “Then summon your fellows, so we can discuss your onward journey. I will remove the thorns blocking their path, and the accursed sprite will remain unharmed.”