With a last glance back at the large group behind him, Henry adjusted his grip on Sarah’s limp form, his arms shaking from the effort of carrying her. He scanned the deserted alleyways, desperation gnawing at his chest. His eyes landed on a wheelbarrow leaning precariously against a collapsed shed, its single wheel crusted with mud and wobbling like it had somewhere better to be.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than collapsing halfway to Frieter.

Setting Sarah down gently against a mossy wall, Henry hurried to the wheelbarrow, yanking it free from a tangle of weeds. The whole thing creaked in protest, the wheel letting out a pitiful groan when he tested its balance.

“Oh-ho!” Elara’s voice exploded beside him like a firecracker, and Henry nearly dropped the wheelbarrow in surprise. She hovered beside him, grinning with manic glee, her wings fluttering so fast they looked like a blur of fractured light. “What’s this? A noble thief at work! Scavenger of the century! Hero of the wheelbarrow rescue! Oh, I can feel the legends already writing themselves!”

Henry shot her an annoyed glare. “Elara, not now.”

“Not now?” she gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Oh, but now is exactly the time! Don’t you see the poetry? The drama? The—” She twirled in midair, throwing her hands wide. “The heroic wheelbarrow escapade! The future bard tales practically sing of it! ‘Oh, noble Henry, savior of—’ wait, wait, let me think of something properly grandiose…”

Ignoring her rambling, Henry hauled Sarah into the barrow with care, her head tilting limply to the side. He adjusted her as best he could. She was still alive—that was all that mattered.

But Elara wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“‘Savior of Rolling Death Machines,’ no, no, that doesn't make sense… How about, ‘Henry, the Wheelbarrow Whisperer!’ Oh, that’s perfect—you’re basically married to it now.” She clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with lunatic delight. “You’ll have portraits! You, your wheelbarrow, maybe a dramatic pose in the rain—yes, yes, this is it! Henry and the Sacred Relic of Rolling!”

Henry let out a sharp sigh through clenched teeth. “Elara, I’m begging you. Just... stop.”

“Stop? Stop?!” She whirled around him, her wings making a buzzing noise as if she were some oversized, hyperactive insect. “Do you know what kind of moment this is? Destiny, Henry! You can’t just roll destiny into a forest without proper commentary! Do you even care about your legacy?”

“I care about getting Sarah to Frieter alive,” he snapped, gripping the splintered handles and shoving the wheelbarrow forward. It groaned loudly, and Elara cackled like a madwoman.

“Yes, yes! Push! Let the wheelbarrow’s cries fuel your heroism! Listen to its voice, the wail of loyalty!” She swooped down beside the wheel, her hands cupping the air like she was coaxing a song from the rusted metal. “Oh, brave wheel! Sing your song! Carry the burden of love across this cruel, uncaring world!”

Henry didn’t even dignify her with a response, his jaw tightening as he pushed the barrow onto the winding forest path. The trees closed in around them, tall and twisted, their branches like skeletal hands reaching for the stormy sky. The creak of the wheelbarrow echoed in the unnatural silence, each sound jarring against the oppressive stillness.

“Ah, the forest welcomes us!” Elara declared, spinning wildly above him. Her voice had taken on a grand, theatrical tone. “Hail, weary travelers! Enter the Forest of Watching Eyes and Creaky Wheels! Beware the gnarled sentinels of the deep, for they—” She stopped suddenly, pointing dramatically upward as a roll of thunder shook the air. “Oh, and the storm has joined us! How romantic! A storm, a forest, a dying sibling in a stolen chariot—it’s like something out of a tragic ballad!”

Henry groaned. “You are exhausting.”

“Oh, I know! Isn’t it delightful?” Elara cackled, flipping upside down and dangling in front of him like an unhinged pendulum. Her wild curls swung back and forth as she grinned at him, her eyes glinting with manic glee. “But exhausting is fun! Isn’t it, Henry? Exhaustion keeps you sharp, keeps you alive! Like a little mouse on a wheel, running, running, running—”

“Not listening,” Henry muttered, pushing the barrow harder. The oppressive silence of the forest closed in around him, Elara’s voice the only thing cutting through the eerie stillness.

“You can’t ignore me!” she sang, throwing her arms out dramatically. “I’m like the storm, Henry! Everywhere, all the time! And, oh, here it comes now!” She twirled midair, pointing to the sky as lightning ripped across the clouds. “The drama! The tension! The sheer theatricality!”

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“Enough!” Henry barked, stopping short and glaring at her. “You can keep your commentary to yourself, Elara. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

Elara gasped, clutching her chest again. “No time for nonsense? But nonsense is the best part!” She spun higher, cackling madly as another crack of lightning lit up her face, casting her wild grin into shadowed relief. “Oh, you silly boy. You can’t outwalk the storm! It’s already here! And me?” She pointed to herself with exaggerated flair, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “I’m the choir.”

Henry rolled his eyes and turned back to the path, his grip tightening on the wheelbarrow handles as he marched forward. Behind him, Elara burst into an eerie, disjointed melody, her laughter mingling with the growing rumble of thunder.

~10 minutes later~

Henry pressed his hands over his ears, but her song seemed to claw its way into his mind, the words burrowing deep, leaving a residue of unease. He glared at her, his jaw tight. She only responded with a delighted chuckle, spinning in place like a gleeful child.

“Oh, poor, angry Henry,” she said, her voice dipping into a low crackle that sounded like dry leaves crushed underfoot. She draped an arm dramatically across her forehead like an over-the-top stage actor. “You think I’m the problem? Sweetheart, wait until you see what’s waiting for you in the shadows of Frieter. Oh, they’re going to adore you there.”

Henry shook his head, taking a step back. “I don’t care what waits there—I’m going for Sarah.”

Elara gasped, clutching her chest as though he’d wounded her. “Such resolve!” she exclaimed, stumbling backward in mock fainting. “Oh, Henry, you’d make a fantastic tragic hero. Let me know if you want a cape. Or maybe a crown? Something to look extra dignified when the shadows eat you alive.”

“Enough!” he snapped, his voice cutting through her theatrics. "I've had it. Why don't you just leave me alone! Its not like you are even really helping me. All you do is spout nonsense and in tired of it. Please just give me a minutes peace!

“Fine, fine,” she huffed, throwing up her hands. “But mark my words, Henry, the shadows don’t care about your heroics. They’ll peel away that shiny determination like a banana.” She paused, twirling a strand of her wild hair. “Mmm, banana. You think we’ll find bananas in Frieter? No, too cold. Never mind.”

Before Henry could retort, the mist began to thicken, curling up from the ground like ghostly vines. It coiled around his legs, clinging with a damp chill that made his stomach twist. The air grew heavy, suffocating, and alive.

A shadow lunged from the fog, its shape shifting and flickering like a candle flame about to go out. More forms began to stir at the edges of Henry’s vision. His wand was in his hand in an instant, its weight grounding him as his pulse hammered in his ears.

“Elara,” he muttered, his voice sharp with urgency. “This is just like what happened the last time we were In the forest.”

But Elara only turned to him, her eyes gleaming with a dark, hungry light. “Oh, don’t you see?” she purred, her tone dripping with amusement. She dropped into an exaggerated curtsy, as though welcoming an old friend. “The mist is here to play. Let it in, Henry. Let it show you what fear tastes like. Spoiler alert: it’s bitter. Very bitter. Like over-steeped tea.”

Elara hovered beside him, watching the encroaching shapes with a grin that bordered on manic. “Come now, Henry,” she cooed, tilting her head like a curious bird. “Let’s dance in the dark and see who’s still standing when the music stops.”

“Stay out of the way,” Henry growled, gripping his wand tightly. The cold seeping from it into his bones made him shiver, but he forced his focus onto the weapon’s power, his breath steadying.

The air around him began to hum, the vibration building into an uneven, discordant whine. The mist swirled and churned, coiling together into a single, horrifying mass. Henry’s thoughts darkened as he summoned the creature, the wand pulling at his strength, at his resolve, until it felt like the effort might crush him.

Before him, the mist twisted and condensed into a new monster he hadn't seen before—a grotesque knot of intertwined bodies, each face frozen in eternal agony. Empty eyes stared from the writhing form, their voids tugging at Henry’s sanity like black holes. The mass throbbed like a diseased heart, every pulse sending nausea crashing through him.

But before Henry could fully process the horror of the thing, Elara let out a delighted gasp that could’ve lit up a festival.

“OH. MY. GOODNESS!” she shrieked, clapping her hands like an excited child. “Look at it, Henry! It’s beautiful!” She darted forward, circling the monstrous mass, her grin spreading wider with every step. “Look at those faces! That pulsating, gooey texture! Oh, I could just die!”

“Elara, stop!” Henry barked, his voice strained. “Get back!”

But she wasn’t listening. She crouched dramatically, pointing at the creature like she’d just found the cutest puppy in a shelter. “I’m calling it… Sir Wrigglesworth! No, wait. Captain Wrigglesworth!” She paused, tapping her chin. “Or maybe The Wrigglemeister?” She gasped again, spinning to face Henry, her hands clasped together in mock reverence. “Henry, can we keep it? Please? I’ll feed it, and walk it, and teach it to eat all our enemies! Just look at those little grabby faces—so precious!”

The creature let out a guttural groan, its many mouths stretching open as if to scream. Henry staggered back as the sound reverberated through his skull, but Elara only threw her arms wide in delight.

“Did you hear that?!” she squealed. “It’s singing for us! Oh, I bet it likes music. Maybe it’d like a flute! Or a kazoo!” She mimed playing an imaginary kazoo, her cheeks puffed out comically as the monster writhed and pulsed, clearly not appreciating her antics.

“Elara!” Henry shouted again, his frustration boiling over. “It’s not a pet—it’s a nightmare! Get away from it before it—”

But Elara was already prancing in circles around the creature, tossing a wilted flower at its base like she was crowning it king of the mists. “Don’t be jealous, Henry,” she called over her shoulder. “You can name the next one! But Captain Wrigglesworth is mine, and I love him with all my little chaotic heart.”

The Sorrow’s Pulse shifted, its grotesque form lurching toward Henry with an audible squelch. Henry snapped his wand up, the chill biting into his skin as he steadied himself for the attack. Behind him, Elara hummed a cheerful tune, utterly unfazed by the monstrosity she’d just christened like a beloved stray.

“Stop—just stop,” Henry hissed, his focus slipping as Elara began to hum an off-key battle march, complete with exaggerated trumpet noises.

The Sorrow’s Pulse emitted a guttural groan that reverberated through the forest. Henry gritted his teeth, ignoring Elara’s antics as he steadied himself, the wand’s magic vibrating through his veins.

“Fine, fine,” Elara sighed, flitting to his side. “I’ll let you have your hero moment. But just so you know, if we die, it’s totally your fault. Onward, fearless leader!” She saluted him with two fingers before flopping onto an invisible chair and miming eating popcorn as the mass began to surge forward.