The cavern fell silent, the only sound the faint, rhythmic pulse of the heart behind them.

Elara beamed, clapping her hands together. "Ooooh! A noble quest! A brother’s love! How dramatic! How tragic! How—"

Henry barely waited for her to finish before he turned on his heel, his grip tightening on the Wand as he faced the direction he had come from. He could still picture Sarah—pale, trembling, clutching at him like he was her last lifeline. He took a determined step forward.

But before he could take another, the Wand yanked his arm back with enough force to make him stumble.

"Not so fast, boy." The Wand’s voice was sharp, mocking. "Did you forget why we’re even down here? We still need to get the armor. Priorities."

Henry groaned, shaking off the tug as best he could. "Oh, is that why we’re here?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And here I thought this whole trip was about traumatizing me in increasingly creative ways."

"Cute," the Wand shot back. "But unless you plan on saving your sister with your wit alone, I suggest we stick to the plan. Armor first. Then your sentimental rescue mission."

Henry clenched his jaw, his knuckles white around the Wand. For a moment, he considered arguing—insisting they go straight to Sarah, armor or no armor. But the weight of the situation sank in. The Wand was right, damn it.

He sighed heavily, his voice low. "Fine. But if we waste even a second longer than we have to, I swear—"

"Yes, yes, threats, blah blah," the Wand interrupted, its glow pulsing smugly. "Can we go now?"

Henry gritted his teeth, turning back toward the glowing heart and the path beyond it. His sister was waiting for him. He just had to get through this first.

"Alright, so where’s the armor?" he asked, scanning the cavern.

"Oh, it’s inside the heart," the Wand said casually. "And you’re gonna need to dig it out."

Henry’s stomach dropped. He slowly turned his gaze back to the pulsating mass of molten gold and mist.

"…How do I do that without killing the heart?"

A brief silence.

"Oh. Good point," the Wand admitted, sounding almost thoughtful. "Maybe I should go in there instead."

Henry stared at it. "You can just… do that?"

Elara gasped dramatically, floating up to the Wand like she was about to witness the event of the century. "Oooooooh, Mother’s going home! How sentimental! How poetic! How—"

"Don’t make it weird," the Wand snapped.

Henry sighed. "Too late."

He took a step back from the pulsating heart, his stomach twisting. "There’s something just beyond disturbing about all of this."

"I think I’m gonna be sick."

"Have you even eaten anything to be sick with?"

"No."

The Wand pulsed impatiently. "The longer you delay this, the harder it's going to be. Now quit stalling and let’s get this over with."

Henry exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second to process the fact that I apparently have to perform impromptu heart surgery with my insane talking weapon."

Elara clapped excitedly. "Oh, how thrilling! Do you need a scalpel? A saw? A ceremonial dagger? Oh! I have a rusty spoon!"

Henry stared at her, deadpan. "Why do you have a rusty spoon?"

"For situations like this, obviously! I never go anywhere without my spoons. Edward is so disappointed in you."

The Wand groaned. "I hate both of you."

Henry exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Alright. Let’s just get this over with before I start questioning my life choices again."

He stepped up to the heart—a grotesque, throbbing thing, slick with some kind of shimmering, mucus-like secretion. The surface pulsed, its veins bulging and retracting in a slow, rhythmic spasm, each beat making a wet squelching sound that made his stomach churn. Mist leaked from between the thick, sinewy ridges, curling in the air like vapor rising from a fresh corpse.

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Henry swallowed hard. "This is the worst thing I’ve ever done."

"Oh, come on, boy," the Wand purred, practically vibrating in his grip. "I thought you liked hands-on experiences."

Hands-on?! His fingers barely brushed the surface before his hand sank in up to the wrist with a sickening slurp.

Henry screamed.

Not a manly yell. Not a controlled, determined grunt. A full-on, horrified, gagging scream.

The heart twitched around his hand, tightening like a bloated leech sucking at his skin. A wave of heat crawled up his arm, sticky, hot, and unnervingly sentient. It felt like thick, rotting meat, soaked in oil and bile, clinging to his skin with a slimy, sucking pressure.

"Oh, beautiful! You're making progress!" the Wand chirped.

"I—WHAT THE HELL, IT'S—" Henry yanked, but the muscular walls of the heart clenched, tightening around his forearm.

His breath hitched as a warm, viscous liquid oozed over his skin, seeping into his sleeves, soaking through his clothes. The smell hit him next—a revolting mixture of blood, decay, and something acidic, like stomach bile that had been left to ferment in the sun.

"Mother’s welcoming you with open arms!" Elara cheered, clapping.

"I hate this. I hate this so much," Henry gagged, his eyes watering.

His fingers brushed something hard and metallic, lodged deep within the squirming, living tissue. His nails scraped against it, sending a vibrating jolt through the heart, making it convulse around him.

Henry retched as a glob of thick, gelatinous fluid dribbled down his arm.

"Oooh, there it is!" the Wand cooed. "You're so close! Keep digging, boy!"

Henry gritted his teeth, shoving his other hand inside, choking back another scream as his fingers sank through the fleshy, fibrous mass, warm strings of tissue clinging to his skin like wet intestines.

He yanked.

The armor did not budge.

Instead, the heart spasmed violently, sending out a spray of steaming, foul-smelling liquid, splattering across Henry’s face and dripping down his chin in thick, slow globs.

Henry’s composure snapped.

"I’M GONNA LOSE MY MIND!" he screeched, his voice cracking.

Elara shrieked with laughter, kicking her tiny legs in the air. "OH, I LOVE THIS! IT'S SO RAW! SO PRIMAL! RIP AND TEAR, HENRY!"

"For the love of—OH GOD—" Henry gagged as something warm and slimy oozed between his fingers, pulsating weakly, as though trying to crawl away from him.

"Pull, boy, pull!" the Wand urged.

"STOP ENCOURAGING ME!" Henry yanked with all his strength—

And the armor came loose with a disgusting, wet POP.

Henry stumbled backward, arms drenched in gleaming, blood-red gore, veins and chunks of flesh still clinging to the armor’s surface. The heart throbbed violently, its wounds leaking thick, steaming liquid, spurting in weak, pitiful bursts, as though it were wheezing in pain.

Henry’s breathing was ragged, uneven, nearly hysterical. He dropped the armor onto the stone with a heavy clang, staggering back, his boots squelching in the growing puddle of viscera pooling beneath him.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He was covered—soaked—in whatever hellish substance this heart had bled all over him.

Elara whistled, tilting her head. "Huh. You look different."

Henry’s eye twitched violently.

"I’M COVERED IN ORGANS, ELARA!"

"It’s a good look on you!"

The Wand vibrated happily in his grip. "I knew you had it in you, boy! Such a natural!"

Henry slowly turned to them, twitching, his pupils dilated with shock.

"I am going to kill both of you."

"Not with that attitude," the Wand quipped.

Henry boiled in anger for hours as they made their way back. He had been drenched in blood, bile, and whatever the hell else was inside that cursed heart, only to find out that—despite the butchery, the digging, and the trauma—the damn thing had healed itself almost instantly.

"Oh, don’t look so grumpy, boy," the Wand chimed, sounding far too pleased with itself. "You got the armor, didn’t you?"

Henry’s eye twitched violently.

"IT GREW BACK!" he snapped, throwing his arms out. "LIKE—LIKE IT NEVER EVEN HAPPENED! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW HORRIFYING THAT IS? I COULD HAVE JUST WAITED, AND IT PROBABLY WOULD HAVE SPIT THE ARMOR OUT ON ITS OWN!"

Elara giggled, spinning in lazy circles above him. "Oh, don’t be silly! It would have taken years for that to happen naturally! And you got to experience something so... beautiful like a child being born!"

Henry clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

The feeding had given the heart insane regenerative abilities, so much so that by the time they had finished arguing about it, the gaping hole he had carved into it had completely closed—the only evidence of his suffering being the thick, sticky residue that refused to come off his skin.

His stomach churned just thinking about it.

"I am never talking about this again," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "I don’t care how many times I have nightmares about it—I am repressing this to hell and back."

"Oh, you won’t have to talk about it," the Wand purred. "We will. Often."

Henry groaned, dragging a viscera-covered hand down his face.

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to sleep until he was home, showered, and receiving a lifetime of therapy.

The trek back through the mountain was easy with the armor on.

The weight, which should have been unbearable, felt surprisingly light—its metal infused with some kind of magic that made it feel almost like an extension of himself. His movements felt sharper, faster, more controlled, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like a defenseless idiot waiting to get eaten.

Not that it helped his mood.

"Well, at least you’re fashionable now," Elara mused, tapping a finger against her chin. "You look so dashing in all that golden plating!"

Henry said nothing.

Elara’s grin stretched.

"And that lovely dried gore really complements the—"

"Not. A. Word."