Bento had woken the group early that morning, forcing them on the road at a brisk pace. Phoenix’s boots crunched against the uneven dirt path as the first gray streaks of dawn filtered through the twisted trees of the Grove. The air felt heavier here, damp and cold, clinging to her skin like a second layer. Becca walked silently beside her, their steps synchronized but weighted by unspoken thoughts.

Neither of them had slept much after the events of the night before. Even hours later, the memory of the creature’s shadowy form and its haunting words lingered like a stain neither could scrub away. Becca had been the first to suggest they keep it to themselves. Phoenix agreed almost instantly.

“There’s no point in telling them,” Becca had muttered, her voice low but firm as they packed up their gear before dawn. “They’ll never care about anything we have to say about a stupid shadow.”

Phoenix nodded without hesitation. The Grove of Sorrows was already getting to them in ways they didn’t want to admit: muted arguments, restless nights, the way even Bento, their self-proclaimed leader, kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the forest to close in on them.

But Phoenix wasn’t sure silence would protect anyone. The shadow’s words had burrowed deep, festering like a splinter she couldn’t dislodge. You cannot replace her with this one. You cannot escape what you are. It had seen something in her—something Phoenix wasn’t ready to confront.

She shot a glance at Becca. Her friend’s expression was tight, focused on the trail ahead, but Phoenix could see the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders hadn’t relaxed once since they’d started walking. What the shadow had said to Becca, it had struck just as deeply. You cannot heal yourself from brokenness you broke yourself.

The path wound upward, the trees thinning slightly as they climbed toward higher ground. The air grew colder, the sun struggling to break through the perpetual gloom of the Grove. Bento, walking a few paces ahead, paused to adjust the straps on his pack. He turned to face the group, his face pale and drawn.

“We’re close now,” he said, his voice rough from hours of silence. “Noxhaven should be just beyond the next ridge. Maybe half a day’s walk if we keep pace.”

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Phoenix nodded but didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak without the weight of the previous night bleeding through her words. Instead, she focused on the horizon, scanning for any sign of movement in the mist-shrouded distance.

Becca dropped back to walk beside her. “You good?” she asked under her breath, her voice low enough that only Phoenix could hear.

Phoenix gave a tight nod. “You?”

Becca hesitated, her eyes darting to the others before meeting Phoenix’s gaze. “I’ll be fine.” But the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her. Phoenix didn’t press. She had no right to when her own hands were still shaking, her nerves frayed from a night of too many questions and no answers.

The trail grew steeper, the incline forcing the group to spread out. Phoenix fell to the back, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. The Grove seemed different now, its silence heavier, its shadows longer. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching them.

Ahead, Lyra's horse stumbled on a loose rock, and she let out a soft curse. Bento reached out to steady her.

Phoenix’s lips twitched in a faint smirk despite herself. Bento was trying so hard to keep up the illusion of control, but even he wasn’t immune to the Grove’s oppressive weight. No one was.

As the group pushed on, the forest began to change. The trees grew sparser, their gnarled branches giving way to jagged rocks and patches of brittle grass. The mist thinned, revealing glimpses of the ridge ahead. Phoenix felt a flicker of relief at the sight of open space.

But the feeling was short-lived. As they neared the ridge, the air shifted again—a subtle, almost imperceptible change that set Phoenix’s nerves on edge. The shadows beneath the rocks seemed darker, deeper, as if they were hiding something.

Becca must have felt it too because she slowed her pace, her hand brushing where the hilt of the dagger at her hip would have been if Bento hadn’t locked up their weapons. Phoenix mirrored the motion, her fingers itching for the familiar weight of her knife.

When they reached the crest of the ridge, the view before them stole what little breath Phoenix had left. The Grove of Sorrows stretched out below, a vast expanse of gray and black that seemed to go on forever. But in the distance, rising from the fog like a jagged crown, were the jagged structures of Noxhaven.

Even from here, the city looked hostile. Its walls were crumbling, its spires broken, and the air above it shimmered faintly, as if the very space around it were warped. Phoenix’s chest tightened. Whatever lay within those walls, it wasn’t going to be welcoming.

Bento let out a low whistle. “There it is,” he said, his voice laced with anticipation. “Noxhaven.”

Phoenix exchanged a glance with Becca. Neither of them said a word, but the same thought was written plainly across both their faces.

They started down the ridge, the ruins growing larger with every step. The closer they got, the colder the air became, the same bone-deep chill Phoenix had felt the night before when the shadow appeared. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on the path ahead.

How the fuck do I always end up in these situations?