The journey through the dense forest was grueling, each step feeling heavier than the last. Shadows stretched long beneath the thick canopy, the dim light making it difficult to judge the passage of time. Every so often, the rustling of unseen creatures echoed through the undergrowth, but no threat emerged—only the eerie quiet of a land that had seen too much bloodshed. Jack’s breath was steady but labored, his body aching from the battles he had fought. Fatigue gnawed at his muscles, but he pushed forward, unwilling to succumb to weakness.

Celia’s unconscious form weighed heavily on his shoulder, her limp body an awkward burden that tested his endurance. The elf had been a fierce opponent, wielding fire with deadly precision, yet now she was utterly powerless. Even with her hands and feet bound by thick vines and her mouth gagged to prevent any incantations, Jack remained wary. He didn’t know how long she would remain unconscious, nor what would happen when she awoke. Despite the precautions, he couldn’t shake the feeling that danger still clung to her, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Tanner walked a short distance behind him, his expression dark and unreadable. The man had hardly spoken since they left the battlefield, but his displeasure was clear. Every so often, Jack could feel his eyes boring into Celia’s still form, as if questioning why she was still alive. It wasn’t hard to guess what Tanner was thinking—keeping her prisoner was a mistake, a risk they couldn’t afford. Jack knew it too, but something in his gut told him this was the right call.

To his right, Cael moved with quiet vigilance, his sharp goblin eyes constantly scanning the dense foliage. His grip on his dagger never wavered, fingers twitching at the slightest sound. The ambush had rattled them all, and Cael, despite his usual sharp tongue, had remained silent since their retreat.

Lyla led the way, moving with calculated determination. Though exhaustion weighed on her, she maintained a steady pace, her instincts keeping her alert. The battle had drained her, but she refused to let it show. Jack could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself rigid despite her fatigue. She was worried—not just for herself, but for all of them.

Behind them, Goldeyes and Monsoon trailed at a cautious distance. The white wolf and his smaller blue counterpart moved carefully, their powerful bodies showing signs of the toll the battle had taken. Though their wounds had been treated, they were not unscathed. Their slowed movements betrayed their pain, yet their ears remained perked, noses twitching at every shift in the wind. Even wounded, they were ever-watchful, their instincts sharper than any of them.

After what felt like hours of relentless trekking, the trees finally began to thin. Then, as they crossed a small rise, the sight of Elyra’s Bondtree came into view. Towering and ancient, its massive, twisting roots seemed to pulse faintly with an inner light, a luminescent heartbeat that resonated with the land itself. Its sprawling branches stretched toward the heavens, their lush green canopy untouched by time. The air around it felt different—charged with something deeper, something Jack could never quite describe. It was like standing at the edge of an unseen force, one that whispered in a language only the trees could understand.

Jack exhaled, relieved. They had made it.

“We’re here,” Lyla announced, though her voice carried a note of uncertainty.

Jack moved carefully, easing Celia’s body down against the base of the tree. The elf remained motionless, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her face, now devoid of its earlier fury, was almost peaceful in unconsciousness. He kept the vines tight, knowing better than to underestimate her.

Tanner crossed his arms, his glare burning holes into Celia. “I still think this is a mistake,” he muttered.

Jack ignored him. Instead, he turned to Lyla. “Will this work?”

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They had spoken on the way about what he planned to ask Elyra once he met her again.

She hesitated, her fingers grazing the tree’s bark as if searching for something unseen. “I don’t know. My aunt isn’t exactly predictable.” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. “ Even if she can do what you want I am not sure that she will. But if she’s watching, she’ll know we’re here.”

That was good enough for now. Jack exhaled and sat down beside Celia, his back pressing against the tree’s massive trunk. The moment his body made contact, a strange sensation rippled through him—a distant hum, like the whisper of a thousand voices just beyond reach. It wasn’t sound, not exactly, but a pull—something deeper, something unseen.

He closed his eyes.

And then, the world shifted.

When Jack opened his eyes again, the forest was gone. The heavy, oppressive trees had been replaced by a serene glade, bathed in soft, ethereal light. The grass beneath his feet shimmered, alive with a faint, pulsing glow. Each blade seemed to hum with a quiet, unseen energy. The air was filled with a distant chime, a melodic resonance that seemed to echo in the very fabric of the world. It was as if the forest itself was alive, singing in reverence to something far beyond his comprehension.

And there, in the center of the glade, stood Elyra.

She was as striking as ever, her presence commanding in its quiet intensity. Her green eyes locked onto his, their gaze sharp and unyielding. There was no warmth in her expression, no sign of the aunt who had once shown kindness. Instead, her eyes were calculating, cool, and filled with an ancient wisdom that made Jack feel small, insignificant.

“Jack,” she greeted, her voice carrying a note of knowing, as though she had been expecting him. “You return sooner than I anticipated.”

Jack glanced to his side. Celia’s unconscious form stood there as well, her body suspended in the same state as in the real world. He frowned, unsure of how to begin. “I didn’t have a choice,” he admitted, his voice steady. “We were ambushed just outside the dungeon.”

Elyra’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Ambushed?”

Jack nodded grimly, the memories of the battle still fresh in his mind. “A group of powerful enemies. A dwarven warrior who transformed into a jaguar-like beast. A necromancer with undead hounds. A massive armored brute with a warhammer. And her.” He gestured toward Celia. “A fire-wielding elf. They came at us fast, and if we hadn’t fought back, we would be dead by now.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken understanding. Jack watched as Elyra’s fingers curled slightly, a subtle shift, but one that carried immense weight. Her gaze darkened, and realization hit Jack like a physical blow.

“She went after Lyla.” Elyra’s voice was laced with quiet fury, her words barely a whisper, yet carrying the weight of a thousand storms. “My niece,” she murmured, the words dripping with barely contained anger. “This elfling threatened my blood?”

Jack didn’t flinch. He met her gaze steadily, unwavering. “Yes,” he said plainly. “And she was powerful. If we hadn’t fought together, we might not have survived.”

Elyra inhaled sharply, steadying herself, though her fury was far from subdued. “Then she is fortunate she still draws breath.”

Jack felt the weight of her gaze, assessing him, measuring him. After a long moment, he spoke again. “We captured her because we need answers. I was hoping, since we’re on the Psychic Plane, that you could… probe her memories, or something?”

To his dismay, Elyra shook her head, her expression unreadable. “That is beyond my power.”

Jack frowned, frustration creeping into his chest. “What do you mean?”

“The Psychic Plane is vast,” she explained, her voice calm but filled with a deep, implacable knowledge. “It is not a singular entity, but a collection of subrealms, each governed by its own laws. Here, we are in the realm of Ego, the domain of conscious thought. It is where I dwell.”

Jack’s stomach churned, unease settling in his gut. “And memory?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

The Scraeling's gaze turned distant, her eyes clouding over as though seeing something far beyond him.

“Memory belongs to another realm. I cannot reach it. But I know someone who can.”

Jack felt a flicker of unease. “Who?”

Her lips pressed together for a moment, her eyes narrowing in contemplation. “A dweller of the subrealm of Memory. An entity who is very skilled at the extraction of recollections.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “And you trust them?”

There was a pause, brief but significant. Elyra’s gaze shifted, and Jack saw the hesitation—a momentary crack in her otherwise calm exterior. “Trust is… a complicated thing. But they are skilled. If you wish to uncover this woman’s past, her intentions… then you will need to seek them out.”

Jack glanced down at Celia’s still form. The answers were within reach. But they lay in the hands of someone—or something—Jack didn’t fully understand.

He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. “Then take me to them.”