The tension that had built to a breaking point finally snapped. Elves from every faction began to speak over one another. Whispers turned into sharp demands, questions rising like sparks in a wildfire.

“What caused her weakness?” a Sylvaris elf hissed, eyes darting toward the Nytherion group.

“How will she enforce this wrath?” muttered an Aetherion elf, voice tight with concern.

Freya didn’t join in the shouting. She glanced at Jorma, his face still tense, his eyes narrowed in quiet thought.

This is why she’s putting on this front, Freya realized. Fear. Atheria wasn’t like this before. This wasn’t strength. This was defense. This is what it looks like when a god tries to hold on to power.

Freya’s eyes lowered toward her hands. The faint glow of the runes had long since faded, but she could still feel them.

Something’s wrong, she thought, her eyes flicking back to Atheria. And it’s only going to get worse.

“No more questions! GO!”

Atheria’s hand shot upward, and the chamber flooded with light once again. It wasn’t like before — this light was a harsh, overwhelming glow that poured in from every surface. It came from the bark, from the roots, from the very air itself. It drowned out color, sound, and thought. Everything became white.

Freya's instinct screamed to move, to leave.

“You have your commands, and I would hope you'd be wise to follow them.” Atheria’s voice echoed through the chamber like thunder.

Freya glanced around as the glow dimmed. The Legion moved. They rose slowly, some looking shaken, others moving with purpose. No one spoke up. Only silent mumbles could be heard.

The large doors at the end of the chamber slowly opened, revealing the path back into the corridors of the entrance of her Tree. One by one, the members of the Elite Legion filed out. Their steps were slow, tense. Their eyes flicked toward one another, their ears tilted toward every whisper of movement, every shift in the glow of magic. 

Freya’s eyes skimmed the crowd for olive but he seemed to have vanished probably terrified of the display shown today.

Raven was one of the last to leave besides Jorma, Freya, and Swiftfoot. Her amber eyes lingered on Atheria for a moment too long before she glanced toward Freya. Their eyes met, and Raven’s gaze was sharp. Calculating.

Don’t linger too long, Raven, Freya thought, watching her go. You’re smart enough to know better.

When the last of the Legion had left, only four people remained. Atheria. Freya. Jorma. Swiftfoot.

Atheria’s gaze fell on Jorma. Her eyes were softer now. Her glow dimmed slightly, becoming more like a gentle lantern than a blazing sun. She tilted her head toward him, her movements slow and graceful like a branch swaying in the breeze.

“Jorma, you may leave, but I need you to listen to Freya from here on.”

Jorma raised a brow, his hands still in his coat pockets. His sharp-toothed grin tugged at the edge of his mouth, lazy grinning.

“I already do, most of the time,” Jorma muttered, turning to walk toward the exit. His eyes glanced back once, giving Freya a silent message she didn’t need to decipher.

"Don’t do anything reckless sis."

Atheria began to look around as if she had lost something, ”Hmm… I could have sworn Olive had been in this meeting, I hope I didn’t scare the young one to much.”

Atheria’s gaze shifted to Swiftfoot, her expression softening further. The glow of the sap pools beneath her feet shimmered brighter for just a moment.

“Nice to see you, Swiftfoot,” Atheria said, her voice lighter now, almost gentle. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. Tell Olive the same. Although I’m unsure why you are here.”She looked at him puzzled, “All the same, you are always welcome as you know.”

Swiftfoot bowed slowly, his movements deliberate but never weak.

“Thank you, goddess,” Swiftfoot replied, his tone firm and polite. “But I must take my leave. I have a few loose ends to tie up.”

His gaze shifted to Freya briefly before he walked after Jorma, his steps slow but sure.

The great doors thudded shut behind them, leaving only Freya and Atheria.

The change in Atheria was sudden. Her divine glow dimmed further, her form shifting. The smooth bark that covered her limbs softened. Her skin darkened, taking on the appearance of bark-like flesh. Her arms, once vine-like, shifted into two sets — one normal, the other slightly furred, ending in clawed fingers. Her hair, long, black, and braided into flowing locks, shimmered faintly as it swayed behind her like a living thing. Her face shifted into something... younger. Younger than Freya, even.

She leaned back against the ancient roots of the colossal tree. Her eyes were half-lidded now, her presence calmer, more casual. She folded her hands neatly over her lap, and her flowing white dress seemed to merge with the glowing sap beneath her.

“Now, tell me, Freya, how goes the foxes' training?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. Her eyes were locked on Freya, but this time it wasn’t like before. This gaze wasn’t sharp or judgmental. It was curious. Gentle.

Freya blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Where did that shift come from?

“It’s... going okay, I guess,” Freya said slowly, still watching Atheria carefully. Her eyes flicked toward Atheria’s second set of arms but said nothing. “They still need to control their magic output. The seal’s holding up, though. Arbor is by far the most unwilling student I’ve ever had.”

Atheria hummed softly, gaze distant.

“Freya, I know you wouldn’t betray me,” she said softly, her eyes flicking toward Freya’s hands. “But coming here like that, with so many contracts bound to you, it does raise concern.”

Freya’s eyes darted to her hands. The contracts. Freya's fingers twitched.

“I think you can handle whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” Atheria continued, her eyes sharp but calm. “So I will not pry any further.”

The sap beneath Atheria stirred. Slowly, a glowing blue orb rose from its surface, hovering in the air between them. It cast a soft light on both of their faces.

Freya’s eyes narrowed. Of course.

“I assume you know what this is,” Atheria said, her tone light, almost playful. “Since you went through the effort of hiding from it while talking to that brother of yours.”

Freya eyed the orb carefully. She thought about lying. Her eyes flicked to Atheria, who sat perfectly still, calm as still water.

“Yeah, I know what it is,” Freya muttered, glancing back at it. “Lets you see through the millions of moons you scattered across the forest.”

Atheria smiled faintly. Her eyes flicked toward the orb, her expression calm but thoughtful. She lifted her hand, tapping the orb with her clawed finger.

“Look.”

The glow from the orb shifted, projecting an image. Freya’s eyes narrowed as the scene unfolded.

She saw them. Alek and Arbor.

Alek swung a scythe with wild, chaotic movements. His eyes burned with something dark, and his attacks came faster than she’d ever seen. Arbor stumbled, barely keeping pace, using small bursts of earth magic to dodge his swings.

Freya’s breath hitched.

“What is he holding?” she asked, leaning forward. “Why is he moving like that?”

Atheria sighed, her gaze fixed on the image.

“That is an old scythe. Its name is Judgment, based on the magic it gives off. It once was used to kill demons.” Her gaze shifted to Freya. “Its have been corrupted by someone.”

Freya tensed, her heart pounding.

“I want to see Arbor tomorrow,” Atheria added changing the subject like she hadn’t said anything important. “We have much to discuss.”

Freya’s breath came slowly, her gaze flicking back to the image. Alek’s scythe dragged through the air like it was cutting the world itself.

Atheria looked down at the orb again reflecting on something, “What you do with Alek is your choice. I suggest not hurting the boy though, I've made a lot of enemies today. I really don't need the king of Nytherion's son hurt."

"Sorry Atheria, I wasn’t expecting this to happen after leaving them alone for only a couple of hours. I’ll be back with Arbor tomorrow.” Freya said, turning toward the door.

Atheria’s voice followed her.

“You best hurry. The fight doesn’t seem to be in Arbor’s favor.”

The moment the chamber doors shut behind her, Freya broke into a sprint. Her heart pounded in time with her footsteps, her boots striking the marble with sharp, echoing taps. Her breath came short and steady, each inhales sharp as the cold air biting at her lungs.

The air here still hummed with residual magic from Atheria’s presence.

That idiot elf boy. That scythe. The image of Alek’s wild, frantic swings burned in her mind. She knew that look in his eyes. Rage. Unfocused. Sloppy. Dangerous.

Her legs moved faster. Her horns tilted forward, cutting through the air, her body leaning into every step. Her cloak whipped behind her like a storm-tossed banner. Her breathing was sharp but controlled. An image of eva with them popped into her head.

Jorma. She had to find him.

She spotted him near the archway leading to the lower halls — leaning casually against the wall like he had all the time in the world. His coat was draped lazily over one shoulder, his two blades held loosely in his hands. In front of him stood Raven, the shadowy elf from earlier. Her eyes followed the slow twirl of Jorma’s blades with a look of thinly veiled interest.

Of course he’s flirting, Freya thought bitterly, her scowl already forming.

“Jorma!” she barked, her voice cutting through the air like the snap of a whip. “Stop flirting, we’ve got trouble!”

Her words echoed down the corridor, and she saw Raven’s head snap toward her, her eyes going wide with surprise. Her dark cheeks flushed a faint violet.

Jorma, ever the picture of nonchalance, tilted his head slowly, his sharp yellow eyes flicking to Freya with mild irritation.

“What? I’m busy,” he muttered, dragging his gaze back toward his blades as if she hadn’t just declared an emergency. His fingers rolled the hilt of one blade between his fingers, spinning it with an annoying amount of precision. Showoff.

Freya didn’t stop. Her eyes locked on him like. Her horns tilted just slightly, a sign he knew too well. Her voice lowered, cold and sharp like the edge of a whetstone.

“Your sister is in trouble.” Her eyes narrowed. Her hands sparked faintly with light, small arcs of electricity running down her knuckles. “I need you to follow me. Now.”

Jorma blinked, tilting his head. His lips quirked into a grin that immediately vanished as confusion set in.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, gesturing lazily at her. “You’re right here.”

It took Freya a second to process what he’d just said. Her face went completely still. Her eyes didn’t narrow. They didn’t widen. They didn’t move at all.

Her hands twitched. The lightning grew brighter.

“Eva, you idiot.” Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of a gathering storm.

Raven's eyes darted between them. She shifted back, her instincts sharper than Jorma's, as she recognized the signs of a storm about to break.

Jorma blinked, realization dawning on his face. His grin fell flat. “Ah, crap,” he muttered, his hand covering his face as he let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. “It's always something when I’m actually trying to do something fun.” He shook his head, pushing himself off the wall with a light shove.

His eyes met Freya’s. He wasn’t grinning anymore.

“Alright.”

They didn’t walk. They didn’t jog.

They vanished.

Freya took one step, her hand on the handle of her sword as the rune began to glow. Her body then burst into a streak of red lightning, a bolt of golden- red energy that crackled against the air. As she tore through the hall. The world blurred around her, streaks of blue, green, and white flashing in rapid succession.

They were too far away. She knew it.

Her mind flickered with images — Alek’s wild swings, the sharp glint of the scythe, and Arbor’s face twisted with effort as they barely held him back. Her jaw tightened.

Behind her, the faint pull of shadows rippled against the marble floor. It wasn’t as fast as light, but it was everywhere. Shadows curled at the edges of the walls, into puddles of deep black ink. The edges of the darkness quivered for a moment, and then Jorma’s form slipped from the shadow’s surface, his coat whipping around him like smoke caught in a draft.

He emerged from one shadow, leapt into another, and disappeared again. Each shadow he left behind shimmered with a faint ripple, like water disturbed by a single drop.

They reached the edge of the inner city, where the towering tree gate stood, its bark-laced doors always half-open. Two guards were stationed there, Blackthorn and Kaelen, both standing stiffly at attention.

The first sign of Freya’s arrival was the sudden blinding flash of light that tore through the gate’s center. The glow hit the guards’ faces, forcing them to squint.

A moment later, a black ripple of shadows spilled across the ground, curling at their feet. It pooled, twisted, and Jorma stepped out, his coat flaring as he strode forward, one hand on his hip.

Kaelen rubbed her eyes, blinking furiously. “What…?” Her voice trailed off, her eyes darting between the last sparks of Freya's trail and the fading puddle of darkness where Jorma had emerged. She glanced toward Blackthorn.

Blackthorn didn’t say anything. He just stared in salute. His eyes narrowed briefly, his sharp feline pupils darting toward Jorma, then toward the vanishing trails of light.

They didn’t ask questions.

The moment they passed the gates, Freya shifted into full speed, her body a pure streak of energy that vanished into the open forest. Her path cut clean through the trees, leaves and twigs scattering in her wake.

Jorma’s shadows followed soon after, leaping from the dim spots between trees and flickering from shadow to shadow. A race to a fight that had already concluded.