The tree grew more ominous as they drew closer, its roots standing like the ribs of a collapsed beast. One section curved into an archway, leading into a cavernous hollow beneath the trunk.
They stepped inside.
At first, the shapes were only shadows, indistinct piles against the earth. Then Vivienne’s eyes adjusted. Nothing could have prepared her for what they’d found.
Bones.
Small, fragile skeletons, burned and twisted, tangled together in a final, silent horror.
“Gods above,” Owen whispered, the words pained.
Cirrus uttered a curse under his breath.
Lewis stumbled back, his face ashen. “Children?” His voice cracked. “What kind of monsters—” He turned away, pressing his hands to his face.
“No…no…no.” Vivienne’s breath came in short gasps, her hands flying to her mouth and stifling her sobs of shock. She couldn't look away. Tiny skulls of infants and toddlers, their delicate bones not yet fused. Some remains curled in fetal positions, others lay sprawled as if they had fought to escape.
“They sent them here… because they thought they’d be safe,” Lewis choked out.
Owen, ever composed, had tears cutting silent tracks down his face. “This is a mass grave.”
“No,” Cirrus snarled, shaking with fury. “This was a mass murder.” He clenched his fists and strode out of the hollow.
Vivienne barely made it outside before she collapsed to her knees, retching into the dirt. The cold sweat of horror clung to her.
Lewis sat beside her, arms draped over his knees, staring at nothing. Owen emerged a moment later, his face hardening into stone.
Across the clearing, Cirrus’ voice called out, strained and bleak.
“I found something else.”
Vivienne shuddered.No. No more. There can’t be more.
Owen helped her to her feet, his grip steady but gentle. Their eyes met. He didn’t need to speak. The pain in his mirrored her own.
Reluctance weighed them down with every step as they circled the tree to where Cirrus stood.
A lone skeleton leaned against a sprawling root, untouched by fire. Unlike the others, this figure had not been reduced to charred remains. Delicate, timeworn robes still draped across its shoulders in faded threads. A small, open pouch lay beside the bones, bearing small, corroded tools.
Lewis crouched, his voice quiet. “Is this our stone carver?”
Vivienne studied the remains. “It’s likely. The only one who lived through the…” she hesitated, struggling to find a word that could contain the horrors they had witnessed. “…fires.”
She brushed her hands over two etched symbols next to the carver’s shoulder. “This says sorrows. A tree of sorrows.”
Lewis pointed at several pits scattered near the bones. “They planned their departure. Cyanide.”
Vivienne closed her eyes. They had chosen their fate.
Thorne and Cirrus weren’t listening. They stood frozen, their gazes locked onto something on the other side of the root. Vivienne followed their line of sight. Bile rose in her throat.
A carving in the tree’s root.
An owl.
An eight-pointed star.
The emblem of Fendwyr.
