"Get up," the warrior assigned to him said, prodding him with a spear butt.
Halian didn't move, didn't even try. He knelt there in the wrong-colored grass, head bowed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"He just burned his sister," Sian said sharply. "Give him a moment."
"We don't have moments," Veroc said, but he gestured to two of his warriors. "Carry him if necessary."
They hauled Halian to his feet, supporting him between them when his legs wouldn't hold his weight. The sight of proud, cheerful Halian being practically dragged through corrupted wilderness made Briar's eyes burn with tears she refused to shed.
This was her fault. All of it. If she hadn't killed Ferria—but no, that thinking led nowhere good. Ferria had made her choices. They all had.
Another hour passed in misery. Briar's world narrowed to the next step, the next breath, the constant effort of not falling. The warmth in her chest pulsed weakly, trying to reach through the restraints, trying to help, but the magic suppression was too strong.
She was so focused on walking that she almost missed when the forest began to change.
The corruption faded gradually, wrong colors shifting back toward normal, twisted growth straightening into proper trees. The air grew cleaner, easier to breathe. And then, between one step and the next, they crossed some invisible boundary and the corruption was simply gone.
Before them rose a settlement unlike anything Briar had expected.
Massive trees had been shaped into living structures, their trunks hollowed and carved into homes that rose dozens of feet into the air. Bridges of woven vines connected them, creating a network of pathways through the canopy. Light came from crystals embedded in the bark, glowing with warm amber that reminded her of Karse's eyes.
But what struck her most was the evidence of struggle. Entire sections of the settlement stood empty, trees blackened and dead where corruption had spread too far. Defensive walls had been built and rebuilt, each iteration pushed back as they lost more territory. And the Drak themselves—she could see them now, watching from windows and walkways—many bore scars that looked like corruption burns, patches where scales had been replaced with scar tissue.
They'd been fighting this battle for six hundred years, and they were losing.
The warriors marched them through the settlement's main thoroughfare, and Briar became aware of the attention they were drawing. Drak of all ages emerged to watch them pass—elders with scales gone gray with age, adults with the same warrior bearing as their escorts, children who peered from behind their parents with curious eyes.
The children made her chest ache. Several bore corruption scars, marks that showed even the youngest hadn't been spared. One little girl, no more than six or seven, hadan entire arm covered in the telltale scarring, her scales twisted and wrong where the corruption had touched her.
"Outsiders," someone spat.
"Fae," another hissed, the word carrying centuries of accumulated hatred.
But when they saw Karse, the anger became something more complex. Some looked at him with hope—the exile returned to save them. Others with deeper hatred—the traitor who'd abandoned them coming back too late.
"Is that really him?" a young Drak asked, scales bright green with youth.
"The Exile," an elder confirmed, leaning heavily on a carved staff. "Come home to face judgment at last."
They were brought to the center of the settlement, where the largest tree Briar had ever seen rose into the sky. Its trunk was easily a hundred feet across, its branches spreading to shelter half the settlement. Carved into its base was an entrance large enough for dragons to pass through.
Inside was a vast chamber, the tree's hollow interior shaped into what could only be a judgment hall. Seven ancient Drak sat on a raised platform, their scales so dark with age they looked like living obsidian. These must have been the Council Veroc had spoken of, the eldest of the Drak, survivors of the seal's creation who remembered what the world had been before.
Veroc forced them all to their knees before the Council, though Eliam resisted until a warrior pressed a blade to Briar's throat again. The message was clear—submit or watch her bleed.
The centermost elder studied them with eyes that had gone milky with age but still seemed to see everything. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of centuries.
"Karse Isragan," she said, the name sounding like judgment already passed. "You return to us after almost two hundred years of exile. Why?"
Karse raised his head, meeting her ancient gaze without flinching. "To fulfill my duty, Elder Mor'va. To reinforce the seal before it breaks completely."
"Your duty." Another elder, male with a scarred throat that made his voice rasp. "You abandoned your duty when you chose comfort over your people."
"I left to find solutions," Karse said steadily. "To learn about the courts, their magic, their weaknesses. The seal was made with fae magic—I thought understanding them would help us fix it."
"And did it?" Mor'va asked.
"Yes." Karse gestured to the bound group. "These fae have the power to reinforce the seal properly. To fix the corruption and return our lands to their former glory."
