The vase shattered against Malachar's skull with a deafening crash. The Winter Lord's eye rolled back and he collapsed forward, the blade falling from nerveless fingers. Behind him stood Thaine, holding the remains of the vase's base, looking deeply satisfied. Karse leaned against the doorframe beside him, Frederick's bowl clutched carefully in his scaled hands.
A shriek echoed from somewhere high above—then another, and another.
"The wards," Thaine said, moving deeper into the room. "Your magic must have triggered the mountain's defenses."
Eliam carried her to the shattered window, and she could see the first white shapes descending from the peaks beyond. They were still distant but closing fast. Blood ran freely down his arm, and when he began speaking in the old tongue, his voice caught on the third word. The shadows outside the window gathered but wouldn't hold, dissipating like smoke each time they started to solidify.
The shrieking grew louder. Closer.
"Eliam," she said urgently, her hand finding his uninjured shoulder. The warmth in her chest reached for him instinctively, recognizing his magic and trying to help.
He started the incantation again, and this time she felt her warmth flowing into him, mixing with his forest magic. The shadows responded, thickening, but the moth was only half-formed when Thaine's voice cut through from the doorway.
"They're here!"
A harpy slammed into the tower somewhere above, its shriek making the stones vibrate. Then another impact, and another. They were landing on the tower itself, looking for ways in.
The moth was still forming, its wings translucent and wavering. The raven beside it was barely more than a shadow with eyes. Eliam's voice grew more strained with each word of the summoning, fresh blood soaking through his shirt where the ice shards were melting, cutting deeper.
A harpy's face appeared at the window above them, upside down, teeth bared in a horrible grin. It started to squeeze through but Karse sent a weak jet of flame at it, driving it back with a shriek.
"Jump," Eliam commanded, though the moth's wings were still solidifying. "Now."
They had no choice. Briar could hear claws on stone, wings battering against windows throughout the tower. Eliam lifted her onto the half-formed moth and pulled himself up behind her just as its wings became solid enough to hold them. Thaine literally threw Karse onto the raven, causing Frederick's bowl to slosh dangerously, before leaping up himself.
The moth fell more than flew at first, its wings still gaining substance as they plummeted along the tower's side. A harpy dove after them, talons extended, only to strike through wings that were still partially shadow. The creature's confusion bought them seconds as the moth's form finally solidified completely, catching air just before they hit the mountain's slope.
Behind them, the tower erupted with white bodies, harpies pouring from every window in pursuit.
The moth's wings beat frantically, still gaining strength as they rose. Briar could feel Eliam's breath harsh against her neck, his arm around her waist trembling from blood loss and effort. The raven beside them cawed in distress, struggling with the weight of two riders while still partially shadow.
A harpy slammed into them from above, talons raking across the moth's wing. The creature screamed—a sound Briar hadn't known moths could make—and spiraled sideways. She gripped the soft fur desperately as they tumbled through air, Eliam's arm the only thing keeping her from falling.
More harpies converged from all directions. The smaller ravens materialized to intercept, but there were too many. A harpy's talons caught Thaine's shoulder, tearing through leather before Karse managed to burn its face. Their raven lurched, losing altitude.
The moth recovered, diving toward the treeline, but the harpies formed a wall of white bodies and membranous wings between them and safety. Eliam spoke through gritted teeth, and the moth suddenly folded its wings completely, plummeting like a stone. They fell past the startled harpies, Briar's stomach in her throat, the ground rushing up—
The moth's wings snapped open just above the canopy. They crashed through the upper branches, leaves and twigs whipping past. Behind them, the harpies followed, shrieking their fury.
But the moment they entered the forest's domain, everything changed.
The trees moved. Not gently, not slowly, but with violent purpose. Branches that had bent to let the moth pass suddenly became spears, piercing through harpy wings. Roots erupted from the earth, coiling around ankles and throats. A harpy that dove too low was caught between two trunks that slammed together, cutting off its shriek instantly.
The forest was hunting.
An oak's branches wrapped around a harpy mid-flight, pulling it into the trunk where the bark split open like a mouth and swallowed it whole. Vines dropped from above, forming nooses that snapped necks with efficient brutality. The very air under the canopy became thick, hostile to the mountain creatures, choking them with pollen and sap.
The moth wove between the carnage, following paths that opened just for them. Beside them, the raven carrying Thaine and Karse navigated the chaos, both mounts knowing exactly where the forest would strike next. Behind them, harpy shrieks turned from hunting cries to sounds of terror and pain.
One harpy, faster than the rest, managed to avoid the trees and lunged for Briar. Its talons were inches from her when a branch as thick as her waist swept it from the air, slamming it into a trunk with a wet crack that meant it would never fly again.
The pursuit ended as suddenly as it began. The remaining harpies fled back toward the mountains, leaving their dead tangled in branches and buried in bark. The forest settled slowly, branches returning to normal positions, roots sinking back into earth. But Briar could still feel the watchfulness, the readiness to kill anything that threatened their lord.
They flew in silence after that, deeper into the forest where the trees grew ancient and the air tasted of old magic. When the moth finally descended into the grove, setting down on soft moss, Briar could still hear the occasional distant shriek of a harpy discovering that one of its companions had been taken by the trees.
The forest had welcomed them home with blood, and she wasn't sure if that should comfort or terrify her.
The grove was quiet except for normal forest sounds—no shrieking harpies, no sound of pursuit. Just the whisper of wind through leaves and the distant call of a normal, properly-sized owl. They were safe, for the moment, but Briar could feel the weight of everything that had just happened settling over them.
