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Khol grunts, scratching at a scaly patch under his jaw as he stares at the arboreal adversary. The shedding is next-level, like he’s losing a camouflage layer every few minutes. A chunk the size of a silver dollar flakes off his forehead and lands in front of me like an offering. I flick it away, winking at him as he makes a growly, annoyed sound.

I’d be pissed if I was leaving a trail of dead skin like Hansel heading to the gingerbread house, too.

“So, we think this glamour stripping has to do with just little old me, huh?” I ask as more flakes fall, and I use the toe of my boot to move them around like I’m designing something. “Is that programmed or does the Fae-style Magic Treehouse just know?”

My basilisk flips me off, but it’s half-hearted. “When you’re done making snow angels out of my scales, we can focus on your questions. Whatever this curse is, the prince knew it on the spot, so he’s probably our best resource for dealing with it safely.”

“It’s not a curse—not really,” Revelin says, wrinkling his nose as he considers how to explain. “It’s more like… a filter. They only want the real you, sans whatever was done to you in the past, facing the Root.” His fingers are twitching like he’s rehearsing a guitar riff, and I smile fondly. Rev has trouble standing still when he’s nervous, and this has been one giant ball of anxiety for fuck knows how long.

I can’t blame him for showing signs of strain.

Tiernan’s eyes flicker from the shimmer to me and back again. His left hand is reaching for the tucked weapon automatically, and his right hand has claws flexing. “If you ask me, that barrier is probably set up like a kill switch,” he mutters. “If you try to cross with active magic, it’ll shred it, leaving you exposed. The minute you walk through it, Knuckles, everything will change, I assume.”

That’s not ominous; thanks, buddy.

Khol grins, his fangs sharp as he shrugs. “I’m going through first ‘cause I don’t have any fucking spells on me. If it fries me anyway, at least you’ll know before you melt, Sassy.”

I slap his shoulder, making a face as I get ready to chastise him when Dezi moves forward to look at us seriously. “No, you cannot. At least, not until the witchling removes her collar and everyone removes their cuffs. All of those contain blood magic and protection spells that will be destroyed if you enter with them intact. We must place all of those things on the ground, including your new sword and our weapons.”

The vampire’s gaze darts to Rev, who nods. He looks sheepish when he says, “The mosquito is likely correct. If we don’t lay down anything with enchantments, they’ll be rendered null by that barrier. Sorry, I forgot to say that… I’m… well, it’s hard not to feel guilty about all of this. It’s distracting.”

Smiling softly, I walk over to my rocker and place a light kiss on his lips. “Your tour bringing us to Faerie only hastened something that was going to happen some day, in some lifetime, no matter what. That’s not something any of us knew would happen, and you can’t beat yourself up. Chin up, punk boy… think of how many songs you have to write now.”

His grin is slow, but once it forms, it’s brilliant. “Right. You’re always on the nose, my lovely yet dangerous Sassypants. I will write so many fucking ballads and rock-outs about this shit and they’ll go platinum in both realms. Let’s do this!”

Now that’s more like it.

There’s nothing more to be said, so I step up to the ward, the crescent on my palm gone cold as a coin at the bottom of a wishing well. Every instinct screams at me to run, but that’s not how I’m built. I press my hand to the seam… and it’s like the world screams in agony.

I don’t know how to describe the sensation, except it’s like every atom of my being is peeled, inspected, and put back a fraction of a millimeter out of alignment. My magic doesn’t just retreat; it detonates and leaves nothing but the scar tissue underneath. I feel all of it—the old wounds, the re-knit spells, and the places where trauma left holes that never really closed.

And then suddenly, I’m stumbling into the ring where the tree sits silently again.

The grass under my feet is so silver that it reflects the sky. My boots leave no prints, but my shadow stretches thin and shimmery in the moonlight. The guys pile in after me, each one looking like they’ve just been hit by a supernatural fire hose. Tiernan staggers and steadies himself on my shoulder. Khol rolls his neck, peeling scales sloughing off even more. Rev shakes his head and blinks, his pupils blown wide and hazy. Dezi’s never looked more like a corpse in his unblinking stillness as he looks at me.

All my nightmares about trees—the ones that move, the ones that whisper, the ones with faces—are pale knockoffs of the Worldroot. It’s older than the dirt it sits on, and the bark is black and matte. It swallows the light and gives nothing back. It’s so dense it looks soft, like a bruise that’s gone past healing. The trunk is covered in runes, with some spiraling up and some crashing into each other at angles that hurt my brain. The marks on it pulse, not with any rhythm I can name, but in time with my heart. Every now and then, a flash of purple light flickers through the symbols, and the streaks in my hair hum in response.

Is my hair choice really influenced by this shit, or is my lineage just showing off the power it wants me to claim?

Branches stretch up from the tree, not randomly, but in a precise geometry—fractals, I think. The canopy is so dense it blocks out the moon, but every leaf is edged with silver. Underneath, the roots break the surface in a hundred directions, each one studded with glassy spikes that look like teeth or claws. I exhale, and it’s like the tree is sucking all the air out of the world just to stay alive.

“Now what?” Revelin asks, barely above a whisper. “I honestly haven’t been allowed to commune with our Root yet. My parents argue about it sometimes, and I assume it would prepare me to take my dad’s place. That’s why he’s putting it off, and my mom is pushing, but Oliver always wins.”

“I have absolutely no idea either,” I murmur as I continue staring at the enormous magical thing. “All I know is that Tier was right about what would happen when I crossed and whatever has changed is still working its mojo inside of me.”

Just fucking fabulous… I’m now being pwned by a damn tree. This realm is humiliating.

No one moved for a while as we argued about what the tree wants from me. It has done nothing while that went on—just shivered and pulsed like it’s waiting, without dropping a single clue or foe. That alone makes it even more suspicious, and I’m running out of patience.

Khol breaks first—he always does—shoulders tensing as scales shiver up his neck and face. The scales pop in time with his pulse, a slick, shifting armor, mottled and fresh with the shed. He grips his own forearm, claws digging in, and shakes as if he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “it’s suddenly like a hive in my skull. Every scale wants off or out. I might have to shift fully again. Damn it.”

Before I can react, Tiernan goes dead still, crouching low. His fur ripples over his exposed skin, standing on end as his eyes go wide and wild. He bares his feline fangs and lets out a noise halfway between a snarl and a scream. The sound makes my girly bits take notice, but I shove that down as I watch him fight the unintentional shift.

“We’re being watched,” he grinds out as he struggles against the force compelling him.

‘And hell followed with him’… That’s what this fucking tree is bringing.