The fortress loomed ahead. Massive iron-barred gates, still rusted and entangled in blackened ivy, stood shut as they had before, but something about them felt different now. Perhaps it was the weight of the knowledge they carried. Perhaps it was the growing certainty that this was not a fortress meant to keep people out, but to keep something inside.
They stepped forward.
Asil faltered.
A sudden, crushing pressure slammed into her chest—a force, unseen and suffocating. Her breath caught, her vision blurred, and the ground beneath her tilted as if reality itself had split apart. Her knees buckled.
Abby caught her before she hit the dirt.
"Asil!" Abby’s grip tightened around her arm, her voice sharp with alarm. "What the hell? Talk to me."
The words sounded far away.
Asil gasped, eyes darting upward just as the sky snuffed out.
The sun was gone.
A void of endless black stretched above them. No moon. No stars. Just a sky so hollow it seemed to swallow sound itself.
Abby’s heart hammered as she twisted around, expecting—praying—to see the golden glow of morning still lingering behind them.
It was.
A heartbeat away, the world was still dawn.
The road behind them, the trees, the landscape—untouched. But here, where they stood?
Midnight.
Abby swore under her breath.
"This is wrong," she whispered, shifting her stance as if the darkness itself might move. "Asil, what is this? Some kind of illusion?"
Asil’s breathing steadied, though her pulse still thrummed painfully in her skull.
"No," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "This isn’t an illusion. We’ve crossed into the Shadow Realm. Or something close."
Abby let out a slow breath, trying to shake the icy sensation crawling up her spine. "Fort Warren… It’s stuck in permanent night, isn’t it?"
Asil nodded, swallowing the dread rising in her throat. She could feel it now—the weight, the emptiness, the wrongness.
She turned toward the gates, their silhouette barely visible in the abyss.
"It wasn’t built to keep us out," she whispered. "It was built to keep something inside."
A heavy silence stretched between them. Then, Abby pulled a short wooden stake from her pack and, without a word, drove it into the ground.
They watched.
Half of it remained visible, catching the first glow of morning. But the other half—the half buried in the creeping dark—vanished.
Asil stared at the empty space where the stake should have been.
Abby exhaled sharply. "That confirms it." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Fort Warren is in the Shadow Realm."
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Then Abby said, softer this time, "You think we’re actually ready for this?"
A week ago, Asil would have answered without hesitation.
They had fought, trained, leveled up. She had forced herself forward, pushing past exhaustion, past hesitation. Because if they reached the right numbers, they could handle this. That had been the logic.
But now… standing at the threshold?
"We’re at level," Asil said, forcing a smirk. "But being the right level doesn’t mean we’re ready."
And something inside that fortress was waiting.
Four days earlier, Fort Harjil had been suffocating with tension.
Cressa lay in the infirmary, barely clinging to life.
Her once-powerful form had wasted to a fragile, trembling husk. The wound from Margon’Tor’s spirit bolt had not healed. It refused to heal. Her breathing had grown shallow, her skin cold. Every attempt—every healing spell, every salve, every remedy Loren and Geraldine knew—had only delayed the inevitable.
Eamon had stayed awake through the night, poring over his leather-bound notebooks, fingers trembling as he flipped through pages of theory, spells, possible solutions. But he knew.
They were losing her.
Frederick stood near the doorway, jaw clenched tight enough to crack his teeth.
"If I’d just been faster," he muttered, voice rough with guilt. "If I—"
"Stop."
Abby’s voice cut through the thick air like a blade. She stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"There’s a cure," she said simply. "There has to be. Even if we have to march to the edge of the world to find it."
Before anyone could answer, heavy footfalls pounded down the corridor.
Bonvil.
He burst into the room, breathless, his younger son Jon right behind him.
They had been gone for two days.
A two-day journey to Pendle and back, riding through the night to return without delay.
Bonvil barely paused to catch his breath before he spoke.
"We have news," he said. His gaze swept across them before settling on Loren. "I found a former mage outside Pendle—an old hermit." His lips pressed together. "He wouldn’t come with us, claimed he was already training students. But he recognized this curse."
Eamon’s head snapped up.
"What did he say?" Asil demanded.
Bonvil hesitated. His voice lowered.
"He called it Soul Devour."
The words landed like a hammer.
Silence. A long, suffocating silence.
And then Abby cursed.
Bonvil exhaled sharply. "He told me there’s only one way to cure it."
Every pair of eyes locked onto him.
"You need a root from the Tree of the Uncompromised," he said grimly. "And it only grows in the Shadow Realm."
The weight of those words settled over the room like a tombstone.
No one moved.
Frederick inhaled sharply. The Shadow Realm. The same place Asil and Abby had been turned away from before.
Asil felt the decision settle into her bones before she even spoke.
"We go," she said.
Abby turned to her immediately, nodding in quiet agreement.
Eamon tensed. "Not alone," he said. "I’m coming with you—"
"No."
Asil met his eyes.
"We need you here," she said firmly.
Abby stepped forward. "Think about it. We’re the only ones with these weird journals, this leveling system. Whatever’s inside that place? It’s tied to us."
Eamon clenched his jaw but nodded.
Bonvil and Loren hesitated. But what choice did they have?
No expedition. No army. Just two outworlders walking into the abyss.
That night, Asil and Abby sat in the dim glow of candlelight, flipping through their journals.
A new line of text had appeared, glowing faintly on the parchment.
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New Quest: Obtain the Root.
Asil exhaled.
Asil tapped the edge of her journal, gaze unreadable.
"It is."
The journey stretched across four grueling days, the road to Fort Warren winding through overgrown trails, abandoned villages, and the occasional smoldering ruin—evidence of past skirmishes. The deeper they ventured, the more the land felt forsaken, its silence heavier than it had been near Harjil. Even the wind seemed to carry whispers of something watching, waiting.
Small packs of goblins and lone demon stragglers prowled the outskirts, preying on the unprepared. But Asil and Abby were far from unprepared.
Their battles became a brutal rhythm—encounter, strike, kill, move on. No unnecessary risks. No wasted effort. Asil’s sword, now imbued with the essence of the alpha goblin core, cleaved through goblins with ruthless precision. Each Crescent Strike left charred gouges in the earth, her new Blade Storm skill searing flame along the blade's edge, the fire licking at her enemies with a hunger that almost seemed alive. Mirage Waltz left behind lingering illusions, the ghostly echoes of Asil confusing foes long enough for her to cut them down.
Abby, ever the shadow between the trees, evolved into something even deadlier. Her movements sharpened, her presence becoming a phantom. Fan of Knives carved through clustered enemies, severing tendons before they could react. Her new ability—Poison Crafting—turned simple wild herbs into lethal coatings for her Daggers of Vespa. The daggers, in turn, had awakened some latent magic from their long-forgotten history; with each successful strike, they now carried a slow, insidious rot effect, the wounds they inflicted refusing to heal. Goblins who took a single cut soon staggered, their bodies betraying them, succumbing to a creeping internal decay.
By the end of their second night on the road, Asil had climbed from Level 9 to 11, and Abby had surged from Level 8 to 10. Their progress felt intoxicating, but also unnerving. It was too fast. Too convenient.
The others, though skilled, were beginning to feel the gap widen.
Frederick watched them with silent admiration but growing unease, gripping his sword a little tighter with each battle. Gideon, sharp-eyed and quick with an arrow, never voiced his concerns aloud. Still, Asil noticed how he hesitated before calling a kill shot—waiting, testing, seeing if she and Abby would handle things before he needed to.
Ever the scholar, Eamon murmured “exponential growth” more than once as he scribbled in his journal by firelight. “This isn’t normal leveling speed. It’s almost like the world is—” But he never finished those thoughts, shaking his head as if dismissing a theory he didn’t like.
Lucia, bounding between her wolf and dachshund forms as needed, had also grown stronger. The bond between her and Asil had deepened, and with it, her instincts sharpened. She was sensing threats before they fully emerged, a low growl warning of goblins minutes before the first clash of steel.
By the third evening, the trees thinned, revealing the final stretch toward Warren.
A mile from the fortress gates, Asil called the halt.
They camped in a clearing just beyond sight of the looming silhouette of the abandoned fort. The air felt wrong. Not in the way battlefields felt wrong—this was older, deeper. A place that had not known true daylight in years.
Lucia, curled in her smaller form at Asil’s side, whined softly. It had been a long day. But they weren’t done yet.
At dawn, they would make their move.
The following day, the air was cold when Asil woke.
She sat up slowly, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders, her palm resting briefly against Lucia’s warm fur. A glance to her side confirmed Abby was already awake, sharpening her daggers in a rhythmic, almost meditative pattern.
The others were stirring.
Frederick and Gideon murmured low over the fire, discussing their patrol routes once Asil and Abby left. Eamon sat apart, his journal in his lap, flipping back through the notes on demon curses, Soul Devour, and the Tree of the Uncompromised. Rowan and Hilda, the newest recruits, tightened the straps on their armor, nervous energy written all over their faces.
No one said it outright, but the mood was heavy.
They all knew what this morning meant.
Asil and Abby would go on alone.
No backup. No second chances.
Eamon tried once more to protest. “I should be there—I’ve been studying demon curses for years. If something goes wrong—”
“No.” Asil cut him off, not unkindly. “We don’t know what’s inside. We don’t know if we’ll even make it back. If we don’t, Cressa will still need you here.”
Eamon swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides, but he nodded.
Frederick reached out, gripping Asil’s forearm. “Come back,” he said, voice steady, but his eyes betrayed him. There was real worry there.
She gave a half-smile. “That’s the plan.”
Gideon flicked a dagger between his fingers before sheathing it. “If you’re not back in three days, we’re coming in after you.”
Asil didn’t argue. She wasn’t sure she’d want them to.
They embraced briefly—silent, wordless. Then, without another backward glance, Asil and Abby set off toward the dark fortress that awaited them.
Lucia trotted a few steps forward before stopping, whimpering. She clearly wanted to follow. Asil turned and knelt, running a hand along the soft fur of the small, dachshund-like form.
“Stay,” she whispered, and the word nearly cracked her resolve.
Lucia’s ears flattened, tail tucked, but she obeyed.
Then Asil and Abby stepped into the unknown, the pale morning light guiding them forward—until it didn’t.
Dawn had been stolen.
The moment Asil and Abby crossed the invisible threshold into Fort Warren’s domain, the world behind them ceased to exist as it should. The warm hues of morning turned cold and lifeless. The sky—a moment ago breaking into pale gold—vanished into endless black, swallowing the horizon. Not night, Asil realized. Night has stars. This is emptiness.
Half of Asil’s body still lingered in the light of the real world, but the rest had crossed into shadow. Her stomach twisted at the unnatural sensation.
Abby exhaled sharply, shaking off the creeping unease. “I guess we do this now.” Without hesitation, she stepped fully into the darkness, her figure swallowed whole by the void.
Asil hesitated. A second. Maybe less. Then she followed.
What had once been a distant silhouette was now a monstrous presence. The fortress’s towers stretched unnaturally, their black stone swallowing what little light remained. The rust-laden gate stood as they had last seen it—massive chains wound tight, the lock thick and unmoving. A chill slithered down Asil’s spine.
She gripped the hilt of her sword and tapped the tip against the ground. The quiet clang echoed too loudly in the still air.
“No turning back,” she murmured, more to herself than Abby.
Abby flexed her fingers around the grip of her dagger. “Then let’s make sure we come back.”
Asil smirked despite the tension. “That’s the plan.”
They approached the gate, weapons partially drawn, senses sharp for any movement. But the shadows beyond were impenetrable. The woman from their last encounter—the one who had barred them entry—was nowhere in sight.
Asil shoved against the iron bars, shaking them hard. “We’re wasting time.” The metal groaned under her weight but didn’t budge.
Abby pressed her face to a gap between the bars, peering inside. “She has to know we’re here. Maybe—”
The chains rattled.
A slow, crawling scrape echoed as the lock twisted and clicked.
Asil and Abby stepped back, weapons ready.
The iron gate creaked open of its own accord.
“That’s… convenient,” Abby muttered.
“Too convenient,” Asil corrected.
The courtyard beyond was nothing like they had seen from the outside. Where once there had been an open clearing leading directly to the fortress doors, there was now something else. Something impossible.
A sprawling hedge loomed in the center of the yard, stretching impossibly wide, its thick walls extending toward the fortress like an unnatural growth of shadow and thorns.
Abby stared. “Is that a maze?”
Before Asil could answer, a soft but unyielding voice slid through the air.
“The way to the fort is through the maze.”
They turned sharply.
The sorceress stood just within the threshold, wrapped in her swirling robes of darkness. Though she hadn’t moved, she also felt distant, as if space warped around her presence.
Abby fought to steady her breathing. “Who are you?”
The woman tilted her head slightly, considering. Then, slowly, her gaze fixed on Abby, and something in the air changed.
Abby felt it instantly.
A weight. A presence.
The veil of shadow no longer hid the woman’s eyes—they gleamed, deep pools of swirling starlight.
Abby’s chest constricted. Her limbs locked in place. She couldn’t move.
A whisper in the dark: “You… seem familiar.”
The sorceress did not move, yet she was closer. The distance had shifted, twisted. The air itself had bent around her.
Asil reacted first, shoving forward and breaking the unseen hold. She grabbed Abby, pulling her back. The moment their skin touched, the paralysis broke.
Abby stumbled, gasping for breath. “What… was that?”
Asil didn’t answer. She had felt it too.
Abby’s knuckles turned white against the grip of her dagger. Her voice, though still unsteady, sharpened. “Enough games. Who are you?”
The sorceress hesitated, as if considering whether to answer at all. Then, softly, she spoke.
“I was once called… Vee.”
Something in Abby’s chest clenched. She staggered, barely breathing.
“Vee?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew that name.
Vee regarded her carefully, almost warily, as if testing her reaction. But before Abby could push further, the woman continued in the same quiet, cryptic tone.
“I have been here for centuries.”
The weight of those words sent a fresh shudder through Abby. Centuries. That wasn’t possible. The name was too close. The way Vee had looked at her was too familiar. But if she had been here for so long, then…
No. Abby refused to believe it.
Asil stepped in, voice firm. “What happens if we get through the maze?”
Vee turned her gaze to Asil now, the brief moment of familiarity with Abby seemingly discarded. “Then the way forward will open to you. Or you may leave.”
Another cryptic half-answer. Abby grit her teeth, fists clenched. “Why give us a choice? If this place is so dangerous, why let us in?”
Vee did not answer.
Instead, she raised her hand, palm facing the hedge entrance.
A heavy creak reverberated as the hedge yawned open, revealing a narrow, winding path.
Abby’s heart pounded. Every part of her screamed to demand answers—to demand the truth. But something held her back. Maybe fear. Maybe the way Vee was already retreating, sinking back into the folds of shadow.
“Veronica?” Abby dared to voice the question and say the name of the friend she walked into that beta office with, which seemed so long ago.
And then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, Vee vanished.
Abby took a sharp breath, suddenly lightheaded. The name echoed in her mind, hammering at the walls of her disbelief.
Asil reached for her arm, grounding her. “Abby?”
“I…” Abby swallowed hard. “I think I knew her.”
The moment the words left her lips—the hedge moved.
Thorns snapped together like jaws. The entrance to the maze sealed itself shut behind them.
Abby jolted back, yanking her hand away just as a cruel thorn sliced her palm. A thin ribbon of blood welled up, trickling down her fingers.
Asil grabbed her wrist, already pulling bandages from her pouch. “We can’t cheat this,” she muttered, wrapping the wound. “The maze won’t let us take shortcuts.”
Abby didn’t argue. She barely noticed the pain. Her mind was still trapped on Vee. On the way the woman had looked at her.
She could feel Asil watching her, waiting. Abby swallowed hard. “If she’s from my world… if she’s really Veronica…” She didn’t finish. The implications were too big.
Asil, instead of pressing, simply rested a hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Then we find out.”
A sudden presence at their feet made them jump.
Lucia, in her tiny dachshund form, wagged her tail.
Abby blinked. “What—how—?”
Lucia gave an unapologetic huff and shifted, growing seamlessly into her full wolf form, her golden eyes sharp and alert.
Asil exhaled, running a hand through the wolf’s thick fur. “Guess we’re not facing this alone.”
The tightness in Abby’s chest eased just enough to let her breathe again. She gave a weak laugh, burying her face in Lucia’s fur briefly before pulling away.
She met Asil’s gaze. No more hesitation. No more fear.
“We have a maze to conquer,” she said, rolling her shoulders back. “A root to find. And maybe… some truth about this ‘Vee.’”
Asil nodded once, drawing her sword.
With Lucia at their side, the two women stepped into the labyrinth’s waiting embrace.