Chapter 24: Where the Earth Weeps

Sienna

The morning after the most beautiful night I’ve ever witnessed feels… fake.
The forest no longer glows. No longer sings. The magic that wrapped around us like a dream has vanished with the dew.
We move forward in silence. The caravan stretches like a tired serpent, each step carrying the weight of what we saw… or perhaps what we fear is coming.

In the distance, the landscape shifts.
The forest opens as if it’s breathing slower. The twisted roots give way to soft grass, and on the horizon stretch perfectly round cuts in the ground. Enormous circles, as if a colossal creature had pressed its mark into the earth.

In the sky, the silhouette of the creature that carries Bastian descends in a spiral, wings spread like veils of shadow and wind. It lands with a tremor that ripples through the grass, and as soon as its claws touch the ground, it transforms—no longer flying, now galloping. Its stride is agile and elegant, almost unnatural. Bastian leads it at the front, imposing. And when he stops… we all stop.

—The border —he says, turning toward us—. Once we cross it, we’ll be fully inside the Earth Court.

We glance at each other. Some smile. Others sigh. The idea of reaching safe ground finally feels real.

And just as we’re a few steps from crossing it…

The ground shakes.
Not like an earthquake. Not a slide.

But like something… something alive… writhing beneath our feet.

The branches above us begin to shudder violently. First like they’re pushed by the wind. Then… as if they wake.

And then the impossible happens.

The trees cry.
Not leaves. Not sap.
Water.

Thick, constant tears streaming from their bark as if nature itself were groaning in pain. But what comes with them isn’t sorrow.

It’s rage.

The branches stretch and twist like serpents. They snatch soldiers, choke them, fling them, crush them.
Screams. Water. Cracks.
We are not fighting an enemy with a face.
We are fighting the forest.

—RETREAT! RUN! MOVE FORWARD, NOW! —Bastian shouts, his voice raw, desperate, brutal.

Everything explodes.

Arrows. Wooden jaws snapping shut. Water flooding lungs. Screams that don’t end.
There is no clear enemy. No direction.
Only chaos.

A woman from the caravan falls. A branch grabs her by the leg and drags her like a ragdoll.

And Astrid...

Astrid runs after her.

No. No. No. NO.

—ASTRID, STOP! —I scream, desperate. Panic freezes me for a second. I can’t breathe. My body turns cold.

She doesn’t hear me.
Of course she doesn’t.

She jumps. Hangs onto the branch like a damned monkey, as if there aren’t a dozen others writhing around.

—ASTRID! —the scream tears through my throat.

A branch slams into her like a wave of wood. Her body flies. Smashes into a tree. Bounces. Crashes to the ground.

She doesn’t move.

—ASTRID! NO! —I run. I run even though my entire body screams in pain.

A branch hits my side with monstrous force. Something cracks inside. It burns. I can’t breathe.

—Shit… —I double over, but I keep going. I can’t stop. Not when it’s her. Not when she’s like that.

The soldiers fire arrows. Slash branches with blades. But the forest is endless. It doesn’t stop moving.

I see Astrid. Half sitting. Coughing up blood. A branch wrapped around her neck like a living noose. She gasps. Pulls out her dagger. Tries to cut it. Once. Twice.

When the blade slices the wood, something changes.

The branches shudder, blacken, wither. As if the blade carried something the forest couldn’t withstand.

Poison.

Astrid drops to her knees. Looks at me, face smeared with dirt, blood… and madness.

And smiles.
The damn girl smiles.

—Poison! —she yells, laughing like the world is burning and she finds it funny—. POISON!

She pulls out her vials. One, two, five. Throws them to Bastian.

He catches them mid-air. Understands instantly. Dips his arrows and starts shooting.

—Everyone! Use poison! —he shouts. He throws a vial to me.

I grab it. Coat the blade of my dagger and arrows.

Every slash kills.
Every shot withers.

The forest—this same forest that sang to us last night—now becomes a graveyard beneath our hands.

In minutes, it’s all black.

Dead branches.
Shattered trunks.
Soaked, ruined earth.
A valley of death.

And it hurts. Gods, it hurts like something’s been torn from my soul.

A part of me… weeps for what we’ve turned something so beautiful into.

But we had no choice.

We gather the fallen.

Four.

One woman. Three soldiers. Their bodies lie on blankets that aren’t enough to shield them from being forgotten.

I see Aldrion’s face. Contained grief.

Bastian says nothing. Just clenches his jaw and stares at the border that no longer looks like a promise… but a warning.

We’re battered.
Wounded.

But we move on.
In silence.

Hours later, we cross the final circle of land. And at last… we see it.

The Castle of the Earth Court.

It rises among green mountains and slopes covered in glowing lichen. It’s not tall like a tower. It’s wide, deep—built from roots emerging from the ground and weaving together into living walls. Stone bridges coated in moss. Lanterns floating mid-air. Fountains that seem to sing instead of spilling water.

It’s beautiful.

And it hurts to look at it.

Because we made it…
But not all of us did.

And the blood on our boots gives the path a different shade.