They left Haldria without looking back.
The city had given them sorrow, and in return taken something gentler than pain—illusion. What remained clung to them like cold ash beneath the skin. The road eastward narrowed, the ground darkening beneath their steps, until the land itself seemed to recoil from memory.
By dusk, the trees began.
They rose suddenly, without warning—black pines twisted into shapes that defied nature, their trunks slick and gleaming as though freshly birthed from the earth. Their branches clawed at the sky, interlocking so tightly that moonlight died before it could reach the forest floor.
The moment Yvonne crossed beneath the canopy, the world fell silent.
Not quiet. Silent.
Her footsteps made no sound. Kaizen's armor no longer clinked. Even her breathing felt muted, as though the air itself refused to carry it. She reached instinctively for her flame—and felt it hesitate, guttering like a candle starved of oxygen.
"This place…" she whispered.
Her voice did not echo.
Kaizen stopped walking. His eyes scanned the darkness between the trees, jaw clenched.
"It knows we're here."
The forest seemed to lean inward.
They moved deeper, guided not by path but by instinct, and with every step the darkness thickened. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, pooling at the base of each trunk like liquid ink. Yvonne brushed her fingers against bark for balance and recoiled—the surface was warm, pulsing faintly, like skin stretched over muscle.
She swallowed hard.
A whisper slid through the trees.
Not loud. Not distant.
Close.
"Yvonne…"
Her heart slammed into her ribs. She turned, flame flaring—but there was nothing. Only trees. Endless, watching trees.
Kaizen stepped closer, his presence grounding, solid.
"Don't answer," he said quietly. "Whatever this is—it wants us to."
The whisper came again.
This time, closer.
"Kaizen…"
The sound of his name made something twist in Yvonne's chest. She saw his shoulders tense, saw the moment fear flickered behind his eyes before he buried it.
They walked faster.
The forest responded by closing.
Trees shifted when they weren't looking. Paths curved back on themselves. Every direction felt wrong, yet standing still felt worse. Yvonne began to feel it then—not just fear, but the anticipation of it. The certainty that something was watching. Waiting.
And then the shadows moved.
Not like animals. Not like people.
Like intent.
It stepped into the open without a sound.
Tall—too tall. Its limbs were elongated, jointed wrong, its body formed from shadow and pale bone. Where its face should have been was a smooth mask carved with six spiral slashes, each one faintly glowing.
But what made Yvonne's blood freeze was not its shape.
It was its stance.
The way it held itself.
The way it breathed.
It stood like Kaizen.
The same balance. The same readiness. A predator's patience.
The thing tilted its head.
"Run," it said.
Kaizen moved first.
Stone surged up his arms, armor thickening as he planted his feet between the thing and Yvonne. "Not this time."
The forest exploded into motion.
The creature vanished—no blur, no sound—simply gone. Yvonne barely had time to react before it reappeared beside her, so close she felt cold breath brush her ear.
"You will burn him again."
Her flame erupted on instinct, a spiral of blue fire tearing through the space where it stood—but it was already gone.
It reappeared in front of Kaizen.
"And you," it said softly, "will fail her again."
It struck.
The impact was catastrophic. Kaizen raised his arms to block, stone cracking under the force as he was hurled backward through a tree. Wood shattered like glass. The ground trembled.
"Kaizen!" Yvonne screamed.
She unleashed her fire in a wide arc, lighting the clearing in brilliant flame—but the trees drank the light, absorbing it, leaving only dim embers clinging to bark like dying stars.
No answer came.
The forest shifted.
The ground twisted.
And suddenly—
Kaizen was gone.
Yvonne stood alone.
Her breathing came fast, shallow. The darkness pressed in, alive now, whispering from every direction.
"You couldn't save them."
"You never could."
Images clawed at her mind—faces from Haldria, from lifetimes past, from dreams she had dared to want. Fire out of control. Stone collapsing. Kaizen falling, reaching for her—
"No," she whispered, backing away.
A shape moved ahead.
She ran.
Branches tore at her cloak. Roots grabbed at her ankles. The forest chased her—not fast, not slow—but inevitable. Every path led deeper, every turn brought her back to the same truth: she could not outrun fear.
Elsewhere, Kaizen staggered to his feet in a clearing of his own.
The forest here was different—tighter, heavier. Each tree loomed like a judge. His heart pounded, not from pain, but from something worse.
Doubt.
"What if you're not enough?" the forest murmured.
He clenched his fists until blood ran from his palms.
"What if your strength fails when it matters most?"
He roared and slammed his fist into the ground. Stone erupted outward—but the forest did not retreat.
It leaned closer.
Because the Fifth Veil did not want to kill them.
It wanted to convince them it already had.
And somewhere between shadow and breath, the Predator smiled.