Iris led them just past the edge of Greymor, into a forest that looked too quiet.
The trees were thick, bark scarred and regrown more times than Rex could count. The ground was uneven, packed hard like it had been trampled, burned, frozen, and then trampled again. This wasn't a peaceful forest.
"This place," Iris said, stretching her arms, "has a healthy monster population."
Rex tilted his head. "Healthy… for who?"
"For the monsters," she replied cheerfully.
Dorian stopped and looked at Rex.
"Alright, kid," he said. "Go crazy."
Rex's eyes lit up.
"Oh. You're gonna regret that."
He slotted the white air focus into his gauntlet.
"Aer."
The air around his arm pulled inward, spiraling tight. Rex grinned—
—and promptly exploded the compressed air under himself.
"WAIT—"
BOOM.
Rex launched straight upward and vanished into the leaves with a loud CRACK.
Iris stared at the shaking tree canopy.
"…Ah."
Dorian rubbed his face. "Every time."
Rex tumbled out of the branches, caught himself mid-fall by pulling air again, and landed in a crouch like nothing happened.
Iris crossed her arms. "I see the similarity between you and him."
Dorian blinked. "What similarity?"
Rex, already charging air again, wasn't listening.
He compressed it tighter this time—much tighter—then swung.
The air blade screamed.
The tree trunk split cleanly, the upper half tipping—
—and Iris casually reached out, caught the falling section with one hand without looking, and set it down beside her.
"He's reckless," she said, sitting on the log. "Adventurous. Smiles like the world won't bite him back."
Dorian stiffened.
"…No way," he said quietly. "Your memory's wrong."
Iris looked at him. "No. I'm serious. That was you."
Dorian didn't answer.
Instead—
"HEY GUYS!" Rex shouted from deeper in the forest.
They both flinched.
"I FOUND A BOAR!"
Dorian sighed. "Of course you did."
They hurried over just in time to see a massive tusked boar snorting and pawing the ground.
Rex cracked his knuckles.
"Watch this."
He compressed air—
—and uppercut it.
The boar was launched straight up, squealing in confusion.
Rex didn't stop.
"Terra."
He slammed his hand into the ground. The earth surged upward into a jagged spike—
Then—
"Aer!"
He detonated air beneath himself, launching upward, swapped focuses mid-air—
"Ignis!"
His flaming punch hit the boar like a meteor.
BOOM.
The boar crashed down, impaled cleanly on the stone spike.
Rex landed safely, cushioning himself with air like it was instinct.
Iris blinked.
"…That," she said, impressed, "was a very clean combo."
Rex grinned—then paused.
"…Uh. Guys?"
Something was wrong.
A faint cyan glow leaked from the boar's body, mist-like, drifting upward.
"What's that?" Rex asked.
Iris crouched beside it. "That's its soul. Strong enough ones leave a visible trace when they die."
Rex went still.
Soul.
Then he saw it.
The glow wasn't dispersing.
It was being pulled.
The cyan mist stretched toward the forest floor, where something dark and vein-like pulsed—black substance flecked with tiny cyan lights.
It absorbed the soul.
And grew.
Rex pointed. "That thing—"
Dorian froze.
Not just stopped—froze.
His face drained of color. His eyes locked onto the spreading black mass like he'd just seen a ghost crawl out of the ground.
"…Rex," he said, voice tight.
"Mom."
Iris looked up. "What?"
"Get away from that."
Now.
They both turned back to him.
"What is it?" Rex asked.
Dorian swallowed.
"…Star-Rot."
Neither Rex nor Iris knew what that meant.
But the way Dorian said it—
The way his hand trembled as it moved toward his hammer—
They didn't argue.
They backed away.
And the forest seemed to breathe in response.