Karura Haven did not fall. It was abandoned, and that hurt more. No bells rang. No speeches were made. The decision to leave spread like a shared breath, quiet, urgent, heavy.
People packed what mattered most and abandoned the rest. Tools. Blankets. Spirit lanterns. Protection charms carved from Eden-wood. Parents wrapped keepsakes into children's bags without explanation, knowing they would ask later when it was safer.
Lyra burned the training banners herself. "I don't want HelixCorp touching these," she said, eyes hard, flame steady.
Orion lingered near the Spirit Grove, his fingers brushing the glowing bark. "They're scared," he whispered to me.
"The spirits?" I asked.
He nodded. "But they're… proud too."
Mara oversaw everything, calm as a mountain in a storm. Zara coordinated scouts and rear-guards, her voice clipped, efficient but when she thought no one was looking, she paused beside a child who wouldn't stop crying and knelt to meet his eyes. "You know what this is?" she said gently. The boy shook his head.
"A story," Zara said. "And you're still in the first chapter." He sniffed. "Do the good guys win?" Zara smiled just barely, "Eventually."
We left in three columns.
Scouts, women and children first, guided by spirit-lights that floated low and steady. Supplies, the elderly and other non-combatants second. Rangers, fighters, and gifted defenders last.
As we crossed the final ridge, I looked back. Karura Haven glowed softly in the night, vines still alive, lantern-fruits swaying, spirits hovering as if reluctant to leave.
Mara paused beside me. "Places remember love," she said. "That is never wasted." Then she turned away, the forest closed behind us.
Two hours into the march, Eden began to feel… wrong. Not hostile. Strained. The ground grew colder. The air thickened. Bioluminescent plants dimmed, their colors muted.
A deer-like spirit creature crossed our path then froze mid-step, its body dissolving into ash as if its life had been pulled out through an unseen thread. A collective gasp rippled through the group.
Orion clutched my hand hard. "Dad… something is draining life." I felt it too. The Echo around us had gaps now missing notes in the song of the world.
Ulgrath'Ma had a long reach.
We made camp after hours on the march, Lyra sat with me staring at her hands. Her fire flickered weakly unresponsive. "Dad," she whispered. "It doesn't feel the same." I knelt beside her. "Tell me."
"It's… angry," she said. "Like it wants to burn everything. Or nothing at all." I took her hands gently. "Fire doesn't choose what it destroys," I said. "But you do." She nodded, swallowing hard, "I won't let it make me cruel."
That promise mattered more than she knew.
Later, Orion sat cross-legged at the edge of camp, eyes closed. A small spirit-animal formed beside him a glowing fox, calm and steady. It didn't panic. It didn't scream. It simply watched.
Jinx crouched nearby, impressed. "That's new." Orion smiled faintly. "I told it to listen instead of react." The fox's ears twitched. Jinx exhaled. "You're learning faster than you should." Orion opened one eye. "Is that bad?" Jinx shook his head. "No. Just… dangerous."
Sleep came reluctantly, and when it did, the Echo took me again. This time, I walked through a forest that was dead. Trees stood frozen mid-growth. Roots jutted from the soil like exposed bones. Spirits lay shattered across the ground their light extinguished.
In the distance… something moved. A colossal silhouette crawled across the horizon, its presence bending reality. Tendrils of shadow dragged behind it like the aftermath of a storm. Each step erased something. A memory. A story. A name.
This is how it hunts, the Oracle's voice whispered. Not by claws… but by forgetting. Ulgrath'Ma raised its head, and for the briefest moment… it looked directly at me. I woke screaming.
Mara was already awake, standing watch. "You saw him," she said. "Yes," I rasped. She nodded grimly. "It's getting closer." The campfire flickered weakly. Far in the distance, something roared, deep, ancient, furious. Not sound. Intent. The villagers huddled closer together on instinct.