The forest no longer felt neutral.
Jin noticed it first in the way sound carried—too clearly, too cleanly. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for instruction. He moved carefully, every step measured, every pause intentional.
Pressure had changed.
It was no longer distant.
It was closing.
"They're tightening the circle," Hess said quietly.
"Yes," Jin replied. "And they're doing it properly now."
They stood on a rise overlooking a shallow valley. Below them, men moved with purpose. Not hurried. Not uncertain. Patrols crossed paths, signals exchanged with brief gestures. This wasn't a sweep.
It was a net.
"They learned," Hess muttered.
Jin nodded. "Rowen always does."
They retreated before being seen, slipping into denser ground. Jin's chest felt tight—not with fear, but with the weight of inevitability. Every disruption reached a point where it demanded resolution.
This was that point.
By afternoon, they encountered the first fracture.
A patrol passed too close—closer than planned. Jin and Hess pressed themselves flat behind a fallen tree, breath shallow, muscles screaming for stillness.
One of the soldiers stopped.
Jin felt time slow.
The man bent, examining the ground.
A footprint.
Recent.
Jin's.
The soldier straightened.
Raised a hand.
Jin moved.
He surged forward, knocking the man off balance before a shout could form. Hess followed instantly, disarming the second soldier with brutal efficiency.
The third ran.
They let him.
Jin stood there afterward, breathing hard, blood roaring in his ears.
"That wasn't clean," Hess said.
"No," Jin replied. "And it won't stay quiet."
They moved fast after that.
Too fast.
Mistakes crept in.
A snapped branch.
A misjudged slope.
A stumble that cost breath.
By dusk, horns sounded in the distance.
Multiple.
Layered.
"They're coordinating," Hess said grimly.
"Yes," Jin replied. "Which means they're close."
They reached an abandoned charcoal burner's hut as darkness fell. Jin pushed them inside, barring the door with a broken beam.
"Rest," he ordered.
Hess shook his head. "They won't give us long."
"I know."
Jin pressed his back to the wall, closing his eyes.
For the first time in weeks, doubt crept in—not about his cause, but about cost.
How many men would suffer because he refused to stop?
How many families would learn fear because of his name?
He thought of Mira.
Of the children.
Of Lowpine holding its breath.
The shouting came before midnight.
"Jin Karel!"
Rowen's voice.
Calm.
Certain.
Jin opened his eyes.
"He's here," Hess whispered.
"Yes."
Footsteps surrounded the hut. Torches flared, light bleeding through the cracks in the wood.
Rowen spoke again. "This ends tonight."
Jin rose slowly.
"It ends when you decide it does," Jin replied.
Rowen sighed. "I hoped you'd be smarter than this."
Jin laughed softly. "I hoped you'd be braver."
Silence.
Then Rowen said quietly, "You're running out of ground."
Jin glanced at Hess.
They both knew.
The forest behind them was already taken.
The door splintered inward.
Smoke followed.
Jin moved first, kicking the beam aside and charging through the opening. He struck fast, breaking through the ring before it fully closed.
Hess was right behind him.
They ran.
Arrows hissed past.
One struck Jin's shoulder, pain exploding white-hot. He nearly fell, teeth gritted against a scream.
They reached the ravine at full sprint.
Too late.
Rowen stood at the far side.
Waiting.
"You don't have to die here," Rowen said.
Jin slowed.
Blood soaked his sleeve.
"I won't," Jin said. "But something will."
Rowen frowned. "What?"
Jin looked back at the soldiers crowding the ravine mouth.
Then at the unstable stone walls.
Hess's eyes widened.
"Jin—"
Jin shoved him sideways.
"Run."
He slammed his shoulder into a support column, already weakened by years of erosion.
Stone screamed.
The ravine collapsed.
Dust, rock, sound—everything fell at once.
Jin was thrown back, vision darkening.
The last thing he saw was Hess disappearing into the trees.
Jin woke to pain.
And silence.
He lay half-buried beneath stone, breath shallow, every movement agony. One leg was trapped. His shoulder burned. His head rang.
But he was alive.
Voices echoed faintly above.
Rowen.
"…pull them out."
"They're dead, sir."
Rowen was silent for a long moment.
Then: "Search for the body."
Jin smiled weakly.
Let them search.
Night returned.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Jin worked slowly, inch by inch, ignoring pain that threatened to steal consciousness. When he finally freed his leg, he collapsed again, gasping.
Dawn found him crawling.
By midday, he reached water.
By nightfall, he reached trees.
He did not go back to Lowpine.
Not yet.
Days later, word spread.
The road whispered it.
Jin Karel was dead.
Crushed beneath stone.
A necessary end.
Rowen reported it himself.
Lowpine mourned quietly.
Mira did not weep.
She waited.
Far from the road, Jin lay hidden in a hunter's shelter, fevered but breathing.
Hess knelt beside him, face tight with relief.
"You're an idiot," Hess said hoarsely.
Jin smiled faintly. "Still breathing?"
"Yes."
"Then it worked."
Hess swallowed. "They believe you're gone."
Jin closed his eyes.
"Good."
Because ghosts walked roads differently.
And this road—
Was not finished with him yet.