The chatter of the marketplace faded behind Freya, Jorma, and Swiftfoot was replaced by the soft hum of magic. Market stalls gave way to lush greenery, and soon, the towering figure of Atheria’s Capital Tree came into view.

  Freya tilted her head back, the ancient tree as it loomed above them. Thousands of twisting branches reached for the sky.

  She exhaled slowly. It’s been a while. She’d seen it before, but somehow, it always looked... bigger.

  Her eyes flicked to Jorma. “Big as ever,” he muttered.

  “Bigger, I think,” Freya replied. “Or maybe it’s just been that long.”

  Behind them, Swiftfoot wheeled his rock-drawn carriage along. A group of guards stood in formation. As they approached, the guards raised their weapons in salute.

  “Captain Freya. Captain Jorma. Master Swiftfoot.” The lead guard's voice was steady. Their gazes flickered briefly toward the rock creature trailing behind them. One guard nudged another, muttering something under his breath. The other raised a brow but said nothing. Swiftfoot decided to leave the rock and the carriage with them.

  The guards seemed to be pleased and lowered their weapons as the group passed through the threshold of the entrance. It was warmer, thicker with magic.

  “Hey! Get back here, you little thief!”

  A loud, raspy voice echoed through the corridor, followed by the frantic pitter-patter of small feet on wood. Freya's eyes flicked to her right just in time to see a blur of brown and white fur leap from the ground and land squarely on her shoulder.

  THUMP.

  A ferret. Scruffy fur. Beady black eyes. Mouth stuffed with half-eaten bread.

  Freya’s eye narrowed at the familiar sight. “Olive.”

  The ferret glanced up at her, cheeks still puffed with bread. A large man in a chef’s uniform stomped toward them.

  “You again?! I’ll skin you, you furry menace!” The chef’s hands coated in flour as he waved a rolling pin like it was a warhammer. “Why do you even need food, you Atherain?! You don’t even need to EAT, but you keep stealing my bread, you little pest!”

  Olive leapt higher onto Freya's horn. Their tiny claws latched on tightly.

  The chef froze, eyes narrowing as he realized who Olive was clinging to. His face fell. “Oh.”

  Freya arched a brow.

  “Captain Freya, apologies, I didn’t realize—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she waved him off, plucking Olive off her horn and holding them up by the scruff. “Run back to your kitchen, chef. You’ve got bread to make.”

  The man sighed as he stormed back the way he came, muttering. “I swear, Atheria, save me from these feral spirits. Every day it’s something new.”

  Freya watched him go, shaking her head slowly. "Humans," she muttered. Her eyes flicked to Olive, still hanging limply in her grip. “You really have to stop doing that.”

  Olive grinned. Their body glowed, and then with a poof, Olive's human form dropped lightly onto the ground.

  They were short, had messy, curly, brown hair, their eyes had the same beady sharpness they’d had as a ferret. Their Legion mage uniform looked like a mischievous child wearing someone else’s clothes.

  “What can I say?” Olive said with a shrug. “The bread's the best in the capital. Can't resist perfection.”

  Swiftfoot squinted.

  “Little Olive?” he said. “You’re still causing trouble, huh? I used to carry you around on my cart when you were smaller than that.”

  Olive’s grin widened. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. You let me ride on top of the rock beast. Best seat in the house.”

  Freya sighed. “You’re in the Elite Legion now, huh?”

  “You bet!” Olive said. “Didn’t think I’d make it?”

  “No,” Freya said flatly. “I’m still not sure I believe it.”

  Olive agreed. “Same, honestly.”

  Humans in Eden. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was still strange to see it so casually accepted. It hadn't been this way before. Freya's gaze flicked toward the corridor where the chef had disappeared. Humans and Atherians don’t mix well. Their lives too short compared to the Elves and Atherians.

  Jorma glanced at her. “Don’t overthink it, Freya.”

  “Not overthinking. Just noticing,” she muttered.

  “Well, stop noticing,” Jorma said bluntly, hands in his pockets. “We’re late for the meeting with Atheria.”

  At the far end of the grand hallway, a bunny humanoid maid in a crisp black uniform stood at attention. She bowed slightly as the group approached.

  “Please follow me,” she said. “The goddess desires your presence. It's a pleasure to see you still responding to the summons, even in your retired state, Swiftfoot. The entire legion is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

  Freya glanced at Jorma, who raised a brow.

  “Looks like everyone is waiting on us, the book can't start without the main hero it seems,” Jorma muttered, cracking his knuckles with a bit of a grin.

  Freya tilted her head forward punching him, letting a little emotion show. “Let’s see what the goddess wants this time.”

  Down the hallway Freya noticed the bark give way to smooth marble, with streaks of green. The air grew cooler and with each step, ambient magic grew stronger.

  Freya glanced to her side. Olive seemed a bit excited to see the goddess with a grin on his face.

  “They've been busy,” Jorma muttered, tilting his head toward the marble. "Last time I was here, it was all bark and roots. Now look at it. Fancy."

  “Feels too clean,” Freya muttered. “Used to feel like a forest. Now it feels like a temple.”

  “It’s both,” Swiftfoot said.“The closer you get to Atheria, the more it becomes a reflection of her will.”

  Freya snorted. “Yeah, well, her will’s looking a little pretentious these days.”

  Jorma chuckled under his breath. Toward the twin metal doors at the end of the hall. As the maid reached them, she raised a hand.

  The runes flared, the metal groaned, and the doors swung open.

  Her first thought, as always, was that the space felt too big to be something inside the tree.

  The room was a grassy plain with four streams leading to the center of the room. On the marble walls holes with balconies stuck out. Throughout the room legion factions stood.

  The Nytherion elves stood together in tight formation. Their clothes were darker, adorned with blues and purples. Their faces always showed they hated being here. She didn’t need to hear them to know they were complaining.

  “The weakened magical support is affecting our allies,” one of them said, his face locked in a permanent scowl. “How long must we endure this?”

  On the opposite side, the Sylvaris elves spoke more anxiously. Their clothes were softer in color — greens, browns. One of them shook their head.

  “Without proper growth magic, our potion reserves are already running low,” a Sylvaris elf muttered. “Food production is faltering too. We’re one bad harvest away from rationing.”

  Freya clicked her tongue, eyes shifting toward the third group — Aetherion elves. They stood in isolation, gazes locked on the Nytherion elves with thinly veiled caution. Their silver and white robes practically glowed in the chamber’s light. One of them, a woman, shot a glance at her companions.

  “Their bad blood lingers,” she muttered. “I’d rather avoid unnecessary conflict with them.”

  Freya's eyes flicked between them all, her lip curling in frustration. Same old politics. Same old people. Except one. Someone was missing. The threads of magic in the air pulsed faintly. She glanced toward the tree at the center of the chamber. Her eyes narrowed at its bark. She could see them. The slow, twisting shapes of old faces. Watching. Runes began to scream as her head was spinning.

  “You look tense, Captain.”

  The voice drew her attention. Raven.

  The woman approached in a long black cloak dragging. Only her piercing amber eyes were visible.

  “Jorma, I presume?” Raven said. “A fellow moon follower. I’ve been curious about your capabilities.”

  Jorma turned his head slowly.

  “I suppose we’ll have time to find out,” Jorma replied coolly. “Hopefully, you’re not disappointed.”

  The ground trembled.

  Freya’s eyes darted to the tree in the center of the chamber.

  “She’s coming,” she muttered.

  The bark on the tree began to shift. Lines in the wood curled outward like roots growing in fast motion. Pieces peeled away. The room dimmed. The threads of ambient magic stopped swirling.

  The bark split open, and Atheria glided forward. Her form was ethereal, a figure of smooth bark and flowing leaves, her hair like cascading vines moving. She radiated light like sunlight. Her eyes locked onto Freya.

  Freya’s breath hitched in her chest.. Look steady. Look steady.

  She’d seen Atheria emerge from the tree before, but this time was different. Her gaze held power.

  No one spoke. No one dared.

  The ambient magic in the air changed. It was no longer wild and free. It obeyed her now.

  Freya eyes stayed on Atheria’s face. The air was still.

  One moment, Freya was standing strong, her eyes locked on Atheria. The next, it felt as though the entire weight of the forest itself had settled on her shoulders.

  Her legs wobbled. Her breath hitched, her teeth clenched as every muscle in her body screamed to kneel. Magic, ancient and unyielding, pressed down on her. Her eyes darted around the room.

  The others didn’t last.

  The Elite Legion crumbled, one by one. She saw Raven fall to her knees first, her shadowy grace folding into a low bow. The Aetherion elves followed shortly after, their glowing robes dimming as they lowered themselves, hands planted firmly on the floor. The Sylvaris and Nytherion elves fell next, bowing under the same unbearable pressure. It wasn’t submission. It was survival.

  But Freya remained on her feet. Her knees bent slightly, body trembling with the effort. She wouldn’t fall. It went against her nature.

  Her eyes darted toward Jorma, and she barely caught him before he, too, lowered himself to one knee. His eyes locked with hers, his pride straining against the weight.

  Even Swiftfoot had lowered his head, to a low bow, his old frame barely holding that. But poor olive, the newest member of the Elite Legion, seemed to be taking the aura the worst. His head touched the floor. Bowing to the figure he probably hadn’t even met before.

  Atheria’s voice wasn’t loud but It filled the chamber like was a presence.

  “Freya, my devoted one, you have returned,” Atheria said. Her gaze bore down on Freya.

  Freya’s chest tightened.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “But it seems you bring the thoughts of Aspects and fae creatures with you.”

  Her arms tensed, muscles straining as she lowered her head slightly. Any doubt that Atheria's magic had grown weaker was shattered in an instant. No mortal, no Aspect, no known force on the land could make Freya feel like this. No wonder they all bowed so fast.

  The pressure didn’t relent. Freya’s heart pounded harder, blood rushing in her ears. Every instinct told her to drop, to lower herself like the others, to surrender and wait for it to end. But pride was a stubborn thing.

  Her eyes met Atheria’s. The glow of those eyes pierced through her, stripping her bare.

  “Careful, Freya,” she thought. "Don’t push too far."

  Her breath came shallow.

  “My goddess, please hear me.” Her horns tilted forward. “You are the only one I pray to. The only one whose strength surpasses my own.”

  Her knees trembled one hand gripping the hilt of her sword.

  “Your magic gives me form, flows through my very being. I made these contracts by defeating the Aspects that lurk and cause chaos.” Her eyes blazed now. “Using your power shows your strength.”

  The room grew colder. Raven tilted her head, her gaze flicking toward Freya as if she were crazy.

  The air was still. Silence.

  Atheria moved.

  Her head tilted slightly. Her gaze swept over Freya slowly. No part of Freya was left unseen. Her contracts. Her flaws. Her victories. Her fears. All of it, laid bare.

  Then Atheria smiled.

  “You have always had a way with words, Freya,” Atheria said. “We shall discuss your actions and potential consequences later.”

  All at once, the pressure vanished. It was as if the world had snapped back into place, and Freya felt her chest rise fully for the first time in minutes. Her legs felt like jelly.

  The members of the Elite Legion let out soft sighs of relief, some coughed regaining their breath, quiet whispers of disbelief, and the slow, steady shuffle of bodies rising from their kneeling positions.

  Freya didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on Atheria. Her gaze was steady, but her mind was loud.

  She’s stronger than before, she thought, glancing at her own hands. Did she grow stronger? Or did I just forget how small I am? I guess that means I'm not strong enough.

  Aetherion elves whispered to one another. Raven adjusted her cloak, her eyes lingering on Freya for a moment. Swiftfoot gave Freya a small nod.

  Jorma scratched the back of his head, his eyes half-closed as if tired. “You love doing things the hard way, huh?” he muttered, his voice just loud enough for her to hear.

  Freya’s lips curled into a small, sharp grin, her eyes still locked on Atheria.

  “It’s the only way I know how, Jorma.”

  Atheria's voice echoed once more.

  “Now, my faithful ones, I have summoned you to inform you of my recovery from a weakened state.”

  The gentle, knowing warmth in her voice. The shifting tendrils of ambient magic coiled. Atheria’s eyes swept across the room, her gaze sharp as ever.

  “Many have grown fearful, believing my godly essence is waning.”

  Her tone was steady, but there was something else beneath it. Bitterness? Frustration? Freya couldn't quite place it, but she felt it settle in her chest.

  Freya’s eyes shifted around the room, taking in the shifting faces of the Elite Legion. Their expressions were mixed — some looked hopeful, others unsure.

  Her own heart didn’t share their hope. She felt it tightening in her ribs.

  Atheria’s gaze shifted again.

  “I regret to inform you that we have lost a member of the Elite Legion.”

  The air grew colder.

  “The elf Elissa from Sylvaris was slain near the outer rim of Eden.”

  The words didn’t hit all at once. They dropped slowly, rippling outward with growing weight. Shock swept the room.

  The Sylvaris elves exchanged glances first. A few gasps slipped out. One of them, a younger elf with green leaves woven into their hair, covered their mouth.

  The Nytherion elves stood a little straighter, lips pressed into thin lines, their eyes narrowed with calculation. Some whispered to each other, low murmurs.

  Freya didn’t move. Her gaze flicked toward the Sylvaris group, scanning for familiar faces. The realization struck her.

  Elissa isn’t here.

  Her heart twisted in her chest. She wasn’t close with Elissa, but she'd fought alongside her in more battles than she could count. They’d clashed during missions, sniped at each other during briefings, but it had been the kind of rivalry born from mutual respect. She was supposed to be here.

  Her thoughts snapped to the runes on her hand that had briefly glowed this morning. Was that it? she thought bitterly. The runes were trying to tell me this.

  Atheria continued,“The 'thing' that took her life avoided my detection.”

  Freya’s eyes darted back to Atheria.

  “For that, I am deeply sorry.” Her voice softened.

  “I see you all as my children, and hearing this news angers me more than you may know.”

  The glow of the tree under her grew brighter. The threads of ambient magic that had been drifting lazily turned toward her.

  The air cracked. Light erupting from her body.

  Freya’s eyes squeezed shut, her teeth gritting as the glow seared her vision.

  “I know a lot of your people are worried because of the wane in magic recently, but help for those in need will arrive shortly,” Atheria declared, her voice sharper, more focused. “I will find whoever or whatever is behind this and make them wish they hadn't.”

  The glow dimmed slightly, but the power in the air remained.

  Her eyes scanned the room looking at the Nytherion group. Then the glow of her gaze passed over Freya for just a moment, Freya held her breath, As it moved elsewhere.

  “There are whispers of betrayers, liars, and deceivers among us.”

  Her gaze lingered.

  “Despite my kindness, I have been betrayed too many times.”

  Her voice lowered, colder now.

  “I have turned the other cheek for far too long.”

  Freya’s fingers slowly curled into fists.

  This isn’t like her at all. Atheria had always been patient. She was gentle, slow to anger, thoughtful in her judgment. But today? This was something else. Her eyes scanned the room, watching as every member of the Elite Legion knelt before her.

  Atheria raised her hand slowly, and her aura dimmed.

  “To all those here with ulterior motives, this will be your only warning. I will unleash divine wrath on those who betray me.”

  No one moved.

  Her gaze became distant, as if she were recalling something far away.

  “Silas, from days past, will have been a warning.”

  A flash of memory surged in Freya’s mind — the sight of Silas, an old elite legion member, his figure consumed in divine light, his scream echoing once before being snuffed out like a candle. No blood. No bones. Just gone.

  The moment the weight lifted, chaos followed.

  Elves from every faction began to speak over one another. Whispers turned into sharp questions and demands.

  “What caused her weakness?” a Sylvaris elf hissed, eyes darting toward the Nytherion group.

  “How will she enforce this wrath?” muttered an Aetherion elf, voice tight with concern.

  Freya didn’t join in the shouting.

  This is why she’s putting on this front, Freya realized. Fear. Atheria wasn’t like this before. This wasn’t strength. This was defense. This is what it looks like when a god tries to hold on to power.

  Freya’s eyes lowered toward her hands. The faint glow of the runes had long since faded, but she could still feel them.

  Something’s wrong, she thought, her eyes flicking back to Atheria.

  “No more questions! GO!”

  Atheria’s hand shot upward, and the chamber flooded with light once again. It drowned out color, sound, and thought. Everything became white.

  “You have your commands, and I would hope you'd be wise to follow them.” Atheria’s voice echoed through the chamber.

  Freya glanced around as the glow dimmed. The Legion moved. They rose slowly, some looking shaken. Only silent mumbles could be heard.

  The large doors at the end of the chamber slowly opened, revealing the path back into the corridors of the entrance of her Tree. One by one, the members of the Elite Legion filed out.

  Freya’s eyes skimmed the crowd for Olive, but he seemed to have vanished, probably terrified of the display shown today.

  Raven was one of the last to leave besides Jorma, Freya, and Swiftfoot. Her eyes lingered on Freya before she left.

  When the last of the Legion had left, only four people remained. Atheria. Freya. Jorma. Swiftfoot.

  Atheria’s gaze fell on Jorma. Her eyes were softer now. She tilted her head toward him, her movements graceful

  “Jorma, you may leave, but I need you to listen to Freya from here on.”

  Jorma raised a brow before grinning.

  “I already do, most of the time, but ill keep that in mind, my goddess.” Jorma said, turning to walk toward the exit.

  Atheria began to look around as if she had lost something. “Hmm… I could have sworn Olive had been in this meeting. I hope I didn’t scare the young one too much.”

  Atheria’s gaze shifted to Swiftfoot. The glow of the sap pools beneath her feet shimmered brighter for just a moment.

  “Nice to see you, Swiftfoot,” Atheria said. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. Tell Olive the same. Although I’m unsure why you are here. She looked at him, puzzled. All the same, you are always welcome, as you know.”

  Swiftfoot bowed slowly, his movements deliberate but never weak.

  “Thank you, goddess,” Swiftfoot replied, his tone polite. “But I must take my leave. I have a few loose ends to tie up.”

  His gaze shifted to Freya briefly before he walked after Jorma.

  The great doors thudded shut behind them, leaving only Freya and Atheria.

  The change in Atheria was sudden. Her divine glow dimmed further, her form shifting. The smooth bark that covered her limbs softened. Her skin darkened, taking on the appearance of bark-like flesh. Arms, once vine-like, shifted into two sets — one normal, the other slightly furred, ending in clawed fingers. Her hair, long, black, and braided into flowing locks, shimmered faintly as it swayed behind her like a living thing. Her face shifted into something... younger. Younger than Freya, even.

  She leaned back on the colossal tree. Her eyes were half-open, the mood more casual. She folded her hands neatly over her lap, and her flowing white dress seemed to merge with the glowing sap beneath her.

  “Now, tell me, Freya, how goes the foxes' training?” she asked, tilting her head to one side..

  Freya blinked. Where did that shift come from?

  “It’s... going okay, I guess,” Freya said slowly, still watching Atheria. “They still need to control their magic output. The seal’s holding up, though. Arbor is by far the most unwilling student I’ve ever had.”

  Atheria hummed softly, gaze distant.

  “Freya, I know you wouldn’t betray me,” she said softly. “But coming here like that, with so many contracts bound to you, it does raise concern.”

  Freya’s eyes darted to her hands. The contracts. Freya's fingers twitched.

  “I think you can handle whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” Atheria continued. “So I will not pry any further.”

  The sap beneath Atheria stirred. Slowly, a glowing blue orb rose from its surface, hovering in the air between them.

  Freya’s eyes narrowed. Of course.

  “I assume you know what this is,” Atheria said, her tone light, almost playful. “Since you went through the effort of hiding from it while talking to that brother of yours.”

  Freya eyed the orb carefully. She thought about lying. Her eyes flicked to Atheria, who sat perfectly still, calm as still water.

  “Yeah, I know what it is,” Freya muttered. “Lets you see through the millions of moons you scattered across the forest.”

  Atheria smiled faintly. She lifted her hand, tapping the orb with her clawed finger.

  “Look.”

  The glow from the orb shifted, projecting an image. Freya’s eyes narrowed as the scene unfolded.

  Alek and Arbor.

  Alek swung a scythe with wild, chaotic movements. His eyes burned with something dark, and his attacks came faster than she’d ever seen. Arbor stumbled, barely keeping pace, using small bursts of earth magic to dodge his swings.

  “What is he holding?” she asked, leaning forward. “Why is he moving like that?”

  Atheria sighed.

  “That is an old scythe. Its name is Judgment, based on the magic it gives off. It once was used to kill demons.” Her gaze shifted to Freya. “Its has been corrupted by someone.”

  Freya tensed.

  “I want to see Arbor tomorrow,” Atheria added, changing the subject like she hadn’t said anything important. “We have much to discuss.”

  Freya’s gaze flicking back to the image. Alek’s scythe dragged through the air, almost hitting arbor.

  Atheria looked down at the orb again reflecting on something, “What you do with Alek is your choice. I suggest not hurting the boy though, I've made a lot of enemies today. I really don't need the king of Nytherion's son hurt."

  "Sorry Atheria, I wasn’t expecting this to happen after leaving them alone for only a couple of hours. I’ll be back with Arbor tomorrow.” Freya said, turning toward the door.

  Atheria’s voice followed her.

  “You best hurry. The fight doesn’t seem to be in Arbor’s favor.”

  The moment the chamber doors shut behind her, Freya broke into a sprint. Her heart pounded in time with her footsteps. Her breath came short, cold air biting at her lungs.

  That idiot elf boy. That scythe. The image of Alek’s wild, frantic swings burned in her mind. She knew that look in his eyes. Rage.

  Her legs moved faster. An image of Eva with them popped into her head.

  Jorma. She had to find him.

  She spotted him near the archway leading to the lower halls — leaning casually against the wall like he had all the time in the world. In front of him stood Raven. Her eyes followed the slow twirl of Jorma’s blades with a look of un-interest.

  Of course he’s flirting, Freya thought scowling.

  “Jorma!” she barked. “Stop flirting, we’ve got trouble!”

  She saw Raven’s head snap toward her, her eyes going wide with surprise. Her dark cheeks flushed.

  Jorma tilted his head slowly in mild irritation.

  “What? I’m busy,” he muttered. His fingers rolled the hilt of one blade between his fingers, spinning it with an annoying amount of precision.

  Freya eye locked on him like.

  “Your sister is in trouble.” Her eyes narrowed. “I need you to follow me. Now.”

  Jorma blinked, tilting his head. His lips quirked into a grin that immediately vanished as confusion set in.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re right here.”

  It took Freya a second to process what he’d just said

  Her hands twitched. The lightning grew brighter.

  “Eva, you idiot.” Her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Raven's eyes darted between them.

  Jorma blinked, his grin fell flat. “Ah, crap,” he muttered. “It's always something when I’m actually trying to do something fun.” He shook his head. “Alright.”

  They didn’t walk. They vanished.

  Freya took one step, her hand on the handle of her sword. Her body then burst into a streak of red lightning. As she tore through the hall.

  They were too far away. She knew it.

  Behind her, the faint pull of shadows rippled against the marble floor. It wasn’t as fast as light, but it was everywhere. The edges of the darkness quivered for a moment, and then Jorma’s form slipped from the shadow’s surface, his coat whipping around him like smoke.

  They reached the edge of the inner city, where the towering tree gate stood. Two guards were stationed there, Blackthorn and Kaelen, both standing stiffly at attention.

  Suddenly, a blinding flash of light that tore through the gate’s center. The glow hit the guards’ faces, forcing them to squint.

  A moment later, a black ripple of shadows spilled across the ground, curling at their feet. It pooled, twisted, and Jorma stepped out, his coat flaring as he strode forward, one hand on his hip.

  Kaelen rubbed her eyes. “What…?” Her voice trailed off. She glanced toward Blackthorn.

  Blackthorn didn’t say anything. He just stared in salute.

  The moment they passed the gates, Freya shifted into full speed, her body a pure streak of energy that vanished into the open forest. Jorma’s shadows followed soon after, leaping from the dim spots between trees. A race to a fight that had already concluded.