The laughter echoed through the grove, vibrating up through Seraphina's boots and into her bones. It wasn't just sound—it was pressure, thick and cloying, pressing against her eardrums like deep water. Riven went rigid in her arms, his breath hitching as his blackened fingers clawed at the dirt.
"No," he choked out. "Not you. It can't be you."
The roots ahead of them trembled. Then parted.
Something rose from the earth in a shower of black soil and snapping tendrils.
At first, it was only a shape—suggestion of limbs too long, a torso too narrow, a head that lolled at an unnatural angle. Then the shadows clinging to it peeled away like wet parchment, revealing the face beneath.
Seraphina's stomach turned to ice.
She knew that face.
Not from her own memories, but from Riven's—glimpsed in fragments during the long nights when fever made him talk in his sleep. The sharp jaw. The crooked nose, broken in a childhood fight. The scar through the left eyebrow—"From when you threw a rock at me, you little bastard," Riven had once mumbled in delirium.
His brother.
Dead for five years.
And now standing before them, woven from roots and rot and things that should never walk in human skin.
"Hello, little brother." The Watcher's voice was wrong—too many tones layered together, some human, some something else entirely. It stepped forward, roots creaking, its body unfolding like a nightmare given form. Its mouth stretched too wide when it smiled, sap-blackened teeth glistening. "You've been gone so long. Did you forget about me?"
Riven made a sound like a dying animal.
The Watcher tilted its head, the motion eerily precise. "You left me to die in the dark," it whispered. "But I remember. The Grove remembers. Every scream. Every drop of blood."
Seraphina tightened her grip on Riven's arm. "It's not him," she hissed. "It's just wearing his face."
The Watcher's smile widened. "Oh, but I am him. Just as I am every lost thing the roots have ever swallowed." It raised a hand—too many fingers, knuckles bending the wrong way—and beckoned. "Come home, Riven. The dark misses you."
Riven shuddered. The mark on his chest pulsed, gold fighting against the black veins creeping up his neck.
Then, horribly, he took a step forward.
Seraphina grabbed him. "No!"
The Watcher laughed again, the sound slithering through the trees. "He wants to, girl. Can't you feel it? The roots are singing in his blood now." It leaned closer, the stench of decay rolling off it in waves. "But you… you're interesting. Your blood smells like storm winds and old, old fire." A root-twisted hand reached for her. "Let me taste—"
Riven moved.
Faster than he should have been capable of, he lunged between them, his body slamming into the Watcher with enough force to send them both crashing into the weeping trees. Golden sap sprayed where they hit, the fruit above them bursting like overripe wounds.
"RUN!" Riven roared, his voice raw.
Seraphina didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Behind her, the sounds of tearing roots and snarling laughter chased her through the grove.
And beneath it all, the terrible, wet sound of something breaking.
The laughter that slithered through the grove wasn't just sound—it was a living thing, thick as tar, pressing against Seraphina's skin like damp hands groping in the dark. It vibrated up through the soles of her boots, rattling her teeth, making the roots beneath her feet squirm as if in answer. Riven jerked in her grip like a marionette with its strings cut, his breath coming in short, wet gasps. His pupils had swallowed the gold of his irises, leaving only black pits—windows into something hollow and hungry.
"No," he choked, the word barely more than a whimper. His fingers, now more root than flesh, dug into the soft earth, tearing up clods of soil that writhed with tiny, hair-thin tendrils. "Not you. It can't be you."
Ahead of them, the grove shuddered.
Roots as thick as Seraphina's thigh burst from the ground in an explosion of black soil and splintered bark. They wove together, knotting and twisting, forming a grotesque silhouette—too tall, too thin, limbs bending in places limbs shouldn't bend. The shadows clinging to it peeled away like rotting skin, revealing the face beneath.
Seraphina's breath caught.
Riven's brother.
She knew him instantly, though she'd never seen him in life. The sharp angle of his jaw, just like Riven's. The crooked bridge of his nose—"Broke it when we were kids," Riven had once muttered in a fever dream. "Threw a rock at me, so I shoved him into the river. He came up laughing, blood all down his shirt."
But this thing wasn't laughing now.
Its mouth stretched, splitting open far too wide, revealing teeth like splintered bone, blackened sap oozing between them. "Hello, little brother," it crooned, its voice a chorus—Riven's brother's tones layered over something deeper, something that buzzed like insects beneath rotten wood. "Did you miss me?"
Riven made a sound like a dying animal.
The Watcher took a step forward, its root-woven body creaking. Each movement was wrong—joints bending backward, fingers elongating and retracting like living vines. It tilted its head, the motion too smooth, too precise. "You left me in the dark," it whispered. "All alone. Screaming. But I remember everything, Riven. The way your hands shook. The way you ran."
Seraphina's grip on Riven's arm tightened. "It's not him," she hissed, her voice low and urgent. "It's just wearing his face. The Grove is playing tricks—"
The Watcher's head snapped toward her, its neck twisting too far, too fast. "Oh, but I am him," it purred. "Just as I am every lost soul the roots have ever tasted." It raised a hand—fingers unspooling into thin, questing roots—and beckoned. "Come home, Riven. The dark has been so... lonely."
Riven shuddered. The mark on his chest pulsed, gold light flaring against the black veins spiderwebbing across his skin. His breath came in ragged, wet gasps, his body trembling like a bowstring drawn too tight.
Then, slowly, horribly, he took a step forward.
"Riven!" Seraphina grabbed his shoulder, her nails biting into his fever-hot skin. "Fight it!"
The Watcher laughed, the sound slithering through the trees, making the weeping fruit above them burst in wet, pulpy explosions. Golden sap rained down, stinging where it touched Seraphina's skin, leaving blisters in its wake. "He wants to, girl," it taunted. "Can't you feel it? The roots are singing in his blood now. They've been singing since the moment he took the seed into his flesh."
It leaned closer, the stench of decay rolling off it in waves—wet earth and spoiled fruit and something metallic beneath, like old blood. Its too-long fingers stretched toward her, roots writhing like worms. "But you… you're interesting." A blackened tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "Your blood smells like storm winds. Like lightning about to strike." Its grin widened. "Let me taste—"
Riven moved.
One moment he was swaying, caught between the Watcher's pull and Seraphina's grip. The next, he lunged, his body slamming into the Watcher with a force that sent them both crashing into the gnarled trunk of a weeping tree. Golden sap sprayed like blood, the impact shaking the branches above, sending fruit bursting like overripe wounds.
"RUN, SERAPHINA!" Riven roared, his voice raw, half-human, half something else entirely. His hands—now more root than flesh—clamped around the Watcher's throat, golden light flaring from his mark like a dying star. "GO!"
The Watcher shrieked, a sound that wasn't human, wasn't animal, but something older. Its body convulsed, roots unraveling, reforming, lashing out like whips. One caught Riven across the chest, tearing through fabric and flesh alike, but he didn't let go.
Seraphina didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Behind her, the grove erupted in chaos—the wet, tearing sounds of roots being ripped apart, the Watcher's enraged howls, Riven's snarled curses. And beneath it all, the terrible, wet sound of something breaking.
She didn't look back.
She couldn't.