Valewatch stood at the border between the known and the lost, perched on the edge of a land that no longer belonged to anyone. It was the last outpost before the wilds, a place where maps became meaningless and the rules of civilization frayed at the edges.

  The settlement was a patchwork of survival, built from whatever its inhabitants could salvage. Some buildings bore the marks of old craftsmanship, stone cottages with crumbling walls and weathered shutters, remnants of a past when this place had been part of something greater. Others were hastily erected from rough-hewn timber, their roofs uneven, their doors reinforced with mismatched scraps of iron. A few had been cobbled together from the remains of shattered caravans, their wooden frames painted in faded, peeling colors, the names of forgotten merchants still faintly visible beneath the grime.

  The main road was little more than packed dirt, uneven and worn by years of uncertain travel. Lanterns swung from wooden posts, their flickering glow barely enough to push back the deepening twilight. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth, thick with the mingled scents of burning wood, unwashed bodies, and something more bitter— the acrid tang of rust, of metal left too long in the rain.

  And beneath it all, carried on the wind, was something else: the faintest trace of rot.

  It did not come from the town itself. Not yet. But from somewhere beyond, from the lands westward, where the Curse had taken root. It clung to the air like a whisper, like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

  Valewatch was not cursed. But it was close enough to the precipice.

  “This place is weird,” Melissa muttered, picking up Gorgoloth and holding him close. The spider twitched his legs in agreement.

  Valewatch was unlike any town she’d ever seen— if it could even be called a town. There was no order to it, no sense of structure. Buildings leaned at odd angles, hastily repaired or half-finished, as if the entire place had been built with the expectation that it wouldn’t last long. The streets were uneven, a mixture of packed dirt and stray cobblestones, pockmarked with wagon ruts that had long since dried into hardened grooves.

  And the people... it was hard to tell who actually lived here and who was just passing through.

  Scholars in ink-stained robes walked beside scavengers in patched armor, their conversations quiet but tense, eyes constantly flicking toward the western horizon. Hunters leaned against doorframes, bows slung over their shoulders, hands wrapped around the hilts of long knives. Traders in heavy cloaks bartered with gaunt-looking merchants over crates of supplies, their words clipped, their movements hurried.

  The most heavily armed stood in clusters near the tavern, their armor a mismatched collection of scavenged plate and boiled leather, their weapons worn but well-maintained. Old soldiers, exiles, mercenaries— all gathered in low-voiced conversation, their expressions unreadable.

  And all of them— all of them— watched.

  Most looked up as the group entered town, their gazes tracking them with quiet scrutiny. Not overtly hostile, but cautious. Evaluating.

  “They don’t trust newcomers,” Julia noted, her sharp eyes sweeping the street.

  “Can you blame them?” Brenna said, dismounting her horse with practiced ease. “Everyone who comes here is either running from something or stupid enough to run toward it.”

  Melissa snorted, adjusting the strap of her pack. “Which one are we?”

  Brenna gave her a flat look. “Take a guess.”

  Near the center of the settlement, an old watchtower stood, the last remnant of Milana’s disorganized fight against the dark. It had once been tall and commanding, a stronghold meant to watch over the land that had long since fallen to ruin. Now, it leaned ever so slightly, as if bowing to the weight of time. Its stones were cracked and weathered by wind and rain. Climbing ivy wove through the gaps in the masonry, curling around the remnants of arrow slits like nature itself was slowly reclaiming the abandoned.

  The area around the tower was quieter than the rest of Valewatch. No traders, no scavengers hawking wares, just a few figures moving through the streets with quiet purpose. It felt like an unspoken border within the settlement, a place people knew to keep their distance from.

  A man in a battered leather coat leaned against the base of the tower, one boot braced casually against the stone. His coat was patched in places, worn at the edges, but the weapons at his belt— two knives, well-maintained and well-used— told a different story. His eyes were sharp, assessing, taking in the group without any real alarm but with the kind of awareness that suggested he didn’t miss much. His stance was relaxed but ready.

  When they got close enough, he tipped his chin at them. “New blood?”

  “Just passing through,” Julia answered smoothly.

  He let out a slow huff of amusement, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.”

  Brenna stepped forward without hesitation. “We need to see Merris Renwen.”

  At the name, the man’s expression shifted— not quite surprise, but something close to recognition. His gaze flickered over them again, a little more careful this time, as if weighing whether they were worth the trouble. “Merris doesn’t see just anyone,” he said, pushing off the tower and crossing his arms. “What’s your business?”

  Brenna didn’t miss a beat. “Magic,” she said flatly. “And a complete disregard for personal safety.”

  The man studied her for a long moment, then glanced at the others. Annemarie, quiet but watchful. Brandon, who hadn’t let go of the hilt of his sword since they arrived. Julia, impassive but tense. Melissa, arms crossed, Gorgoloth shifting slightly at her side.

  Whatever conclusion he came to, it was enough. He nodded toward the western end of town. “She’s got a place near the old grain stores. Don’t bother knocking— she already knows you’re coming.

  Julia frowned. “How?”

  The man shrugged, turning away. “Because she’s Merris.”

  As they made their way through the shifting, uncertain streets of Valewatch, Annemarie could feel it again. The pull westward.

  It had never faded, not once, but here, standing on the edge of the world it was stronger— more insistent. A constant pressure at the base of her ribs, a whisper threading through her thoughts. It was not a command, not a shove, but an inevitability. A tide, slowly but surely pulling her toward the place where the light ended.

  The road ahead of them was still untouched, still safe— but it wouldn’t be for long.

  She could see it in the people around her. They moved with purpose, but never ease. Conversations were quiet, kept close, voices rarely rising above the wind. No one lingered in the streets longer than necessary. Doors were reinforced, windows shuttered even in waning daylight. Weapons were carried openly— not as a show of force, but as a precaution.

  And the way they looked at her group— at the direction they were heading— no one tried to stop them. No one warned them away.

  The people of Valewatch knew. They were waiting— not for salvation. Not for rescue.

  But for the day when they, too, would vanish into the dark.

  The market in Valewatch was a strange mix of necessity and desperation, a place that felt like it had never been built to last. Makeshift stalls lined the uneven streets, some little more than wooden crates stacked together, others repurposed from the skeletons of old buildings. Cloth awnings, tattered and patchworked, strained against the wind as traders called out their wares— preserved food, salvaged tools, mismatched sets of armor, and relics pried from the bones of long-abandoned towns.

  It smelled of smoke, damp wood, and too many people in too small a space. The air carried a dozen conversations at once— haggling, whispered deals, murmured rumors. Some spoke of practical things— weather, routes, who was passing through and who wasn’t coming back. Others talked of the westward dark, of roads that no longer led where they should, of things seen moving between the trees.

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  Melissa stood near one of the stalls, arms crossed, watching as Julia carefully counted out their remaining coins. They bartered for dried rations, bundles of herbs, and a few odds and ends they might need on the road. “We should get something for Merris,” Julia said, placing a bag of dried fruit into her pack. “It’ll make her more likely to help us.”

  Melissa sighed dramatically. “How did we get here?”

  Julia didn’t look up. “To Valewatch? We rode.”

  “No,” Melissa said, gesturing vaguely at everything around them— the grim-faced traders, the scavengers picking through rusted weapons, the distant clang of someone hammering a dent from an old breastplate. “I mean here here. I was in college, Julia. I had an apartment. We had a fake polyamorous relationship so we didn’t have to pay for more than one gym membership. Now we’re buying gifts for some weird frontier witch in a town about to be swallowed by actual evil trees.”

  Brandon, adjusting the strap of a saddlebag, glanced over. “To be fair, you never exactly thrived in college.”

  Melissa scoffed. “Yeah, but at least I wasn’t—” she paused, looking down at the daggers on her hip, then at the bundle of dried lavender in Julia’s hands, then back at the street full of hardened scavengers and questionable magic-users. “—this.”

  Brenna smirked, puffing on her pipe. “You’re adjusting well.”

  “I have queer audacity and unresolved anger issues,” Melissa muttered. “That’s not the same as adjusting.”

  Brenna exhaled a slow curl of smoke, unconcerned. “If it works, it works.”

  They gathered a few small gifts— a pouch of good tea, dried fruit, and some strong-smelling soap that Julia insisted would make a difference. The market in Valewatch didn’t have much in the way of luxuries, but these were the kind of things that mattered in a place where comfort was scarce. The tea leaves were wrapped in waxed cloth to keep their scent fresh, the dried fruit carefully packed to avoid crumbling, and the soap— an herbal blend so sharp it nearly stung the nose— was, according to Julia, “the best they were going to get out there.”

  “This,” Brenna complained when she saw it, “does not count as ‘the good kind’.”

  Brandon held up the small bundle with a skeptical look. “You think this’ll be enough?”

  Julia adjusted the strap of her pack, glancing at their half-bored, half-disgusted elven companion. “If she’s anything like Brenna, it’ll depend on her mood.”

  Brenna, leaning lazily against a wooden post, exhaled another slow curl of smoke. “Flattery and bribes work on me. Having worked with Merris in the past— I assume so.”

  Melissa groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “This is gonna be a disaster, isn’t it?”

  Julia sighed, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “Probably.”

  No one disagreed.

  And with that, they headed toward the old grain stores, toward Merris Renwen, and toward whatever new bullshit awaited them next.

  Merris Renwen’s home wasn’t marked, but it was easy to find— mostly because no one else wanted to be near it.

  It sat at the very western edge of Valewatch, where the town thinned into uneven ground and half-forgotten paths. The structure itself was punched and uneven, as if it had grown from the ruins rather than built there. One side was half-sunk into the remains of an old stone grain store, its weathered walls patched with scavenged timber, reinforced in places with rusted metal sheets. Smoke curled lazily from a crooked chimney, filling the air with a thick, bitter scent that wasn’t quite woodsmoke and wasn’t quite pleasant.

  Wards had been carved into the doorframe, rough and deliberate, scratched into the wood with something to sharp to be an ordinary knife. Some of the sigils were old, their edges worn by time, but others looked fresh— deep grooves where the wood was still raw and splintered. Dried herbs hung from the eaves in tangled clusters, their scents clashing unpleasantly— rosemary, sage, and something acrid that stung the nose.

  The whole place radiated an air of mild hostility. Not outright dangerous, but distinctly unwelcoming, like a house that tolerated its own existence out of sheer stubbornness.

  “Charming,” Melissa muttered, eyeing the warped wooden steps like they might collapse beneath them.

  Brenna, completely unfazed, stepped up onto the porch and knocked once— sharp and confident— before pushing the door open without waiting for an answer. “Merris, you old bat,” she called. “You alive in there, or did the dust finally get you?”

  There was a clatter inside, followed by a deep, weary sigh, the sound of someone shuffling around in the dimness beyond the threshold.

  “Brenna,” a voice muttered from within. Low, scratchy, and utterly unimpressed. “If you’re here for alcohol, I’m out. If you’re here for money, I’m still out. And if you’re here for information, I already don’t like it.”

  Brenna grinned, stepping inside and gesturing for the others to follow. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Merris Renwen was a tall, wiry woman, her dark hair streaked with gray, her sharp green eyes ringed with exhaustion. There was something unshakable about her, a presence that filled the space around her without effort. She looked like a woman who had spent more years than she cared to count solving problems that other people were too afraid to touch— and who had grown thoroughly tired of it.

  She sat at a long, cluttered worktable, surrounded by the chaotic remnants of a mind that never stopped working. Scraps of parchment, scrawled over with cramped, precise handwriting, were piled beside half-melted candles and ink-stained quills. Strange charms— some carved from bone, others made from woven metal and stone— lay scattered in various stages of completion, their purposes unknown. A faint, acrid scent hung in the air, something herbal and sharp, like burnt sage mixed with old paper and melted wax.

  She gave Brenna a longsuffering look, then turned to the rest of them, her gaze sweeping over them with quick, practiced efficiency. “And who are these poor bastards?”

  “The kind who need your expertise,” Brenna said cheerfully.

  Merris snorted. “That’s never a good sign.”

  She didn’t ask for more details. She just gestured for them to sit— though the chairs around the room were just as cluttered as the rest of the place, piled high with books, empty bottles, and bits of broken charms.

  They explained their situation— Callista, the bond, the pull westward. Annemarie tried to keep it simple, to focus on the facts, but Merris listened with an expression that never wavered. Her sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable. When they finally reached the part where they planned to enter the cursed lands, she let out a long, deep sigh and leaned back in her chair. “You don’t want to do that,” she said flatly.

  “No shit,” Melissa muttered. “You think we have a choice?”

  Merris didn’t rise to the bait. She just studied them for a long moment before shaking her head. “I think you don’t understand what you’re asking.” She tapped a finger against the table, slow and deliberate, her voice measured. “Most curses can be outwitted— bartered with, resisted, worked around. The Mirrorwood is not one of them.”

  Julia’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  Merris exhaled through her nose. “Because it doesn’t just infect what it touches. It rejects everything that isn’t already a part of it.”

  Julia frowned. “Rejects?”

  “Like the body rejects a knife wound,” Merris said. “It doesn’t just consume you. It pushes you out— hard. People who try to cross the tainted lands either get sick and die, or they’re thrown into something worse.”

  Brandon’s jaw clenched. “Callista survived.”

  “Maybe,” Merris admitted. “But if she did, it’s because she’s a part of it. You are not.”

  Silence settled over them, heavy and absolute.

  “You’re saying we can’t enter,” Julia said finally, her voice measured, careful. “But you have a way, don’t you?”

  Merris sighed, rubbing her temple as if the conversation itself was physically painful. “There’s a theoretical way.”

  Melissa narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Merris said, pushing away from the table and standing. “I have a spell. A method. A possibility. But I have no idea if it actually works, because no one’s ever been stupid enough to try.”

  The room was quiet for half a second before Brenna smirked, leaning lazily against the wall. “Until now.”

  Merris turned on her heel and fixed her with a withering glare. “I hate you.”

  Brenna exhaled a slow curl of smoke from her pipe, utterly unbothered. “I know.”

  Merris muttered something under her breath— probably a curse, possibly a threat— and stalked toward the far end of the room, rummaging through a series of overstuffed shelves. Scrolls, loose parchment, and the occasional dried herb bundle tumbled aside as she searched, movements clipped and precise, frustration evident in the tightness of her shoulders.

  Melissa crossed her arms. “So, just to be clear— your plan is to send us into a nightmare forest hoping this spell works, but with no actual proof that it does?”

  Merris didn’t even look up. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Brandon exhaled sharply. “Fantastic.”

  A heavy book hit the table with a thud, dust curling into the air. Merris leveled them with a flat stare. “Still interested?” She grabbed a stack of old notes, flipping through them with sharp, efficient movements, fingers smudging old ink as she searched. Loose pages fluttered, some brittle with age, others covered in cramped, frantic handwriting— notations scribbled in the margins, formulas half-erased and rewritten, diagrams that looked more like warnings than instructions.

  “If you’re determined to do this,” she muttered, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe their stupidity, “you’re going to need protection. Permanent protection.” She pulled out a single page, the parchment worn and stained, its edges curled from years of handling. The ink scrawled across it was uneven, written by a hand either unsteady or hurried, the script dense with symbols and incantations. She set it on the table, the candlelight making the words flicker like they were shifting on their own.

  Julia leaned over to read it. The moment her eyes registered the writing, her stomach twisted. “This is—”

  “Blood magic,” Merris finished, voice flat. “A deep enchantment. One that will— if it works— tie your bodies to this world hard enough that the Mirrorwood can’t force you out.”

  Brandon exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing against the table’s worn surface. “And if it doesn’t work?”

  Merris smiled grimly, her expression unreadable. “You won’t be alive enough to wish it had.”