Chapter 89 The Woods Don't Let You Leave the Same Way You Entered
Damien
The path should have reappeared by now. I know these things instinctively — distances, terrain, the way the land breathes beneath my feet — and yet the forest keeps offering me the same stretch of ground no matter how I angle us, the trees subtly rearranging themselves like a patient puzzle that has no intention of being solved. We moved in a shallow arc, just wide enough to skirt the fallen stone and broken earth that forced us into the woods in the first place. A clean curve through the crazy mist that should have spit us back out onto the path.
“We should be coming out near the path again,” I say, more for my people than myself. “On the far side of the obstruction.”
Red walks a few paces behind me, light on her feet despite the weapons at her back. She studies the trees the way a hunter studies prey.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asks, tone careful and respectful.
I glance back at her. “I do.”
I explain it briefly. The curve. The distance. The expectation of rejoining the road. She hums softly. It’s a thoughtful sound. Not doubtful. Not dismissive. Just… considering.
I slow half a step. “Is that not a good plan?”
She meets my gaze. “No,” she says. “It’s a great plan.”
Then she tilts her head, listening to something I can’t hear.
“But here’s the thing about these woods,” she continues. “They don’t let you leave the same way you entered.”
I frown. “What does that—”
A sound cracks through the canopy above us. High, sharp and shrill like...Cackling.
Red’s entire posture changes in an instant. “Down,” she hisses. “Cover. Now. From the skies.”
The command ripples through the group before I can echo it. Soldiers scatter with disciplined speed, dropping beneath brush and fallen logs. Red dives under a dense shrub, yanking Ashlyn down with her just as a streak of shadow passes overhead. I grab Bella and pull her hard against me, ducking beneath the broad trunk of an ancient tree. I turn my body instinctively, shielding her with my own, one arm locked around her waist, the other braced against the bark.
Protect Snowflake. The dragon’s voice tears through my mind, raw and furious.
I already am.
Above us, broomsticks cut through the branches in a loose formation of crooked silhouettes against the sky, cloaks snapping, laughter spilling freely as magic sparks and spits from their hands. Green and violet light crackles uselessly into the trees, scorching leaves, splitting bark, missing us by pure chance or cruel amusement. Witches. Rogue, undisciplined, dangerous witches. Bella’s breath is steady against my chest. She doesn’t panic. She never does, not in the way people expect. Her fingers curl into my coat, grounding herself and grounding me.
The dragon snarls, coiled tight beneath my skin. Burn them.
Not yet, I answer silently. Not here.
The cackling fades, drifting deeper into the forest until the woods swallow the sound entirely. We wait another count of twenty before I signal for movement. Slowly, carefully, my people reassemble.
Red emerges first, brushing leaves from her cloak like this was nothing more than an inconvenience. Ashlyn looks mildly offended. “Rude,” she mutters. “No warning. Honestly, witches these days have no manners.”
I almost smile. The path ahead looks exactly the same as it did before, and for the first time since we entered these woods, I understand.
The dragon exhales low and displeased. This place is alive, he says. And it is watching.
I tighten my hold on Bella’s hand as we start forward again, because whatever direction this forest chooses to spit us out, I have no intention of letting it take her anywhere without me. We don’t make it more than another dozen paces before Red stops.
I turn. “What is it?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she crouches, pressing her palm flat against the earth, fingers splayed like she’s listening to something instead of touching soil.
“Well,” she says after a moment, straightening slowly. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?” Ashlyn asks.
Red looks at her, then at Bella, then finally at me. Her expression is darker now.
“These woods don’t herd people randomly,” she says. “They funnel.”
The dragon stirs, interest sharpening.
“Toward what?” I ask.
She exhales through her nose. “Toward what they want you to face.”
Bella tightens her grip on my hand, just slightly. I squeeze back, assuring her she's not alone in this mess.
"What exactly would they want us to face?" Bella asks, attempting to hide the tremble in her voice.
Red doesn’t answer immediately. She looks at Bella for a long moment, her gaze steady and unflinching, like she’s weighing how much honesty a person can take before it splinters them. Then she says it. “Exactly who you are.”
I frown. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Red’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “It’s not meant to. Not yet.”
She steps forward, boots crunching softly against the forest floor, and gestures for us to keep moving.
“You don’t get to know the ending of a fairytale at the beginning,” she continues. “You have to walk it. That’s how it works. You don’t find out who’s good, who’s bad, who survives, or who loses their head until you’re already knee-deep in the story.”
I don’t like the sound of that. The dragon mutters, and honestly, I agree with him.
Bella stays close at my side, her fingers still threaded through mine, her pulse steadying beneath my thumb. I keep my voice level. “And what happens if we don’t like the story it’s trying to tell?”
Red glances back at me, eyes sharp. “Then you fight it. Or you become it.”
Ashlyn snorts from behind us. “Wow. Comforting. Truly. I, for one, would really like to keep my head attached to my body, if that’s at all negotiable.”
Red doesn’t even look at her. “Then don’t stop moving.”
That earns her my full attention, not like she didn't already have it, but I feel like every word this woman says I should be filing away for later.
“No matter what you see in here,” Red continues, more serious now, “no matter what it shows you or whispers at you — you keep going forward. Never back. Not even for a second.”
The dragon shifts uneasily, scales scraping against the inside of my thoughts.
“And trust your heart,” she adds. “Not your eyes. Not the woods. Your heart.”
Bella swallows beside me. “That’s how you get out?”
Red nods once. “That’s how you find the end of these woods.”
We walk on. The forest presses closer again, subtle but insistent, roots twisting beneath our feet, branches leaning in just enough to feel like they’re listening. I don’t slow us. I don’t question the path. I keep my hand locked with Bella’s and my focus forward. Because I don’t believe in fairytales. But I do believe in traps. Whatever this place wants from us, I have the sinking suspicion it’s already decided we’re part of its story — whether we like it or not. And stories like this? They never let you leave unchanged.