Bjorn’s boots scraped against the stone as he lunged forward. The Hazbin’s bony hand lunged toward Rowan, but with a fierce shout, Bjorn slammed into Rowan, knocking him to the side. The Hazbin’s strike missed by inches, as the two boys tumbled in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling across the cracked tiles until they skidded to a stop.
CRACK!
The sound split the ruin like thunder. The shimmer burst apart in a spray of jagged light, scattering across the chamber like shards of glass. Then, just like that, it was gone. The pale, bony hand. The Shimmer. Even the sound.
Rowan lay on the cold stone floor. The icy grip that had been pulling at him seconds ago was gone, leaving only stinging scrapes and throbbing ribs. Beside him, Bjorn groaned and pushed himself.
“Are you out of your mind?” Bjorn panted. “What were you even thinking?”
Rowan sat up slowly. “I… I don’t know. It wasn’t a voice. Not exactly. But it felt real. Like something calling me.”
Bjorn grabbed his shoulders. “You were walking straight into the Hazbin’s hand!”
“I wasn’t afraid,” he whispered. “That’s what scares me. I wanted to follow it.”
Bjorn stared at him for a long moment. “Next time, I’m tying a rope around your waist.”
Rowan gave a shaky laugh. “Deal.”
SQUAWK!
Both boys froze. The sound echoed through the ruins. They turned as one, and from behind a broken pillar, the small bird peeked out. Its feathers shimmered, and its wide, glassy eyes blinked at them.
Bjorn shook his head. “I almost forgot about that bird.”
He carefully walked over the rubble and crouched. The creature didn’t flinch, only cocked its head.
“Easy there, little guy,” Bjorn said, reaching out. He scooped it up gently. The bird chirped once, then nestled against his chest like it had been waiting for him all along.
Bjorn grinned. “Guess it likes me.”
Rowan brushed dust from his sleeves. “Good, then you get to carry it.”
With the bird tucked safely in Bjorn’s arms, they started toward the stairway. But Rowan paused. His eyes drifted back to where the shimmer had been. The unease hadn’t left him. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the compass. Click. The lid creaked open. Before the needle even spun, the bird perked up. It chirped sharply, thrusting its beak north. The arrow spun once before locking into the same direction.
“It’s pointing north,” Rowan gasped. “The same way the bird wants us to go.”
Bjorn leaned in, squinting between the compass and the bird bobbing its head.
“Whoa,” he blurted. “That’s… actually kind of weird.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Rowan slipped the compass back into his pocket. He pushed past a half-crumbled wall and stepped out behind the ruins. Beyond the rubble, between two toppled columns, a narrow trail stretched into the forest.
Bjorn hesitated at the edge, eyeing the trail. “If this bird gets us lost, you’re buying dinner for a week!”
The magical bird chirped brightly and hopped ahead, its colorful wings flashing like jewels in the sunlight.
Rowan brushed aside a drooping branch and stepped over a root as thick as his arm. “Are we even sure this counts as a trail?”
Bjorn kicked at a mossy stone. It wobbled, but didn’t budge. “Feels more like we’re wandering through somebody’s abandoned backyard.”
Ahead, the bird hopped along in quick bursts—every few steps, it chirped, like it was whistling its own theme song. Rowan couldn’t help but smile; its rhythm was oddly contagious. Whenever the sunlight broke through the canopy, its feathers shimmered as if tiny lanterns glowed beneath them.
“Think it’s actually leading us somewhere?” Rowan asked.
Bjorn scratched his chin. “Could be. Or maybe it’s just running home for dinner.”
Rowan pulled the compass from his pocket. The needle didn’t hesitate; it pointed straight down the trail.
“See?” Rowan said, holding up the compass. “We’re on the right track.”
Bjorn grunted. “If you say so. Feels like the trees are staring at us.”
A sudden rustle in the branches snapped their attention sideways. Rowan spun around. Two red squirrels shot up a nearby tree.
Rowan let out a nervous laugh. “Just squirrels.”
Yeah, just squirrels,” Bjorn laughed, although his grip on the axe didn’t ease. “Let’s keep moving before it’s something bigger.
The trail grew rougher, forcing Rowan to duck beneath sagging branches and climb over fallen logs. Once, he sank ankle-deep into mud with a loud squelch.
“Ugh.” He yanked his boot free. “This better be the right way.”
Then the forest began to thin. Shafts of light lanced through the canopy. Rowan pushed through a screen of undergrowth and stumbled into a clearing. Warm sunlight spilled across his face for the first time in hours. Below, the land sank into a wide valley of crooked pine trees and jagged cliffs. Right in the middle sat a village, with rooftops packed together like shells on a beach.
A crooked wooden sign leaned beside the trail. Faded paint spelled out: Stormreach Village, with a lopsided arrow pointing straight toward the rooftops below.
But it wasn’t peaceful like the towns they’d passed before. The shingles were cracked and sagging. Smoke curled not from chimneys, but from broken walls. The streets buzzed with hurried shouts, rattling carts, and villagers darting in panic. In the square, a toppled wagon leaned sideways against a shattered fence.
Rowan stepped closer, staring at the smoke below. “What do you think happened?”
Bjorn shook his head. “Whatever it was… it wasn’t good.”
The magical bird gave a soft coo as they started down the slope, and Rowan’s eyes never left the village.
“I think we should—”
SNAP!
A heavy net of woven vines dropped from the branches above, yanking Rowan upside down in a blur of rope and leaves. His cloak flopped over his face as he kicked and flailed.
“Wha—hey! What is happening right now?!”
“Rowan?!” Bjorn spun around, raising his axe.
Before he could move, a puff of pink smoke burst from the bushes with a soft poof.
“Aha! Destiny smiles upon us!” boomed a familiar voice. “We’ve caught them red-handed! Or blue-footed! Or suspicious-somethinged!”
Rowan groaned from the swaying net. “Not them again…”
With a rustle of leaves, Snatch leapt into the clearing like a stage actor making his grand entrance. His feathered hat was even taller than last time, wobbling dangerously as he flourished his bent sword. He struck a heroic pose. “Banditleaf Trio, engage! Operation Glitterbird Grab, commence!”
Crumble shuffled out next, chewing a carrot like it was a drumstick. Two steps later, he tripped on a root and belly-flopped into the dirt with a muffled whumph.
Thorncoat stumbled in last, holding a scroll upside down and squinting at the smudged ink like it might suddenly make sense. “Says here the bird brings fortune… or doom… or maybe both,” he announced proudly. “Either way, it glows.”
The magical bird gave a sharp squawk and darted behind Bjorn’s legs for safety.
Bjorn scowled. “You three again.”
“Indeed!” Snatch puffed out his chest. “And this time we know precisely what we’re after! Behold! The Rainbow-Rooster of Fortune! The Glitterquill Goose! The Stormfeather Phoenix!”
Thorncoat leaned in, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I thought we settled on Stormplume Parrot?”
“We’re workshopping the name,” Snatch hissed, still posing.
Rowan crossed his arms, dangling upside down. “In case anyone forgot, I’m still up here.”
Bjorn shook his head, lifted his axe, and shhhriek! One clean swing snapped the vines. Rowan crashed onto the grass with a grunt.
“Oof.” He rubbed his head, glaring up at Bjorn. “A little warning next time?”
Snatch gasped. “He freed the Wind Boy! Thorncoat, activate Code Leafy Leapfrog!”
Thorncoat whipped a vine like a lasso. It sailed wide, slapped against a tree, then sprang back and wrapped neatly around his own ankle. He toppled sideways in a flailing spin. “Alas! Betrayed by my own trap!”
Crumble muttered, “Couldn’t we just… y’know… ask for the bird?”
“Never!” Snatch bellowed, yanking out a second sword, rustier than the first. “We must triumph with style!”
Bjorn swung his axe again, not at them, but through the air. The gust sent Snatch’s enormous feathered hat sailing off his head. It twirled twice before vanishing into a bush.
“My hat!” Snatch shrieked, diving headfirst after it.
Rowan sprang up, thrusting out his palm. A sharp gust of wind burst forth, smacking Crumble square in the chest. The big man staggered back into Thorncoat, and the two collapsed in a tangle of vines and limbs.
“Retreat!” Snatch shouted, waving his sword wildly as he scrambled out of the bush. “This was merely a tactical rehearsal!”
“We’ll be back!” Thorncoat wheezed from beneath Crumble’s elbow.
“See ya,” Crumble added with a lazy wave.
The Banditleaf Trio staggered off, dragging scraps of netting, broken traps, and somehow a bewildered squirrel tangled in their mess.
Rowan dusted off his cloak and sighed. “They really never learn.”
Bjorn lowered his axe, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t be the Banditleaf Trio if they did.”
The magical bird chirped brightly, feathers glittering like falling petals in the sunlight.
Rowan grinned. “Come on. Stormreach is just ahead.”
They hurried down the last hill. The trail widened into cracked cobblestones, old fences leaning like tired guards, and signposts that pointed nowhere. Ahead, Stormreach became less of a village and more of a forgotten fortress. As soon as their boots touched the cobbles, the quiet broke apart. Shouts tangled with the clatter of pots, and somewhere wood splintered, the noise rushing over them in a single crashing wave.
Rowan froze. Shingles lay scattered like broken teeth. Laundry lines had snapped, clothes whipping like torn sails. A stone fence lay toppled, rocks strewn through the mud.
A woman dashed past, clutching a basket as apples tumbled and bounced down the road. A moment later, a frantic man barreled after a goat wearing a striped scarf, shouting as the animal darted between the houses.
Bjorn’s knuckles whitened around his axe. “What in the world is happening here?”
Rowan turned slowly, as his eyes swept across the wreckage. “It looks like a storm blew through, but we didn’t see any clouds. No thunder. Nothing.”
The frost phoenix fluttered to Rowan’s side. Its feathers no longer shimmered, their glow dimmed as if the village’s fear had stolen their light. They cautiously moved through the square. A stone well sat in the center. A wagon had toppled on its side, spilling fabric and splintered tools into the mud. A loose wheel wobbled lazily until it tipped over and rolled away with a hollow clatter.
Near a leaning lamppost, villagers huddled together, their words tumbling out in quick, panicked bursts.
“They came out of nowhere!” a man shouted, flailing his arms.
“I saw it too!” another cried. “Wings like sails, bigger than a house!”
A woman clutched her child close. “Did it take anyone? Where’s Eric?”
Rowan walked closer, but the villagers were too wrapped up in their own panic to notice him. Their voices tangled over each other, as fear buzzed through the square like a hive of angry bees.
CRASH!
The sound cracked the air. Rowan and Bjorn spun around just as a wooden shutter ripped free from an upstairs window and smashed against the cobbles. It landed so close to Bjorn’s boot that he had to leap back.
Rowan’s heart pounded in his chest. “Something’s still here.”
Bjorn didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the rooftops.
The frost phoenix suddenly shrieked, spun in place, and jabbed its beak toward the sky.
At first, Rowan thought the clouds were drifting. But then the light dimmed, and a vast shadow stretched across the sky, unfurling into jagged wings. It hovered above the cliffs in slow, endless circles, like a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
“Bjorn… did you see that?” Rowan gasped.
Bjorn’s face had gone pale. His knuckles trembled as his grip tightened on his axe. “Yeah. I saw it.”
A thunderous roar rolled through the valley. The sound shook the rooftops, rattled the cobbles, and froze every villager where they stood.
Bjorn lowered his voice. “It’s not finished. Whatever that thing is… It’s coming back.”