Craigory knelt at the forest's edge, his axe planted in the dirt. His hand shook on the handle. He had sworn to stop the man in red robes from finishing the crown. He had sworn to keep Kortana safe. But something was wrong with him now. He pulled the pocket watch from his coat. The crystal face glowed pale blue, then dimmed, then glowed again. Each pulse matched the tremor in his arm. Somewhere far off, he knew, Kortana's blood was pulsing the same way. A tree nearby burst into quiet flame. The fire did not burn the leaves. It only marked them. Craigory stared at the dancing light and understood. The drain had found him too. Kortana stepped from the brush, flowers at her dress, eyes steady behind her glasses. "It is reaching you," she said. "I felt it before you did." Craigory tried to stand. His knees gave. On the trunk beside him, the bark split open and showed a glowing dial. Numbers fell. Colors faded. His strength, made plain for them both to see. "Then we have less time than I thought," he said. He gripped the axe with his good hand. The tremor stayed. The watch kept pulsing. The bond was real, and it was pulling them both toward the same dark end.

Craigory pushed himself up on the axe. The tremor stayed in his arm, but he walked. Kortana walked beside him. The watch pulsed in his pocket. They moved through the brush until the trees opened around one huge oak, its roots spread wide like a held hand. A man in red robes stood under the oak. He held a carved staff, pale wood with a bright gem at the top. He did not raise it. He only watched them come. "I can cut the bond," Dr Dillamond said. His voice was flat and clean. "The drain stops. She lives. You live. That is the simple part." He tilted the staff. The gem hummed. "The complication is the price. You walk away. You do not return. Not to her. Not to this forest. That is the trade. Nothing more." Craigory looked past him. A flock of bright birds wheeled above the oak, blue and pink and gold, moving as one body. He had watched birds like that from his old hut, back when his hands were steady and his life was small. They were what staying meant. They were what Kortana meant. Leaving meant never seeing any of it again. He felt the offer settle in his chest like a cold stone. For one breath, he weighed it. Then Kortana spoke, quiet beside him. "A man like that only hears one language." She did not look at the staff. She looked at Craigory's hand on the axe. Craigory lifted the axe. The tremor was still there. He swung anyway. The blade bit the staff at the grip. Wood split. The gem cracked and went dark. Dr Dillamond stepped back, unhurried, and folded his hands. "Then we proceed to the harder method," he said, and walked into the trees. The bond stayed. The drain stayed. But Craigory had not walked away, and now the man in red knew it for certain.