After leaving Corwyn's hut, Ellis had returned to an empty house. Now that darkness had arrived, he sat in his room, the house silent around him. His mum was out again, out with the coven, like most nights. Since Dad died, she’d sunk her heart and soul into it, pouring herself into rituals and meetings, as if the magic might somehow bring him back. As if she'd forgotten she had a son still here, living and breathing, in the same house.

  Ellis rolled the rune stone between his fingers. It was smooth and warm, etched with faint lines that shimmered softly in the light of his lamp.

  He contemplated the advice Mum, Gran, and Aunt Lucinda were always trying to drum into him, even Corwyn too, in his own way.

  "The rune was given to you to help you get started," Gran had said. "A lot of male witches struggle at first. Girls your age don’t need such a tool."

  "Why?" he’d asked.

  "It’s just the nature of things," Gran replied. "Think of the rune as a balance aid, like a baby uses when learning to walk. It’s just a training tool. Sooner or later, you’ll need to learn to conduct spells without it. Using your magic. True magic. Channel your greatest emotion."

  Once again, he found himself pondering the difference between male and female magic.

  "It’s basically the same magic," Aunt Lucinda had told him.

  "Then why does it feel so different?" he asked. "Why is Emily learning to embrace the power of the Nithwood? She’s the same age as me, and I’m struggling to perform basic spells."

  She grinned. "You jealous of your cousin?"

  "No. Obviously I want to embrace the Nithwood’s power… but why? Why is it so fast for girls?"

  "Don’t rush it, Ellis," she said, her voice edged with caution. "Female magic might come quicker, but male magic runs deeper. Stronger. Only one in ten witches are male, but those who are tend to wield far greater power." She paused, then added, "And that’s exactly why he wants you."

  "He . . ."

  "The dark god of the forest," she said. "He tempts power wherever he finds it, but with boys, he plays a bigger game. His offers are richer. His promises, far harder to refuse."

  He stared at the rune, feeling its familiar pulse in his palm. Part of him didn’t want to let it go, it was safe, predictable. But that wasn’t the point, was it? The whole reason Gran had given it to him was so he could eventually cast without it. If he kept relying on it, he’d never know what his magic truly felt like.

  He opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet and, reluctantly, dropped the rune inside.

  From the same drawer he took a tea candle and placed it where the oil should go, on top of the skull-shaped burner. He then perched on the edge of the bed, steadying himself so he could concentrate on it.

  Then he reached into memory.

  His dad.

  He remembered the way he used to whistle badly while making breakfast, the smell of burnt toast, the awful jokes that made Ellis groan and laugh at the same time. The warmth of his hug. The sound of his voice.

  He opened his eyes and whispered, “Veydris.”

  The candle didn't even flicker.

  “Veydris,” he said again, firmer this time.

  Nothing.

  “Veydris.”

  Still nothing.

  The flame refused to spark. The wick remained cold.

  After a long silence, Ellis let out a breath and leaned back.

  Nothing. Not even a flicker.

  Of course it didn’t work. Why would it?

  Nothing else ever did.

  He had no friends, no one to talk to.

  Okay, there was Corwyn, but he’d been distant lately, caught up in his own thoughts and strange warnings. Always talking about an unseen presence, always telling Ellis to stay away.

  His mum barely looked at him anymore, not since Dad died.

  She didn’t even try to hide it, like having him around was some kind of burden she couldn’t shake.

  Why would magic be any different?

  Why would something choose him?

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  He sighed, shoulders heavy, and turned to his desk.

  The book sat where he always left it. The one Corwyn had given him on his thirteenth birthday last month.

  The cover was bound in dark green leather, the texture soft but cracked with age. Strange symbols curled across it like creeping ivy, and the title was pressed into the centre in faded gold leaf:

  A Natural History of the Nithwood

  By Professor Charles Boothroy (posthumously completed by Percival Tiddle, edited by Agnus Boothroy, illustrated by Maddaline Harlowe).

  He opened it, pages rustling like dry leaves. He flicked through familiar names—Chitterfang, Spinebacked Dreadcat, The Gloamhorn Gutter, Argentis—then paused on a page he hadn’t looked at in weeks.

  Lyth.

  One of Orrun's forms.

  He began to read:

  > Deep in the tangled canopy of the Nithwood, where shadows shift and the mist coils through twisted branches, the Lyths prowl. These nimble, pack-hunting felines are one of the most elusive predators in the forest, perfectly camouflaged among the trees, their glowing eyes the only trace of their presence before they strike.

  Whispers among the Nith Wardens claim the Lyths descend from the Scottish wildcat, altered over centuries by the Nithwood’s mystical energies...

  Corwyn had never told him that.

  Ellis skimmed ahead, pausing on a section marked with a red silk ribbon:

  > Their eyes glow faintly in the dark, allowing them to communicate through subtle glances and signals invisible to most creatures.

  It is said that to hear a Lyth call from the trees above is a warning, something unseen is watching, and it may not be the Lyths alone.

  Outside, something crashed. Glass. Then a shriek.

  Ellis blinked, sat up straighter. Something was happening outside, metal screeched, glass shattered. A deep, guttural growl rolled through the night. He rushed to the window.

  A creature moved through the street, hulking and wild. It loomed taller than any man, with shoulders like slabs of broken stone and arms that swung like wrecking balls. Its skin was mottled grey, stretched tight over muscle and sinew, crusted with old scars and fresh wounds that oozed dark, tar-like blood. Tufts of greasy black hair hung from its head and shoulders, clinging to its damp, monstrous frame.

  Its face was a nightmare of twisted features, sunken eyes burning red, a nose crushed into its skull, and a mouth full of cracked, yellow teeth that jutted like splintered bones. It moved with heavy, lurching strides, every footstep cracking the tarmac beneath. One clawed hand dragged against a parked car, shredding metal like paper. The other swung wildly, smashing a garden wall into rubble.

  Ellis couldn’t look away.

  This was a Graul.

  He’d read about them in the book. But seeing one… this was different.

  And the worst part?

  No one else could see it.

  Neighbours were stepping out of their homes, confused and frightened. But they didn’t scream. They didn’t run. They stared at the destruction, at the crushed cars and split pavement, but not at what caused it.

  Because to them, there was nothing there. Maybe they thought wind was causing the destruction. But there was no wind.

  But someone else did look like they saw it.

  A woman came striding down the street with purpose. Her voice was calm but firm as she instructed the neighbours to go back inside. They obeyed without question, as if something in her tone left no room for doubt.

  It was Mirran. The lady from the shop. What was she doing here?

  She dropped to her knees and began drawing a circle on the pavement with a piece of chalk. As soon as it was complete, wind erupted from it, whipping around her like a living shield. Her hair danced in the storm of her own making.

  Then she began to chant. Ellis opened the window so he could hear.

  The words she spoke weren’t in any language Ellis could identify. And that was saying something. He had grown up around magic, heard dozens of incantations. These sounded older.

  “Vel akh shorrenn… vethari kelun… korra valen’dai…”

  The Graul lunged, throwing a huge fist in Mirran’s direction. It didn’t reach her. The strike hit something invisible and bounced back with a dull crack, as though it had slammed into solid stone. A faint shimmer lit the air around her, like heat on the horizon on a scorching hot day.

  It was a barrier. A circle of protection. And it seemed to be holding, for now.

  The Graul growled low and raised both fists above its head, slamming down hard enough to rattle the windows.

  Still the shield held. But this time it juddered, like a ripple through water.

  Mirran didn’t move. She began to chant again, her voice dropping lower, sharper, like someone else was controlling her body.

  “Sennar vak’teluun… draesh kor’velan… ithar menakth…”

  The Graul began circling her, slowly. Like a predator waiting for its prey to drop. Like it could feel the barrier weakening.

  Then the air behind it warped.

  It was subtle at first. A hum, deep and constant, like pressure building in the chest. Fog twisted. The space above the road cracked, just slightly as if space had splintered.

  Something stepped through.

  Ellis leaned further out the window, eyes wide.

  It was tall. Skeletal. Its limbs long and jointed, its body wrapped in moss and streaked with glowing veins of sap. Thorned antlers curled from its skull, and vines trailed from its arms. Its eyes glowed white-blue.

  Ellis had seen it before. Not here. Not in life. In the book he’d just been reading.

  But the name was gone.

  She had summoned it. Ellis had heard about this. How Nith Witches could call creatures straight from the Nithwood. Pull them through the veil, bind them with words older than memory. Summon them and bend them to their will.

  He had heard the stories, stories Mum and Gran had dismissed. He had never believed them either. Not really.

  But now he had seen it.

  The new creature raised its head.

  The Graul turned.

  The two beasts faced each other, eyes locked, sizing each other up.

  The new creature moved without warning. One moment it stood still, vines coiling around its limbs like they were alive. The next, it blurred sideways as the Graul charged.

  The Graul swung, fast for its size. The strike crashed down where the creature had stood, but hit nothing.

  Ellis pressed his hands to the window ledge, his breath stuck in his throat.

  The creature reappeared beside the Graul, low to the ground, one vine whipping upward. It wrapped around the Graul’s leg and yanked. The Graul stumbled, roared, twisted, and swung again.

  This time it caught the creature’s side. It was a glancing blow, but the force sent the thing skidding backwards, claws scraping against the road.

  Then it vanished again.

  Ellis turned from the window, bolted down the stairs two at a time, and burst through the front door. Cold air hit him with a rush as he ventured outside. The street was thick with fog and flickering shadows, every street and house light warped by the haze.

  The new creature reappeared in front of the Graul, low to the ground, limbs arched. It moved before the Graul could react, one vine whipping out and latching onto its shoulder. A second lashed across the Graul’s face, leaving a trail of glowing sap in its wake.

  The Graul howled, swiped wide, but hit nothing. The creature had already vanished again, reappearing behind it with a burst of speed. This time it struck low, wrapping a vine around the Graul’s ankle and yanking hard. The brute crashed to one knee, the pavement cracking beneath the weight.

  Ellis ran past them both, heart in his throat like he was ready to cough it out.

  Mirran was still in the middle of the road, crouched low, arms slack at her sides. Her head hung forward, and for a second he feared she was ready to collapse.

  “Mirran!” he shouted, dropping to one knee beside her.

  She didn’t respond, just tilted her head slightly at the sound of his voice.

  He slipped an arm around her back, tried to lift. She was light, but her legs folded beneath her as though they no longer belonged to her. Somehow, he managed to get her up, staggering with the effort.

  Behind them, the fight continued. The Graul swung at shadows. The creature danced between blows, fast and tireless.

  Ellis didn’t look back. He pulled Mirran with him, breath ragged, guiding her through the front door and into the house.

  “How is this happening?” she whispered, breathless. “A few slip through sometimes, Chitterbacks, Gimbles, Whisperets. But not something like this. Not a Graul. It’s impossible. The Warden guards the gate. The gate is closed. Always.”

  He helped her into the living room, guiding her carefully to the couch. She slumped into it, still shaking.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded weakly, eyes weary. “I just need to recover,” she said. “I've never summoned anything so large before.”

  “What is that thing?”

  “A Thornlash,” she said, nearly. “Let's just hope it can subdue that Graul before the spell wears off. It has minutes at most before it returns to the Nithwood.”

  Ellis turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To the Nith Gate,” he said. “I need to see if Corwyn’s alright.”

  “No, Ellis… you mustn’t—”

  But he was already out the door.

  He rushed outside just in time to see the Thornlash reappear behind the Graul. It whipped its long, spindly tail, the spike at the tip piercing the Graul’s back. The Graul let out a mighty roar, enraged and in pain.

  It slumped forward, crashing face down in the middle of the road. It was still breathing. Whatever venom was in that sting was enough to incapacitate but not kill.

  Ellis glanced back, praying no cars came crashing into a monster they couldn’t even see.

  He ran. He had to get to the gate. To Corwyn.

  To answers.

  Before something else came through.