“We will guard against it,” Vogel states reassuringly, then turns to his soldiers. “Remain here to protect our area.”

And then, heart thudding, Alaric follows Marcus Vogel and the demon into the hill.

Following close behind the Fae demon and Priest Vogel, Alaric descends spiraling stairs, then journeys through a short hall into a small room. Its curving walls are lit by a suspended orb of silvery light, a circular black granite table in its middle, packed bookshelves set into the walls.

And in the table’s center is a gray wand with a spiraling handle.

They pause around the table, the Death Fae’s gaze riveted to the wand.

“Don’t touch it,” he cautions. “I’ll give you cloth and a warded box to place it in.”

“What did it do?” Vogel asks, indicating the world above.

The Death Fae meets Vogel’s gaze and the room darkens. “The Shadow power destroyed everything. Except for me.”

Suspicion bristles through Alaric. You’re a Death Fae, he acidly muses. What happened up there is likely your work, Evil One. That’s why you’re the last thing standing with the cursed Shadow Tool.

“I fought it,” the demon says, that haunted look returning. “But it proved too powerful. Take great heed, Dryadin—the more that people are divided, the more the Shadow Tool grows in power. It feeds on fracture. And then it destroys the Balance.”

“The Balance?” Vogel inquires.

“It upends nature. Corrupts the elements. Draws power from a Void that wants to consume everything. Including us.” He tightens his stare on Vogel, unflinching. “Don’t let it.”

The words of an Evil One, Alaric rails, even as worry pricks at him.

The Fae points one long, pale finger at the Wand. “The people of this land were fractured before the Branch gained power. They forgot the truth of the Source Tree at the center of their faiths and worshipped the fractured edges instead. They forgot their tether to the natural world.” The demon’s nostrils flare. “They separated themselves into factions and then—” he glances warily at Vogel “—the Keltish forces took up the Shadow Branch.”

“And?” Vogel asks, his gaze locked on the Wand.

The Death Fae narrows his eyes at the Wand, as well. “The Branch doubled in power as it fed on the people’s disharmony. They fought one another even more intensely as the Shadow sent its power into the natural world, poisoning the water. Corrupting the air. Strangling the trees. Bleeding color from the world and sending Shadow over everything. And while the people were fighting each other, the natural world unraveled like strings beneath their feet.” The Death Fae stills, tears sheening his eyes. “And then it died.”