The black tree in the village square should not have grown overnight.
Should not have pulsed like it was breathing.
Should not have whispered in a dead language whenever the wind passed through its leaves.
But it did.
And everyone felt it.
By morning, two villagers had gone missing. A third was found at the edge of the square—his eyes gouged out, mouth sewn shut with black thorns. Still breathing. Still alive.
Barely.
The elders declared a curse.
The priests burned sage and salt and whispered holy chants until their voices bled.
It didn't help.
Because the tree was growing.
And Mira could hear it calling her name.
"You have to leave," Tarren said, pacing Mira's chamber. "The people already suspect you. They're saying the tree appeared because of the girl who returned from the cursed woods."
"I didn't plant it," she said flatly, sitting by the window.
"I know that. But fear doesn't care about logic."
Outside, thunder rolled across the hills, though the skies remained cloudless.
"I'm not leaving," she said.
Tarren froze. "Mira, you don't understand what's happening."
"I understand more than you think."
She turned to face him. Her eyes were rimmed with dark shadows—whether from exhaustion or something darker, he couldn't tell.
"She's waking up. And not just through dreams. The Queen wants more than memories now."
That night, Mira dreamed of bones.
She stood in a hall made of them—ribs as arches, femurs for pillars, skulls as lanterns glowing with ghostlight.
At the center was a black throne, and on it sat a woman cloaked in shadows, a crown of living thorns circling her head.
But Mira's feet didn't obey her.
They carried her forward, step by step, until she stood before the throne.
And then the Queen extended a hand.
"Take it," she whispered.
Mira hesitated.
Behind her, the hall cracked. Roots shot through the walls, wrapping her ankles, arms, throat. Pulling her forward.
"You are mine," the Queen hissed. "You always have been."
Mira screamed—
—and woke in her bed.
Gasping. Sweating.
But not alone.
Something was standing at the foot of her bed.
Not quite human.
Pale, elongated, with limbs too long and eyes too wide. Its mouth was stitched shut. Its skin moved like smoke.
Mira didn't scream this time.
Instead, she sat up slowly, eyes locked on the thing.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
The creature raised a bony arm and pointed toward the window.
To the black tree.
To the heart.
And then it vanished into smoke.
By dawn, five more people were missing.
No blood. No signs of struggle. Just black petals on their doorsteps.
The village council convened in chaos. Some demanded Mira be exiled. Others wanted to burn the tree. A few—especially the old ones—just wept.
"It's happening again," a gray-bearded man murmured. "Just like before…"
Before.
Before what?
Mira listened through the chapel window, unseen.
Something about that man's words rang familiar. She had seen his face in one of her dreams—standing beside her mother, arguing, frightened.
Before she could react, a hand touched her shoulder.
Tarren.
"We need to talk," he said.
They went to the edge of the village where no ears would follow.
"There's something I never told you," he began. "Something about your mother."
Mira stiffened.
"She came here seventeen years ago. Not just fleeing. She was… searching for something. A book. A relic. A piece of the Queen's past."
He pulled something from his cloak. A necklace—wrought from bone and amber, with a rune etched into its center.
"She left this with me. Told me to give it to you only if she never returned."
Mira's fingers brushed the rune.
A bolt of heat surged through her.
Suddenly, she could see her mother's face—panicked, bloodied—holding her as a baby while something monstrous howled in the distance.
"She died trying to stop the Queen," Tarren said. "But the spell wasn't perfect. It sealed her… but not forever."
"Then she's coming back through me," Mira said bitterly.
"No." Tarren stepped closer. "Not if we stop it."
Mira looked at the necklace, then back toward the tree in the distance.
"Then we start at the root."
That night, Mira crept out of the village alone.
The tree had grown taller—twice the chapel's height, its roots snaking across the stone like veins.
She stepped closer.
No one stopped her.
The wind stilled.
And the tree opened.
Not literally—but something shifted in her vision. A hollow appeared where none existed before. An opening framed by gnarled roots and dripping sap.
Inside, a staircase descended.
She hesitated only a moment—then entered.
The air was thick, wet, heavy with rot.
The stairs went on and on, winding deeper into the earth.
Black vines crawled along the walls, glowing faintly. Insects scurried away from her steps. The silence was total.
Until it wasn't.
She heard breathing.
Not hers.
Something else.
At the base of the staircase was a chamber.
Round. Carved from stone.
And in the center—a black mirror like the one she had seen in the cavern.
But this time, it wasn't empty.
It showed the village.
Burning.
Children screaming.
Tarren—dead on the steps of the chapel, his chest torn open.
The black tree—growing taller, sprouting limbs, walking.
And sitting atop its highest branch—
Her.
Mira.
Cloaked in shadow. Wearing the Queen's crown.
"No," Mira whispered. "That's not who I am."
The mirror darkened.
Then the Queen's voice echoed:
"You will become what you were meant to be. Or they will all die for nothing."
The chamber shook.
Dust rained from the ceiling. Vines writhed.
And then the girl appeared.
The one who had gone missing three days ago.
Only… it wasn't her anymore.
Her eyes were black. Her mouth torn at the corners. Her hands tipped with claws.
But she still wore her village dress.
"Help… me…" she whispered.
Then she charged.
Mira raised her hands instinctively.
The air crackled.
A pulse of violet light exploded from her fingers—throwing the creature back.
The girl slammed against the wall, screaming in pain.
But she wasn't dead.
Not yet.
Mira stepped closer, breathing hard.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Kill… me…" the girl begged. "Please… it's inside me… it's eating me alive…"
Mira looked at her trembling hands.
Then at the roots in the walls.
Then back at the mirror.
She understood.
This wasn't just about her anymore.
It was about everyone the Queen had touched.
She turned to the girl and knelt beside her.
"I'll free you," she whispered.
She pressed her palm to the girl's chest.
Spoke a word she didn't remember learning—but knew by blood.
The girl's body pulsed with light.
And then went still.
No scream.
Just peace.
Mira stood slowly, the energy still crackling in her veins.
Then she faced the mirror again.
"I won't become you," she said.
The Queen laughed.
"You already have."
Back in the village, Tarren waited at the edge of the forest.
He hadn't seen Mira for hours.
But when she finally emerged—she wasn't the same.
Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
Her skin shimmered with strange symbols.
The necklace around her neck pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Are you… alright?" he asked.
"No," she said. "But I know what I have to do."
Tarren frowned. "What's that?"
She looked toward the black tree behind her.
Then to the chapel.
Then to the village gates.
"I'm going to war."