The cave pulsed with ebbing evil. Eliza retreated, her ragged gasp, her trembling muscles from the fresh spiritual storm that had howled through her. The shards of the King, the pulsing, gem-like splinters lying at her feet, their light fading with each passing second, as though mourning the death of their master.

But Eliza was wise to this.

It wasn't finished.

Her chest rose and fell in quick, jerky gasps, the parched air searing like dead ash and decay. The hiss of the curse lingered in her veins still, humming against her skin. Where the King had been shattered, Eliza sensed a part of it lay deep in her heart a mark, a legacy, perhaps, and a warning.

Behind her, the cave trembled. The arch of light which had appeared when the King fell continued to exist, throbbing, humming like a thing alive, vibrating with the same tune she heard in her dreams: the tune of the "other world."

But the form stood before it.

Wrapped in shadows, turned away from her, silent and motionless. Eliza tried to scream, but the best she could manage was a croak, more air than noise. She drew near.

The ground split beneath her feet.

And then the figure moved.

It didn't move, didn't talk. But its shape subtly altered, as if it were listening in recognition. And then, in a flash of blinding white light, the portal behind it stammered and vanished.

Gone. Like that.

"No!" Eliza bellowed, racing forward, but she was met with nothing but empty space and stone. The figure had gone, along with the portal.

The silence that ensued was oppressive.

And then, from the deepest depths, the whisper returned.

Not done.

Eliza turned, her heart racing. "What? Who are you?"

All around her, the whisper slid through the stones, under her skin. It had no end, no beginning.

Not done yet. The throne is broken, but the woods still breathe. The King is many. The King is one.

Eliza stepped back. She automatically reached for her sword, but the rusty, tired blade hung at her hip. It felt more like an artifact than a weapon now.

"You said he was the curse," Eliza panted, talking to an apparition. "I saw him drop. I cut the link."

No. You broke a door. The house still stands.

The cave began to shift once more, the rock folding inward in rippling folds, as if parchment was rotting away. Eliza turned and ran, the echo of ancient laughter ringing behind her into the darkness. The deeper chambers gave way to gnarled roots and weeping walls. As she escaped from the King's throne, the haunted forest closed around her again.

They had changed, however.

Beyond the cave, the forest was no longer whispering. It screamed.

Trees bent in towards her, their bark groaning like scraping bones. The fog had thickened, rolling in like an animal, curling around her legs and clenching at her arms. Shadows danced in the canopy, leaping from branch to branch like hunters.

And they were.

The moment Eliza moved away from the cave, something snapped behind her. She spun around in time to see one of the gem-shards explode into radiance then shoot upwards like a firework.

A howl was echoed back. Then two. Then dozens.

The creatures of the forest had held their breath.

Eliza ran.

Her boots thudded on the mossy earth, sidestepping tree roots trying to catch her. Rushing legs were heard, fast and many. She was aware of them the Woods Creatures. Their eyes shone in the mist, hundreds of tiny lights surrounding her.

She skirted low branches, leaped over a hot, narrow stream that hissed where her leg touched against its edge, and flailed through brambles that cut at her skin. The trees moved in to watch, to view, to nourish.

She saw the clearing ahead.

A wide ring of empty land, surrounded by smoldering stumps. In its center stood a weathered, ancient stone altar. She ran toward it, half-panting, half-hysterical.

Passing through the doorway, the beasts stopped.

Eliza spun, sword up, out of breath.

They stood in the forest line. Dozens of them. Multi-limbed horrors, eyes flashing in time, their bodies too twisted to be of any recognizable race. But they did not move into the clearing.

The clearing was a location of holiness.

Or evil.

Eliza walked over to the altar. Symbols were inscribed into the surface some glowing softly, others cut out brutally. Blood had dried in the channels. A handprint too large to be hers was smeared in the center.

She stretched out, drawn to it, something inside her reaching out for the power under the stone.

Then she heard it.

Soft humming. Familiar. Comforting.

She turned.

Standing at the edge of the clearing was Uncle Mart.

But it wasn't.

His uncle's face was off. Too relaxed. His smile, too big. His eyes, empty sockets of light.

"Eliza," the figure said, voice sounding like crushed gravel. "You're doing well. You've come far. The family is proud."

Eliza raised her sword. "You're not real. He died years ago."

"Everybody dies, Eliza. But death is a doorway. Didn't the King teach you that?"

The figure began to move slowly forward. The creatures at the tree line hissed and moved back.

Eliza drew back behind the altar.

"What do you want?"

The not-Uncle stopped.

"The same thing we all want. For you to take your place."

"I'm not joining this. I'm stopping it."

The thing tilted its head. "But you're already inside. Your blood opened it. Your will shattered the throne. What do you think happens next?"

Eliza ground her jaws together. The whispers returned, humming in her head like insects.

The altar seemed to radiate light.

She slapped her hand against the handprint again.

A blast of heat shot up her arm, blinding light filling her eyes.

The not-Uncle let out a scream, his body shattering like glass. The woods screamed. The heavens cracked.

And Eliza saw.

For an instant, a window to the 'other world' was revealed above her. A whirl of color. Laughter. Sunlight. Her younger self in a field.

Then it was gone.

And she was falling.

She landed hard. The altar was no longer there. The clearing was no longer there.

She was somewhere else.

A place where the forest had turned upside down. Trees grew out of mid-air, roots entangled in clouds. Rivers flowed backward. And in the center, a mansion.

Her family's mansion.

But ruined. Burned. Vines covering it from top to bottom. Windows shattered, roof shattered.

And standing in front of it—The Waiting Figure.

Face still masked.

Still silent.

And still staring.

Eliza stood, sword raised, narrowed eyes.

"What now?" she whispered.

The figure lifted its arm, and a doorway appeared in the mansion wall. Light poured out.

Eliza stopped.

But she knew.

The woods weren't through with her.

And neither was the curse.