Chapter 32

     It was the poet who brought me back. Not literally, of course—I’d been drifting long before he showed up. But his case, his problem, it was what made me realize I wasn’t done. Not yet. Not while there were still gaps to fill, still mysteries that twisted beneath the surface like knots in a rope.

     I hadn’t wanted to take the case. Too abstract, too cerebral. I was used to straightforward problems—someone missing, someone dead, someone hiding a truth they didn’t want anyone to find. But this... this was different. It wasn’t about money or betrayal, not at first glance. It was about words. And if there’s one thing I’d learned over the years, it’s that words are just as dangerous as bullets. Maybe more so.

     The poet’s name was Julian Fen. He wasn’t famous, not in any way that mattered. A small-time scribbler who floated around the edges of the literary world, popping up at open mics and underground readings where people snapped their fingers instead of clapping. He didn’t look like much—thin, wiry, with a mop of unkempt hair and eyes that were always darting around, like he was afraid someone might be watching him. He was right to be afraid.

     He came to me on a Wednesday, I remember that much. It was raining, and I’d just lit a cigarette when he knocked on my office door. I didn’t get many clients back then—most people had given up on me by then, thought I was washed up, burned out. Maybe I was. But Julian didn’t seem to care about any of that. He had a problem, and he thought I could help.

     "Mr. Jangler?" he asked, his voice soft, uncertain.

     "That’s what the door says," I replied, taking a long drag on my cigarette. "What do you want?"

     He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I need your help. It’s... it’s about something I wrote."

     That caught my attention. People didn’t usually come to me with writing problems. "Go on," I said, leaning back in my chair.

     Julian fumbled with the papers in his hands, pulling out a crumpled sheet and laying it on the desk in front of me. "It’s a poem. I... I think it’s a clue."

     I raised an eyebrow. "A clue to what?"

     He looked up at me, his eyes wide with something like fear. "I think someone’s going to die."

     That was all it took. I was hooked. I leaned forward, taking the paper from his hands. It was a short poem, no more than a few lines, but there was something unsettling about it. The words were jagged, sharp, like teeth waiting to bite down on something—or someone.

     "The poet brought a made digit to toothier meshes under," I muttered, reading the first line aloud. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

     Julian swallowed hard. "I don’t know," he admitted. "But I think... I think it’s about me. I’ve been getting these notes, these messages, and they all lead back to this poem."

     I stared at him for a long moment, trying to make sense of what he was saying. A poem as a clue? It didn’t make sense. But then again, neither did half the things I dealt with. The world was full of gaps, of spaces between what people thought they knew and what was really going on underneath. And if there was one thing I was good at, it was filling in those gaps.

     "You think someone’s using your poem to send a message?" I asked, tapping the paper with my finger.

     Julian nodded, his face pale. "I don’t know who, but... it’s like they’re playing a game with me. Like they want me to figure something out before it’s too late."

     I sat back in my chair, the weight of the situation settling over me. "And you think it’s going to end with someone dead?"

     Julian didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the poem, his eyes tracing the words like they were a riddle he couldn’t quite solve. "I don’t know," he said finally. "But I can feel it. Something’s wrong."

     Toothier meshes under.

     I could feel it too. There was something darker lurking beneath the surface of this case, something that went beyond the simple words on the page. The poem was a clue, sure, but it was also a trap—a net waiting to catch something, or someone, in its teeth.

     "What do you want me to do?" I asked, folding the paper and tucking it into my pocket.

     Julian hesitated again, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides. "I want you to help me figure out what it means. Before it’s too late."

     I lit another cigarette, the smoke curling up into the dim light of the office. "All right," I said. "But understand this, Julian—poems are just like people. They say one thing, but they mean another. If we’re going to figure this out, we’ll have to dig deep. And you might not like what we find."

     He nodded, his face pale but determined. "I’m ready."

     I wasn’t so sure. I’d dealt with cases like this before, ones that seemed small, almost insignificant, until they spiraled out of control. And something about Julian’s poem, about the "made digit" and the "toothier meshes under," made me think this was going to be one of those cases.

     "All right," I said, standing up and grabbing my coat. "Let’s go dig."

Chapter 31

     June drifted in quietly, carried on the back of the lingering mist from the storm, and for the first time in months, there was... nothing. The land had settled, the rot was retreating, and Ava’s madness seemed like a half-forgotten dream. The heather grew, small and fragile, but persistent, digging its roots into the earth as if determined to hold on to the life we’d given it. And me? I was still here. Still standing. Still waiting for something to happen.

     But nothing did.

     July followed close behind, hot and lazy, the days long and heavy, stretched out like a yawn that never quite ended. The marshes, once teeming with tension, had grown still. The people in town went about their business, barely noticing the changes that had come and gone like a passing storm. The world moved on, as it always did, and I found myself floating—adrift in a sea of silence, waiting for something to break.

     Gulfs abut.

     That’s what it felt like—gaps, spaces between what had happened and what was still to come. I was caught in the middle, floating between worlds, between stories. The land had chosen life, but what did that mean for me? For Tony? For everything that had come before?

     I wasn’t sure. But as the days slipped by, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. That the space between events—the gulf—wasn’t just empty. It was... something else. Something waiting to be filled.

     Huh?

     It didn’t make sense. But then again, not much did these days. Two months of nothing. Two months of silence. It was enough to drive a man mad. And maybe that was the point. Maybe the world needed quiet after all the noise. Maybe I needed it, too.

     I leaned back against the rough wooden post outside the small house I’d taken up in since everything had gone down. The sky above was bright and cloudless, the heat pressing down like a weight on my chest. I closed my eyes, letting the silence wash over me, but it wasn’t long before the familiar itch returned. That old feeling, the one that told me I wasn’t done yet.

     Because I wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

     “Sid Jangler,” I muttered aloud, testing the sound of the name in the stillness. It felt strange on my tongue, like an old suit that didn’t quite fit anymore, but it was mine all the same. I hadn’t used the name in years. Not since... well, not since things had gone sideways.

     I wasn’t the hero type. Never had been. Heroes were for stories, for books, for movies where the guy in the hat got the girl and everything tied up neat at the end. That wasn’t me. Not by a long shot. But sometimes life didn’t give you a choice. Sometimes it threw you into the fire and you either burned or crawled out with the scars to prove it.

     And I had plenty of those.

     At float hit tot.

     That’s what they used to call me—Sid Jangler, the float who hit. I had a reputation for drifting from place to place, for getting involved in cases that didn’t seem to have any answers. The kind of cases that other detectives turned down because they didn’t make sense. But that was my specialty. I floated between the cracks, between the gaps in people’s stories, and somehow, I always found a way to hit something. Even if it didn’t always make sense.

     But then something changed. I stopped floating. I stopped hitting. I disappeared. Went into hiding, some said. Others figured I’d burned out, maybe hit the wrong thing one too many times. But the truth was simpler than that.

     I’d gotten tired. Tired of the same old cases, tired of the same old stories that never seemed to end. So I stopped. Took myself out of the game. But you can’t hide forever. Not when the world keeps moving. Not when the gaps between stories start to fill themselves in whether you like it or not.

     So here I was, Sid Jangler, back in the game whether I wanted to be or not. The float who hit, trying to make sense of the spaces between, of the gulfs that abut. And there were plenty of those. More than I cared to admit.

     “Huh?” I muttered, shaking my head as if to clear the cobwebs. It didn’t matter. Not now. The land was healing. The storm had passed. And whatever was waiting out there in the gulfs, I’d deal with it when the time came.

     For now, I’d float.

Chapter 30

     The storm had finally passed. The winds that had once howled through the marshes had quieted, leaving behind only the soft, rhythmic lapping of the Atlantic against the shore. The sky, once dark and furious, had cleared, revealing the faint glow of dawn just beginning to break over the horizon. It was Saturday—or at least, it felt like it. Time had lost its meaning in the chaos of the past few days, but the rising sun reminded me that the world, in its own quiet way, was moving forward.

     I knelt beside the small patch of heather we had planted, my hands still caked with the soil that clung to my skin like a second layer. The earth beneath my fingers was cool and damp, but there was life here now—fragile, yes, but undeniable. The land had chosen to heal, and in that moment, I felt a strange sense of relief, even as I grappled with the enormity of what had just happened.

     Ava was gone. Not dead, but broken, her connection to the land severed, her power unraveled. She had been consumed by her own obsession, her desire to control something that could never truly be mastered. And in the end, the land had rejected her. It had chosen to move forward, to embrace life, even in the face of so much decay.

     I rose slowly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into my bones. The marsh was still, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and salt, but there was something peaceful about it now—something that hadn’t been there before. The land was quiet, as though it, too, was taking a breath after the storm.

     "However, hi …" The voice I had heard earlier, soft and uncertain, lingered in my mind. I didn’t know who—or what—had spoken, but it felt like a reminder. A reminder that the work wasn’t finished. That there were still mysteries to uncover, still forces at play that we didn’t fully understand.

     Tony stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, his face grim but calm. He had seen it all—the storm, the rot, the madness that had gripped Ava. But now, with the storm over, he seemed just as unsure as I was about what came next.

     "We did it," he said, his voice low. "The land’s healing."

     I nodded, but there was a part of me that couldn’t fully celebrate. Yes, we had stopped Ava, we had broken her hold on the land, but the cost was still unclear. The ground beneath us had been scarred by centuries of decay, by the forces that had been unleashed in the pursuit of power. The heather we had planted was a small victory, but it didn’t erase the damage that had been done.

     In my zeal to rise, I thought, as I looked at the world around me, besmeared myself with jangly bandwagon of vegetative wood.

     The image flickered in my mind—a strange, jangling mix of nature and destruction. The vegetative wood that had grown from the decay, the tangled mess of life and rot that had clung to the land for so long. In trying to restore balance, I had become part of it, smeared with the same chaos that Ava had fed on. It wasn’t clean, and it wasn’t simple. But it was real.

     "Yeah, we stopped her," I said aloud, though the words felt hollow. "But there’s more to this. More we don’t understand."

     Tony frowned, his gaze shifting to the heather. "What do you mean?"

     I shook my head, unsure how to explain it. The "Nah …" that echoed in my thoughts felt like a refusal, a denial of easy answers. There was an unobtained channel, something we hadn’t grasped—something beyond the immediate crisis. Ava’s defeat was a resolution, yes, but it wasn’t the end. The land had chosen to heal, but it had also revealed its deeper complexity—its ability to nurture life, but also to hide rot, to balance creation with destruction.

     The wood button. The phrase came to me, odd but persistent. As though the land itself had a mechanism for resetting, for detonating evenly, balancing life and death in equal measure. The heather was growing, but the scars of the rot remained, embedded in the earth, waiting for the right conditions to rise again.

     "We detonated the button," I said quietly. "But it’s not over. There’s more—there’s always more."

     Tony glanced at me, uncertainty flickering across his face. "So what now?"

     I didn’t have an answer. The storm had passed, but the land was still shifting, still finding its balance. There were mysteries here—old, deep mysteries—that we hadn’t even begun to understand. And Ava, for all her power and madness, had only been one part of a much larger story.

     The sun was rising now, casting a soft glow over the marshes, the light filtering through the mist that still clung to the land. It was beautiful in a way—quiet, peaceful. But I knew, deep down, that the peace wouldn’t last. There were still forces at work, still currents beneath the surface that had yet to reveal themselves.

     "Now?" I repeated, turning my gaze to the horizon. "Now we wait. We see what the land decides."

     Tony didn’t say anything, but I could feel his unease. He wanted answers, wanted closure. But there was none to be found, not yet. The land was healing, yes, but it was also changing, and with that change came uncertainty.

     I turned back to the heather, the small, fragile plant that had been our salvation. It was growing, its roots digging deeper into the soil, but the scars of the past remained, and I knew they always would.

     "However, hi …" The voice came again, soft and distant, as though carried on the wind.

     The sun had risen. The storm had passed. But the future was still unwritten.

Chapter 29

     The storm had begun to quiet, the winds slowing to a whisper as the last echoes of thunder rolled across the darkening sky. The heather we had planted still clung to the earth, fragile yet resilient, its small roots digging deeper into the soil as the land around it began to calm. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and saltwater, but the oppressive weight that had hung over the marsh had begun to lift.

     Ava lay crumpled on the ground, her body trembling as the power she had once wielded with such confidence ebbed away. Her connection to the land was broken, her tether to the rot severed. The storm, the decay, the madness—it had all slipped through her fingers, leaving her hollow and shaken. She had fought to control the land, to bend it to her will, but in the end, the land had chosen its own path.

     I stood there, my hands still dirty from planting the heather, my mind swirling with everything that had happened. The storm had been fierce, violent, and yet now, in its wake, there was a strange kind of stillness, as though the world itself was taking a breath, pausing before what came next.

     "However, hi..."

     The words were faint, barely audible over the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. I turned, expecting to see Tony, but he was standing a few feet away, his eyes fixed on Ava. It wasn’t him who had spoken. The voice had come from somewhere else, somewhere I couldn’t quite place.

     "However, hi..."

     It came again, a soft, hesitant whisper, as though someone or something was trying to reach out from the shadows, to make itself known. I scanned the shoreline, the marsh, but there was no one. Just the wind, the water, and the fading light of the sun as it dipped below the horizon.

     And yet, the voice lingered.

     The sun followeth the date.

     I felt it then—a quiet understanding, like the slow turn of the earth as the sun moved from day into night. Time was shifting, the storm had passed, and now something new was beginning. But it wasn’t an abrupt change. It was natural, inevitable, as though everything had been leading to this moment, the land’s decision to heal itself, to reclaim its life.

     I glanced down at the heather, its tiny leaves swaying in the breeze. It was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it was alive. And that was what mattered. The land had chosen life, even in the face of so much death and decay.

     Ava stirred, her body shaking as she tried to push herself up from the ground. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief, as though she couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. The power she had sought for so long, the control she had fought so hard to maintain—it was gone, slipped away like sand through her fingers.

     "I... I don’t understand," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

     "You never did," I said softly. "This wasn’t about controlling the land. It was about letting it be."

     Ava’s gaze flickered toward the heather, her eyes narrowing. "You think that... that plant can undo everything?"

     I shook my head. "It’s not about undoing. It’s about moving forward."

     For a long moment, she said nothing. She simply stared at the heather, her face pale and drawn, as though she was trying to make sense of something that had always been beyond her reach. The sun had set now, the last traces of light fading into the horizon, and the world around us seemed to settle into a kind of quiet.

     Ava let out a long, slow breath, her body sagging with exhaustion. "I thought I could fix it," she murmured. "I thought... if I could just control it, I could make everything right."

     "You can’t fix the past," I said gently. "And you can’t control the future. All you can do is let it unfold."

     She turned away from me, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "So what now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

     I didn’t have an answer. Not really. The storm had passed, the land had made its choice, but the future was still uncertain. Ava had lost her power, but the land—the county, the world—was still in flux. There were no easy answers, no simple resolutions. Just the slow turning of time, the sun following the date as it always had.

     Tony stepped forward then, his expression grim but resolved. "We’ll figure it out," he said, his voice steady. "One step at a time."

     I nodded, though I wasn’t sure where those steps would lead. The storm had passed, but the path ahead was still shrouded in uncertainty.

     In the distance, I could see the outline of the town, its lights flickering in the growing darkness. Clerkdom, the codified dilemma of the world we had left behind. Bureaucracy, order, rules that had tried to contain the chaos. But the chaos had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to break free.

     And now that it had, the world would never be the same.

     The codified dilemma thought doth pill.

     The land had been given a choice, and it had chosen life. But what did that mean for us? For the people who lived here, who worked this land, who tried to control it?

     I didn’t know. But I did know that we couldn’t go back. The past was done. The future was unwritten.

     "However, hi..."

     The voice came again, softer this time, fading into the wind. I didn’t know what it meant, or who—or what—was speaking. But as the night closed in around us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end. There was more to come. The land had made its choice, but we were still part of the story.

     The sun would rise again, follow the date as it always had.

     And we would be there to meet it.

Chapter 28

     The storm was still raging, the sky a chaotic swirl of black and grey, but something had shifted. The power Ava had been drawing from the land was faltering, its grip weakening as the forces she had unleashed began to spiral out of her control. The ground beneath us still trembled, but there was a change in the air—a subtle shift, as though the land itself was hesitating, unsure whether to continue on its path of destruction or pull back from the brink.

     Tony and I had scrambled to find something—anything—that could serve as a seed for new life, something to plant in the earth and offer it an alternative to the rot that had been consuming it. Our hands were dirty, our bodies bruised from the effort, but as we stood there in the midst of the storm, clutching a small patch of wild heather we had unearthed from the marsh, I felt a flicker of hope.

     "Heather," Tony muttered, shaking his head as he knelt beside the small plant. "This is the best we’ve got?"

     "It’ll have to do," I said, my voice tight with urgency. "It’s life. It’s something growing. The land needs to see that there’s still a way forward."

     Tony nodded, though I could see the doubt in his eyes. The heather was small, fragile, but it was alive. And that was all we had left to work with.

     The ground rumbled again, and we both looked toward Ava. She was still standing at the shoreline, her body rigid, her arms raised toward the sky, but there was something desperate in her movements now. The power that had once surged through her was slipping, faltering, as if the land itself was beginning to resist her control. The tether that had bound her to the rot—the obsession that had driven her to feed on the decay for so long—was starting to unravel.

     "Ava!" I called out, stepping forward, the heather clutched tightly in my hands. "It’s not too late! You don’t have to destroy everything!"

     She didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on the storm, her body trembling as she fought to maintain her hold on the land. But I could see it—the doubt, the fear. She was losing control, and she knew it.

     Tony knelt beside me, digging into the soft earth with his hands. "Let’s get this thing planted before she brings the whole damn place down," he muttered.

     We worked quickly, our fingers moving through the wet soil, making room for the small patch of heather. The air around us was thick with tension, the storm pressing down on us, but there was something in the ground now, something different. The heather’s roots were small, but they were alive, and as we pressed the plant into the earth, I felt a strange, almost electric pulse run through the soil beneath my hands.

     It was as though the land had recognized the offering—had sensed the presence of life, of growth, and was beginning to respond.

     Ava let out a sharp cry, her body jerking as though something had struck her. The ground beneath her feet buckled, and I saw her stagger, her arms falling to her sides as the storm roared overhead. The power she had been drawing from the land was slipping away, its grip loosening as the earth began to shift beneath her. It wasn’t just rot anymore. There was something else now—something new.

     "The heather," Tony whispered, his eyes wide. "It’s working."

     I didn’t dare to believe it, not yet. But there was no denying the change in the air. The warmth that had once radiated from the ground was cooling, the rot that had festered for so long was slowing, and the heather—small and fragile as it was—was taking root.

     Ava turned to face us, her eyes wide with shock and fury. "What have you done?" she screamed, her voice raw and ragged.

     I stood, my heart pounding in my chest. "We’ve given the land something new," I said, my voice steady. "Something alive. You don’t have to feed it death anymore."

     She staggered forward, her hands clutching at the air as though trying to pull the power back to her. But it wasn’t working. The tether that had bound her to the land, the rot, the decay—it was unraveling, slipping from her grasp as the heather’s roots dug deeper into the earth.

     "You can’t stop this," Ava hissed, her voice filled with desperation. "You think a plant is going to save you? You think the land will just... forget?"

     I shook my head. "No. But it doesn’t have to remember only the rot. There’s more to the land than decay. It can heal, Ava. It can grow."

     She let out a low, guttural laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You’re a fool," she spat. "This land was built on blood, on death. You can’t change that with a flower."

     I took a step forward, my gaze locked on hers. "It’s not about changing the past. It’s about giving the land a future."

     Ava’s face twisted with rage, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. The tether that had bound her to the land, to the rot, was slipping away, and she was no longer in control. The power she had once wielded with such confidence was failing her, and she was lost without it.

     The storm crackled overhead, the lightning illuminating the sky in brilliant flashes, and in that moment, I saw her for what she truly was—someone who had been consumed by her own obsession, someone who had lost herself in the pursuit of power and control. She had thought she could master the land, bend it to her will, but in the end, she was just another part of it, another thread in the tapestry of decay and renewal.

     Tony stood beside me, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Is it over?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

     I shook my head. "Not yet."

     Ava let out a scream, her body convulsing as the last vestiges of power slipped through her fingers. The ground beneath her buckled, and she collapsed to her knees, her hands clutching at the earth as though trying to hold onto the rot that had sustained her for so long.

     But it was gone. The land had made its choice.

     And in that moment, I felt the first stirring of hope.

     The heather’s roots had taken hold, and though the storm still raged, there was something new in the air—something alive, something growing. The land wasn’t finished. It wasn’t just a county or a stretch of marshland. It was alive, and it was beginning to heal.

Chapter 27

     The storm was at its peak, thunder rolling across the sky, the earth shaking beneath our feet as if the very land was crying out in protest. Ava stood at the shoreline, her body trembling, her power fraying at the edges. Her connection to the land was growing unstable, and it was clear now that she was losing control, the forces she had unleashed turning against her. The rot she had fed on for so long was beginning to consume her, but even in her desperation, there was still a dangerous intensity in her gaze—an unwillingness to let go.

     Tony was restless beside me, his eyes darting between Ava and the shifting ground beneath us. His hands flexed at his sides, itching for action, but I could see the hesitation in him too. We both knew that charging in headlong wouldn’t solve anything. There was too much at stake now—more than just stopping Ava. The land itself was at risk, and we couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

     I felt the weight of that hesitation settle over me, pressing down with every second that ticked by. I had seen the power Ava wielded, the way it spread like wildfire, feeding off the land’s decay. But there was something else here, something deeper. The storm, the rot—it wasn’t just destruction. It was a reflection of something older, a cycle of decay and renewal that had been twisted and broken over centuries.

     "We have to do something!" Tony’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and urgent. "She’s tearing everything apart!"

     I nodded, but I didn’t move. I could feel it—something pulling at me, a hesitation that wasn’t born of fear, but of understanding. There was a choice to be made here, one that went beyond stopping Ava. This was about more than just halting destruction—it was about what came next.

     Tony let out a frustrated growl, his hand hovering over the knife at his side. "If you’re not going to do anything, I will!" he snapped, taking a step forward.

     "Wait," I said, my voice low but firm.

     He stopped, turning to face me with a look of disbelief. "Wait? Are you serious? She’s about to bring down the whole damn county, and you’re telling me to wait?"

     I didn’t flinch under his gaze. "Rushing in won’t solve anything," I said quietly. "This isn’t just about stopping her. It’s about what happens after."

     Tony’s jaw clenched, his frustration boiling over. "We don’t have time for after! She’s out of control, and if we don’t stop her, there won’t be anything left!"

     I could see the anger in his eyes, the desperation that came from watching the world crumble around him. But I also saw the misunderstanding—the way he viewed hesitation as weakness, as inaction. He didn’t understand what I was trying to do, and in that moment, I realized that he never would.

     He saw my hesitation as a flaw, as something born of indecision or fear. But it wasn’t that. It was something else—something quieter, something rooted in the understanding that power, once unleashed, couldn’t simply be forced back into its cage. Ava’s actions couldn’t just be undone with violence or brute force. There had to be another way—a way to restore balance without destroying everything in the process.

     "I’m not hesitating because I’m afraid," I said, my voice steady. "I’m hesitating because this isn’t just about stopping Ava. It’s about healing the land. If we fight her with more destruction, we’ll lose everything."

     Tony stared at me, his frustration giving way to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

     I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I turned my gaze back to Ava, who was still struggling to maintain her control over the power she had tapped into. Her body shook with the effort, and I could see the cracks forming in her connection to the land. The rot was beginning to consume her, and I knew that if we didn’t intervene soon, it would tear her apart—and take the land with it.

     But fighting her directly, trying to sever her connection through force—that would only make things worse. The land was already fragile, already teetering on the edge of collapse. If we pushed too hard, it would shatter completely.

     "We need to give the land something else," I said softly. "We need to show it there’s another way."

     Tony blinked, clearly struggling to make sense of what I was saying. "What the hell does that mean? What ‘other way’?"

     I took a deep breath, trying to put my thoughts into words. "The land is responding to Ava’s destruction because that’s what it’s been given. She’s fed it rot and decay, and now it’s feeding back. But if we can show it something else—something worth saving—maybe we can stop this without destroying everything in the process."

     Tony shook his head, clearly frustrated. "And how do we do that?"

     Before I could answer, Ava let out a sharp cry, her body jerking as though she had been struck. The ground beneath her buckled, and she stumbled, her hands clutching at the air as if trying to hold onto the power that was slipping through her fingers. Her face twisted in pain, but there was something else there too—something desperate, as though she knew she was losing control but couldn’t bring herself to let go.

     I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest. "Ava!" I called out, my voice strong over the roar of the storm. "You don’t have to do this!"

     She didn’t respond at first, her eyes squeezed shut as she fought to maintain her connection to the land. But then, slowly, she opened her eyes, and for the first time, I saw something different in her gaze. It wasn’t just power or madness—it was fear.

     "You can let go," I said, my voice softer now. "You don’t have to let it consume you."

     Ava’s lips parted, and for a moment, she seemed to hesitate. The storm raged around us, the air thick with the scent of decay, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a doubt, a question.

     But then, just as quickly, the moment passed. Her expression hardened, and she shook her head, her body trembling with the effort of holding onto the power she had unleashed.

     "No," she whispered, her voice ragged. "I can’t."

     And in that moment, I realized what I had to do. Ava couldn’t let go on her own—she had been consumed by the power, by the rot she had fed for so long. But that didn’t mean the land couldn’t be saved.

     I turned to Tony, my voice steady. "We need to remind the land of what it can be," I said. "We need to give it something to hold onto—something other than death."

     Tony stared at me, his confusion giving way to determination. "How?"

     I took a deep breath, my mind racing. "We need to find something—something alive, something growing. We need to plant it, give the land something new to feed on."

     Tony frowned. "You’re talking about... planting something? Now?"

     I nodded, my heart racing. "Yes. The land responds to what we give it. If we can plant something—anything—it might be enough to break Ava’s hold."

     Tony hesitated, but then he nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice firm. "Let’s do it."

     We turned back to the shoreline, the storm raging above us, and I knew that this was our last chance. The land was teetering on the edge, but if we could give it something new, something worth saving, we might be able to stop the decay before it consumed everything.

Chapter 26

     The storm surged above, roaring louder now, as if the sky itself was breaking open. Ava’s chant had fallen silent, her arms still raised, her eyes closed, but the power she had been channeling wasn’t just focused on the marshlands anymore. It was spreading—reaching out beyond the shoreline, beyond the crumbling earth beneath our feet. The land was responding to her, bending and shifting, but it was no longer confined to this one place. I could feel it—something expanding, something rippling through the very fabric of the world around us.

     Tony stood beside me, his eyes wide with disbelief as the ground continued to tremble. He wasn’t looking at Ava anymore—his gaze had shifted to the horizon, to the distant line where the marshland gave way to the forests and towns that lay beyond. There was a question in his eyes, an unspoken fear that seemed to take hold of him as the realization settled in.

     “This isn’t just about the marsh, is it?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “It’s... it’s bigger than that.”

     I swallowed hard, my mind racing. He was right. The power Ava had tapped into, the rot she had been feeding, wasn’t limited to this stretch of land. It was spreading, moving outward, touching everything it came into contact with. The marsh had been the epicenter, but now the tremors were reaching farther, moving through the land like veins spreading through a body.

     A county. The thought flickered through my mind, unbidden but unmistakable. This land, this place—it was just a part of something larger. The forces that Ava had awakened didn’t recognize boundaries or borders. They didn’t care about ownership or control. What we had been fighting over wasn’t just a patch of marshland—it was the land itself, the very ground that stretched across counties, towns, cities.

     “This could spread,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s not just here, Tony. It’s the whole county, maybe farther. The decay—what she’s been feeding on—it’s moving.”

     Tony’s face paled. “You mean... she’s tearing up the entire land?”

     I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “The land responds to her. The decay, the rot—it’s not just limited to where we’re standing. It’s spreading out, and if we don’t stop her, it could consume everything.”

     The weight of it settled over us like a shadow. The storm wasn’t just about the marsh, wasn’t just about this one stretch of coastline where the Atlantic met the earth. Ava’s power had gone beyond that. The land was alive—every county, every field, every stretch of soil. And now it was feeding on itself, tearing itself apart from the inside.

     Ava still stood at the shoreline, her arms outstretched, but there was something different about her now. The earlier confidence, the fierce control she had over the land, seemed to be slipping. Her fingers twitched, her mouth twisted into a grimace, and I could see the strain in her body, as though the power she had unleashed was beginning to turn on her.

     “The land isn’t hers to control,” I said softly, more to myself than to Tony. “She’s been drawing from it, but it’s too much. It’s bigger than her.”

     Tony clenched his fists, his frustration boiling over. “So what do we do? How do we stop something that’s this big?”

     I shook my head, unsure. Ava had become a conduit for something ancient, something that didn’t follow the rules of the world we knew. She wasn’t just manipulating the land—she had become a part of it, and the rot, the decay she had unleashed, was now feeding off her, spreading farther and faster than even she could control.

     The storm raged on, lightning flashing across the sky, illuminating the landscape in brief, violent bursts. In those moments of light, I could see the full scope of what was happening—the way the ground was buckling and cracking, the way the marsh seemed to be sinking into itself, as though the land was collapsing under the weight of its own history, its own forgotten past.

     I turned to Tony, my mind racing. “We have to sever her connection to the land. She’s feeding off it, but if we can break that link—”

     “How?” Tony interrupted, his voice laced with frustration. “How do you cut someone off from the earth itself?”

     I didn’t have an answer. Ava’s power was tied to the rot, to the decay that had been festering beneath the surface for centuries. But there had to be a way—some way to disrupt the flow of energy, to stop the spread before it consumed everything.

     Ava let out a sharp cry, her body jerking as though something had struck her. She staggered back, her hands clutching at her chest, her eyes wide with pain and confusion. The power was turning on her now, the same forces she had been channeling beginning to tear through her body, threatening to rip her apart from the inside.

     “She’s losing control,” I said, my voice urgent. “We need to act now, before the land takes her—and everything else—with it.”

     Tony nodded, his face set with determination. “Tell me what to do.”

     I looked at Ava, at the ground beneath her feet, at the way the earth seemed to writhe and twist, as though it were alive. And then it hit me—the rot, the decay she had been feeding on, was tied to the past, to the forgotten histories that had been buried beneath the soil. It wasn’t just about power—it was about memory, about the land reclaiming itself after centuries of neglect and destruction.

     “We need to stop feeding the rot,” I said, my mind racing. “We need to... undo what’s been done. The land is fighting back because it’s been broken, because it’s been used and discarded. If we can show it that there’s something worth saving—”

     Tony frowned, his confusion clear. “How do we do that?”

     I hesitated, searching for the answer. But the land—this county, this stretch of earth—it wasn’t beyond saving. It had been scarred by history, by centuries of decay, but it wasn’t lost. Ava had tried to control it by feeding off its pain, its rot, but there was something else buried here, something older and stronger.

     The storm crackled overhead, and I knew we were running out of time.

     “We need to give the land something new,” I said, my voice steady. “We need to stop feeding it death. We need to feed it life.”

Chapter 25

     The storm was closer now, the sky a swirling mass of black and grey, shot through with lightning that cracked against the horizon like fractured glass. The Atlantic raged, the waves rising higher, threatening to swallow the marshland whole, while the earth beneath our feet pulsed with the same dark energy that Ava had been drawing from for hours. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rot, a smell that clung to everything, like the very land itself was decaying from within.

     Ava stood at the shoreline, her back still turned to us, her arms outstretched as though she were holding the storm in her hands. The power radiating from her was almost unbearable now—an intoxicating blend of beauty and destruction, as though she had become a vessel for something older, darker, something that defied the very fabric of the world.

     There was a strange rhythm to her movements, a kind of elegance in the way she swayed with the rising tide, her voice blending with the sound of the wind and the crashing waves. But there was something else, too—something beneath the surface that felt wrong. The warmth she had been drawing from the land was no longer steady. It flickered, like a candle guttering in the wind, as though the power she was channeling had begun to slip through her grasp.

     For a moment, she stopped chanting, her arms lowering as she let out a long, slow breath—a soft yawn that seemed to echo across the shore. It was the first sign of fatigue, of strain, that I had seen in her since this whole ordeal had begun. And in that moment, something changed. The ground beneath us trembled, but it wasn’t the violent tremor of before. This was different—subtle, insidious. I looked down and saw the earth moving in tiny, almost imperceptible shifts, as though the very soil was teeming with life.

     Ants.

     They crawled from the ground in swarms, their small bodies writhing and twisting as they spread across the wet earth. It wasn’t just a few ants—there were thousands of them, maybe more, all moving with a kind of frantic energy, as if something deep beneath the soil had disturbed them, driven them out of their hidden tunnels. I watched, mesmerized, as the ants moved in waves, their tiny legs churning through the rot that had begun to seep from the land, the decay that Ava had unwittingly unleashed.

     Tony saw them too, his face pale in the fading light. “What the hell is happening?” he muttered, his voice shaking.

     I didn’t have an answer. The ants—like everything else in this place—were a symptom of the deeper forces at work, the decay that had been building beneath the surface for centuries. Ava’s power had stirred it up, had unleashed something primal, and now even the smallest creatures were being pulled into the storm.

     Ava turned then, slowly, her eyes wide and gleaming with a strange, feverish light. Her mouth curled into a smile—a smile that was both foul and beautiful at once. There was a madness in her gaze, but also something more—a kind of joy, as though she had finally become one with the power she had been seeking.

     “Do you see it?” she said, her voice soft but filled with an unsettling reverence. “Do you feel it? The land is alive, it’s always been alive.”

     Her words hung in the air, thick with meaning. There was no longer any doubt in my mind—Ava wasn’t just drawing power from the land. She was becoming it. She had fused herself with the decay, with the rot that had been festering beneath the surface for centuries. And now, as the storm raged around us, she had become the living embodiment of that decay—both foul and beautiful, destructive and alive.

     “The ants,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to the swarming mass at her feet. “They’ve always known. They’ve been here, beneath us, waiting. Just like the land. They thrive on the rot, on the death that feeds the soil. And now, they cheer it. They welcome it.”

     I felt a chill crawl up my spine as I watched her, the madness in her voice growing with every word. There was something almost tender in the way she spoke, as though she believed the decay she had unleashed was something to be celebrated, something that could bring new life. But I knew better. This wasn’t about life—it was about destruction. Ava’s connection to the land had gone too far, and now the forces she had awakened were beginning to consume her.

     “We have to stop her,” Tony said, his voice low and urgent. “She’s losing control.”

     I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Ava. She was swaying again, her arms moving in slow, deliberate arcs as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. The storm crackled above, lightning illuminating the sky in brilliant flashes, but Ava seemed to glow from within, her power radiating out in waves. She was beautiful in her madness, but there was something so foul about it too—something that made the air around her thick with the stench of death and rot.

     “Ava!” I called out, stepping forward. “You have to stop! You’re tearing the land apart!”

     She laughed—a soft, almost melodic sound that was carried away by the wind. “Tearing it apart?” she repeated, her voice lilting with amusement. “No, I’m not tearing it apart. I’m making it whole. I’m bringing the land back to life, feeding it, giving it what it needs.”

     Her words sent a wave of nausea through me. I knew what she meant—the rot, the decay, the ants swarming beneath the soil. She wasn’t just pulling power from the land. She was feeding it with death, with the destruction of everything that had come before. And in her madness, she believed she was creating something new, something better.

     But I could see the cracks. I could see the way her power was slipping, the way the warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady. She had overreached, and now the forces she had awakened were starting to unravel.

     “We need to act now,” I said to Tony, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     Tony nodded, but his face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides. “How?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

     I didn’t have an answer. But I knew one thing—Ava’s power was tied to the land, to the decay she had awakened. If we could sever that connection, if we could stop her from feeding off the rot, we might be able to save what was left.

     Ava turned back to the shoreline, her arms rising once more as she let out another soft yawn. The ants continued to swarm beneath her feet, but they weren’t cheering anymore. They were frantic, confused, as though they too had sensed the shift in the air.

     The storm rumbled overhead, the clouds swirling faster now, and I knew we didn’t have much time.

     “Ava,” I called out again, my voice steady. “You can still stop this. You don’t have to let the land consume you.”

     She didn’t respond. She only smiled, her beautiful, foul mouth curling into a grin as the storm swallowed us whole.

Chapter 24

     The air around us thickened, the warmth radiating from the ground in waves, unsettling and oppressive. Ava stood at the shoreline, her back to us, her chant growing louder and more frenzied as the storm gathered above. The sky had darkened, and the Atlantic roared in response, its waves crashing harder against the rocks, as if the ocean itself had been summoned by her call. But there was something else—a presence that had nothing to do with the storm, something older and more dangerous rising from the depths of the land beneath our feet.

     And then, just as suddenly as before, I felt the world shift again. The ground wavered beneath me, and my vision blurred. I wasn’t in the present anymore. I was somewhere else, pulled back into that vision of Henry, the king of Belgium, as though the past was forcing itself into the present.

     The scene unfolded like a memory.

     Henry stood in a darkened room, his features gaunt and drawn, his eyes blazing with something akin to fury—or maybe fear. He was no longer the regal figure I had seen earlier, carefully jimming open a door. Now, his movements were sharp, agitated. His eyes darted around the room, as though he were searching for something—or someone—who had eluded him.

     And then I heard it—his voice, sharp and biting, cutting through the air like a whip.

     "How do you justify thee, parakeet's whelp, thee demented?!?"

     The words echoed in the space, thick with accusation. They weren’t directed at me—they were aimed at someone else, someone just out of sight. I could feel the weight of his words, the intensity of his anger, but also the madness that flickered beneath the surface. He was unraveling, his grip on whatever power he had sought slipping away.

     The door creaked open, and I saw the figure step into the room. It was the woman from the earlier vision—the one who had taken the vial from Henry’s hands, the one who had smiled that slow, deliberate smile. But now, her expression was colder, harder. She didn’t flinch under Henry’s furious gaze. She stood tall, her dark eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than his anger.

     “Do you think this was ever yours to control?” she said, her voice calm, measured. “You thought you could take it, twist it to your will. But you never understood what you were holding.”

     Henry’s face contorted in rage, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists. “I was promised power,” he spat. “I was promised control! You—your kind—led me to believe I could rewrite the world!”

     The woman’s smile returned, but it was colder now, sharper. “You were promised nothing but madness,” she said softly. “The power you sought was never yours to claim. It’s been here long before you, long before your ancestors carved their kingdoms from the earth. And it will be here long after you are dust.”

     Henry staggered back, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and terror. The madness that had been simmering beneath the surface began to spill over, his movements growing erratic. He reached for something—a dagger, perhaps—but his hand faltered, trembling as though he no longer trusted his own strength.

     “How do you justify this?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “How do you justify your madness?!”

     The woman stepped forward, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t need to justify anything,” she said quietly. “The land justifies itself.”

     And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Henry standing there, his face twisted in confusion and rage. The door closed softly behind her, and for a moment, the room was silent. But then Henry let out a scream—a sound that echoed through the building, through the walls, through time itself.

     The vision faded, and I was back on the shoreline.

     Ava’s chant had grown louder now, her voice rising in pitch, the air around her thick with heat and power. The ground trembled beneath us, the warmth intensifying until it was almost unbearable. I could feel the same sense of unraveling that I had seen in Henry’s eyes, the madness that came from trying to control something far older and more powerful than any one person could ever hope to understand.

     Tony stood beside me, his face pale, his eyes fixed on Ava. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice tight with tension.

     I shook my head, still trying to process the vision. “Henry,” I said quietly. “He... he was promised power, control. But he couldn’t handle it. The land—it was too much for him. He thought he could control it, but it drove him mad.”

     Tony’s jaw tightened. “And now Ava’s doing the same thing.”

     I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “She’s drawing from the same power, the same force that’s been buried here for centuries. But she doesn’t understand what she’s unleashing.”

     Ava’s voice rang out again, her chant turning into something more primal, more urgent. The storm above us rumbled, the clouds swirling as if the very sky was being torn open. The Atlantic surged, the waves crashing harder against the rocks, and the ground beneath our feet buckled, as though the earth itself was groaning under the weight of what Ava was trying to pull from it.

     “She’s going to destroy everything,” Tony muttered, his voice shaking with fear.

     I glanced at him, seeing the fear in his eyes, but also the determination. “We have to stop her,” I said, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     But as I spoke, I could feel something else—a presence, a memory, stirring in the back of my mind. The woman in the vision, the one who had spoken to Henry—there was something familiar about her, something that felt tied to Ava’s actions now. She had been the real power behind Henry, the one who had understood the cost of tapping into the land’s hidden forces.

     And now, as Ava stood on the precipice of that same madness, I realized that the woman’s legacy hadn’t been forgotten. It had been passed down, buried deep within the land, waiting for someone like Ava to awaken it.

     But Ava wasn’t the heir to that power.

     She was the pawn.

     “Tony,” I said, my voice urgent. “There’s something else going on. Ava—she’s not the one controlling this. She’s just following the same path Henry did.”

     Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

     “I mean someone else is pulling the strings,” I said. “Someone who’s been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

     Ava’s chant reached a fever pitch, and the air around us crackled with energy. The storm was almost upon us, and I could feel the ground buckling beneath my feet, the warmth surging through the earth like a tidal wave.

     “We don’t have much time,” I said. “We need to act now.”

     Tony nodded, his face grim. “What’s the plan?”

     I glanced back at Ava, her figure silhouetted against the storm, and I knew that whatever happened next would determine the fate of the land, of the city, of everything that had been buried for centuries.

     “We stop her,” I said, my voice steady. “And then we find out who’s really behind all of this.”