The world spun in blood and blur.
Isabella moved like someone possessed—not with rage, not with fear, but with memory. Her feet found ground before her eyes could, her hands obeying instinct older than the skin they wore. The first beast lunged, all teeth and shadow, its limbs bending wrong like broken marionette joints. She ducked, rolled, and came up hard with a twist of her wrist.
Light exploded from her palm.
Not heat, not flame—roots.
They shot from her fingertips like spears, thick and thorned, carved in glowing script. They pierced the creature’s chest and anchored it to the bleeding tree behind her. It howled, shrieked, thrashed—and then melted into black ash that scattered like brittle leaves on the wind.
Another came. Then three.
Isabella didn’t run.
She danced.
Spinning
