The wind carried whispers.
Not voices—at least, not at first. Just murmurs beneath the branches, threads of sound that wound through the trees like smoke. Lucian didn't notice them until they left Watcher's Point at dawn, moving down the northern slope. At first, he chalked it up to nerves, fatigue, maybe even the pressure of the map etched into his memory. But the feeling persisted—soft, subtle, like someone was watching.
And then the trees began to change.
The Northern Path was more ancient than any of them realized. Not just old, but timeless—the kind of place that predated roads or rulers. Trees here didn't grow the same way; their trunks were gnarled like twisted roots clawing from the earth, bark grayish-black, smooth like old bone. Moss clung to everything. Even the air smelled different—sweet and metallic, like blood and lilies.
"This place was once sacred," Selia said, her voice hushed. "The druids used to say the forest listened."
Laila looked around warily. "Listens to what?"
"To everything."
They traveled single file, Selia at the front, Elina close behind, Lucian and Laila in the middle. Each carried a small bundle of supplies—traveling light was essential now. The storm from days before had passed, but the sky remained heavy, casting everything in a pale, greenish hue.
As they walked, Lucian noticed odd things. A circle of stones that hadn't been there before. Carvings on bark that looked freshly cut, even though no one had touched them. He tried to dismiss it—until the forest whispered his name.
"Lucian…"
He froze.
Selia turned immediately, hand on her sword. "You heard it?"
Lucian nodded slowly. "I think… it said my name."
"It's begun," Selia muttered. "We're getting close to the next tether. The forest feels it."
"Are you saying the forest is alive?" Elina asked, brows furrowed.
"No," Selia replied. "I'm saying it remembers."
🌲
They made camp that evening by a still pool, its surface so smooth it looked like glass. Laila refused to drink from it, and Lucian didn't blame her. He could see his reflection in the water—only it didn't quite match. His eyes looked too bright. His face, too still. It watched him more than mirrored him.
Selia placed wards of salt and ash around the camp, muttering old spells in a dialect Lucian barely recognized. "These will keep the worst away," she said. "But nothing will stop the forest completely."
"Then what do we do?" Laila asked.
Selia looked at the two of them. "You learn to listen."
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It throbbed. At one point during the night, Lucian sat up with a start, heart hammering. A dream—if it was a dream—lingered in his mind. A shadow with many arms, its face hidden, its voice coiled like smoke in his ears.
"You are not strong enough," it had whispered.
Laila stirred beside him. "You felt it too?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
She reached for his hand. It was instinctual now—the bond between them deeper than thought. As they touched, a faint shimmer passed over their skin. Not a full fusion, but something gentler. Warmer.
"We'll prove it wrong," Laila said. "Whatever it is."
Lucian didn't reply. But he didn't look away from the forest either.
🌒
By the third day, the forest began to change again.
The trees thinned slightly, replaced by towering stone spires and patches of violet grass that crunched underfoot like bone. The air shimmered with faint heat despite the cold season.
And at the heart of it—rising from the center of a cracked stone basin—stood the second tether.
It wasn't a temple like before. This one looked like a monument: five jagged stones arranged in a circle, pulsing with a deep red glow. Symbols flickered across their surfaces—old runes, half-forgotten. Between them hovered a suspended shape: not solid, not smoke, but something in between. Like magic trying to take form and failing.
"This is it," Selia whispered. "The second root."
Elina stepped forward. "So what do we do?"
Lucian felt drawn to the stones. Not in fear—but in recognition. Something inside him knew this place.
He stepped between the stones. As soon as he crossed the boundary, the air thickened, heavy as syrup. Every sound dulled. Even the colors around him seemed to shift.
Laila moved with him, and the effect deepened.
Suddenly, they weren't in the forest anymore.
They were standing in a memory.
⛧
It wasn't their own. It couldn't be.
The sky overhead was crimson. Great stone towers lay broken and burning. Around them stood figures—dozens of them, cloaked in silver and black, their faces veiled. And at the center of it all stood two figures, hand in hand.
Twins.
Not them—but like them.
One bore armor laced with glowing sigils, fists coated in magma. The other danced like mist, blades of water whirling around her. Together, they stood against a beast that filled the horizon—massive, serpentine, covered in eyes that blinked and screamed.
And they were losing.
Lucian felt the burn in their limbs. The desperation. The fear.
"We sealed it once," a voice echoed in his head. "You must seal it again."
Then, the memory shattered like glass.
⛧
Lucian gasped and fell to his knees.
Laila stumbled beside him, sweat pouring down her brow. Elina rushed to them, but Selia held her back.
"They're waking something," she said. "Let it finish."
Lucian looked up at the tether, its red light flickering. Something had changed.
The floating shape now pulsed with rhythm—like a heartbeat.
"We have to seal it," Laila said, her voice distant. "Like they did."
"How?" Lucian asked.
"Together."
They stood, hands clasped. This time, they didn't scream. They didn't flare. The fusion didn't burst from them—it flowed. Smooth. Harmonized.
Lucian's skin rippled with stone and flame. Laila's eyes glowed like moonlight over water. They moved as one.
And the tether responded.
Runes sparked to life. The stones shook. The pulsing shape in the center began to condense, twisting, writhing—and then, with a cry that seemed to echo through the land itself, it shattered into smoke.
Silence fell.
The red glow faded. The stones dimmed.
The second tether was sealed.
Selia exhaled sharply. "You did it."
"No," Laila said quietly. "We did."
Lucian looked out at the forest, now still. But somewhere deeper, he knew more waited.
The war wasn't won. It had only begun.