The forest narrowed as they walked.
The light above dimmed to a greenish twilight, even though the sun had not yet set. Trees leaned in like eavesdroppers. The heartbeat in the soil grew softer now—steady but more personal, as though it came from just ahead.
And then they found it.
A tree unlike any other.
Twisted and tall, its bark was the deep, shining black of obsidian. Its branches hung low, weeping with strands of vine. And from its many cracks, something bled.
Dark red sap oozed from its trunk—slow, thick, and glistening like fresh blood. The ground beneath it was stained, the roots soaked in sorrow.
"The Crying Tree," Lybid whispered. "I saw it in dreams."
Kyi stepped forward. "Is it… alive?"
Before anyone could answer, a voice filled the clearing.
Not a whisper.
Not a scream.
A lament.
"...Why do you come?"
The voice emerged from the tree itself, reverberating from within its hollow trunk like the cry of something buried alive.
The tree shifted. A face formed in the bark—half-human, half-root. Eyes carved of shadow. Lips trembling with memory.
Methodius raised his cross, but the tree did not flinch.
"I am not the curse," it said. "I am its witness."
"Who are you?" Lybid asked, kneeling.
"A soul once called Moryana. A seer. A servant of both Rod and Mara. Just like our Elder. I lived before the sealing. I saw it happen."
The blood ran thicker now, staining the roots like veins.
"Why was she sealed?" Yurko asked. "Why this place?"
The tree's mouth twisted in grief.
"She loved the end. The gentle death. The restful dark. She guided the dying to peace. But the world changed. Kings demanded wars. Priests demanded flame. Her gift became fear."
"She was not evil?" Kyi whispered.
"She was balance before, but... Something changed..." the tree said. "As fear grew, her peace turned to silence. Her voice was drowned, replaced with madness. Rod, in sorrow, sealed her beneath the earth—not out of hatred, but fear of what she could become if broken."
"And now?" Methodius asked.
"She awakens fragmented. Confused. She remembers pain, not purpose. You feel it in the forest. It no longer rests. It writhes."
A long silence followed.
Then Lybid stood.
"Can she be healed?"
The tree wept faster.
"I do not know. But if she wakes in full, broken as she is… there will be no forest. No faith. No peace."
A gust of wind passed.
The tree groaned.
"Go," it said. "Follow the heartbeat. But beware. Beneath the river's mouth is not just a seal… it is a grave."
The blood stopped flowing.
The face faded into bark.
And the forest waited again.