Two weeks passed in quiet travel.
It was a different kind of silence than before—not the uneasy hush of the fog lake, not the breathless stillness of watching trees. This was peaceful, filled with the soft sounds of footsteps through moss, quiet laughter, the occasional rustle of Aero stretching her wings as they began to grow.
She was nearly twice her original size now.
Her feathers, still soft and black as silk, had begun to shift at the edges. Flecks of silver shimmered faintly beneath the black. She perched on Mike's shoulder less often now, choosing instead to glide between trees or trot along beside him with a sort of regal grace, her head always held high, always watching.
Ren and Mike had fallen into an easy rhythm.
Ren was the better cook. He knew which mushrooms weren't poison and how to gut a horned frog with two swift cuts. Mike, on the other hand, had a better sense for direction—how the moss grew, how wind funneled through the trees, how the stars shifted each night despite the sky's endless swirl of light and color.
They shared stories—some real, some made up. Ren never pressed about Mike's past, and Mike didn't ask what had happened to Ren's family. It was understood. Some things were too heavy to lift just yet.
But the laughter came easier now.
The trust, too.
They sat one night by a fire made from glowing bark, roasting root bulbs that popped and hissed when cooked. Aero was curled nearby, eyes half-lidded, but always alert. Ren leaned back on his elbows, watching sparks drift upward.
"Ever wonder how this place even exists?" he asked. "I mean—trees that talk, fog that sings, lakes that vanish. It's like a dream someone else had, and we just stumbled in."
Mike stirred the coals. "Feels more like a test."
Ren looked at him. "Of what?"
Mike didn't answer.
Because deep down, he didn't know if it was a test of strength… or a punishment.
⸻
They found the tower three days later.
It rose above the treetops like a finger pointing toward the stars. Cracked stone, ivy-wrapped, leaning slightly but still standing. It had no roof—only jagged stone teeth reaching into the sky. Vines crept through the broken windows, and birds circled high above.
At its base stood a circular doorway, sealed by a stone disc carved with mirrored symbols—some of which matched those in Mike's journal.
They approached cautiously.
Mike reached out and placed his palm against the disc.
Nothing happened.
"Not everything's a touch-and-open kind of magic," Ren said. "Maybe it's a puzzle."
Mike stepped back and examined the carvings more carefully. Each symbol was a crescent or loop—like eyes, or mirrors, or waves. Around the edge, small crystals had been set into the stone, though several were cracked or missing.
He traced the edge with his fingers and paused.
"These reflect light."
Ren glanced up. "From what? There's no sun here."
Mike looked at Aero.
She cocked her head, then spread her wings wide. A faint shimmer of silver spread from her chest as she let out a piercing cry.
The crystals responded.
Faint lines of light—barely visible—bounced between the crystals, forming a pattern. One of the lines was broken where a crystal was missing.
"Hold that pose," Mike muttered, digging into the magic satchel.
He pulled out a shard of quartz they'd found three days earlier, wrapped in cloth. It was cracked but whole enough to refract light.
He fitted it into the empty slot.
The line completed.
The doorway rumbled, then slid open with a slow grinding sound.
Inside was darkness.
They entered together.
The tower's interior was narrow and winding. Stairs spiraled upward, each step carved with runes. The walls glowed faintly, pulsing with the light from the crystals outside.
Halfway up, they passed a mural—etched into the stone—showing a figure with a bow standing beside a great eagle. The figure raised the bow to the sky, while symbols of flame, tree, and tide circled overhead.
Mike stared at it for a long time.
Ren didn't speak.
At the top of the tower, they found a chamber open to the sky.
A massive mirror, framed in silver and set into the floor, reflected not the sky above—but the forest below. And in the reflection… the fog lake was still there.
Ren knelt beside it. "It's showing something that's gone."
"No," Mike said, his voice low. "It's showing something that's hidden."
The mirror shimmered. Then, for just a moment, it shifted—showing Mike's old home. His house. Jake.
Jake was in his room, sitting on the floor. Drawing something.
Then the image vanished.
Mike stood frozen.
Ren placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's a window."
Mike swallowed hard. "Or a warning."
They turned to leave, but something caught Mike's eye—tucked beneath a slab of stone half-buried under moss.
He knelt and pulled it free: a scroll case, sealed with a wax emblem shaped like a crescent wrapped in flame. The same symbol that had appeared briefly on the bow after the encounter at the trees.
He broke the seal and opened the scroll. It was a map—detailed, hand-drawn, glowing faintly under the tower's strange light. Dotted across the terrain were sigils, markings, and paths. One of them glowed brighter than the rest.
Mike tucked the map into his satchel, heart racing.
As he stood, his bow hummed.
He turned it over slowly. The grip had darkened to a rich chestnut brown. Subtle, silvery streaks now ran along the limbs. The tips were sharper. The string thrummed with a tension that hadn't been there before.
Ren raised an eyebrow. "It's changing."
Mike nodded. "So am I."
They descended in silence.
When they reached the bottom, the tower door sealed behind them.
And the moss began to glow again—brighter than before, leading them deeper into the forest.
They didn't speak for a long time.
But both of them felt it.
Something had changed.
And the eyes that watched them before?
They were still watching.