The trail led them deeper into the forest than ever before.
The glowing moss that had once been soft underfoot had changed—its light now steady, brighter, and less like a guide and more like a command. The air was heavier, too, and the trees had taken on a strange geometry. Their trunks twisted in unnatural spirals, and some had grown in arches, as if forming doorways into places unseen.
Ren kept his knife close at hand. Mike, his bow. Aero flew low overhead, gliding from branch to branch, the silver specks in her black feathers catching light that didn't seem to have a source.
They moved in silence for hours. The forest demanded it. Every whisper of wind felt like it carried meaning. Every falling leaf seemed placed with purpose.
It was nearly dusk when the trail ended at a ring of stones.
Not carved—grown.
Each stood at an angle, like fingers rising from the earth. Vines curled around their bases, and moss glowed faintly along their cracks. At the center was a clearing of wildflowers, impossibly vibrant in color: crimson, gold, azure, and violet. They bloomed despite the chill in the air.
A soft growl echoed from the far side of the ring.
Ren raised his knife.
Mike stepped forward instead.
From the shadows stepped a creature like nothing he'd seen before. It was fox-shaped but taller, sleeker—its legs long and graceful, its fur a shifting blend of red and copper, as if made from living fire and fallen leaves. Its eyes glowed white, not with threat, but with something ancient.
It bowed its head slightly.
Then it spoke.
"You've come far, Speaker."
Ren froze. "It talks."
Mike took a slow breath. "You know who I am?"
The creature padded forward with the elegance of royalty. "I know what you carry. What you've awakened. The bow chose you, but the world remembers."
"Who are you?" Mike asked.
"I am Lirien," the fox said. "Guardian of this grove. Servant of the old covenant."
Mike and Ren exchanged glances.
Lirien sat on her haunches, curling her tail neatly around her paws. "This place was once sacred. A crossing of lines—where life was weighed, and the chosen were guided. It has been forgotten. Like so much else."
Mike stepped into the circle. The flowers around him shifted slightly, leaning toward his feet. He looked down at the bow. "What do you mean by chosen?"
"You bear the Speaker's bond," Lirien said. "You speak with life—not just beasts, but the world itself. You feel its pull. Its ache."
Mike didn't answer. He didn't have to. He had felt it. Ever since the cave. Ever since Jake's reaction. Like he was part of something bigger, older, buried in his bones.
Ren crossed his arms. "So what? He's magic now?"
"No," Lirien said. "He is potential. Whether he becomes more than that… is yet to be seen."
Mike knelt beside Aero, who had landed near Lirien. The fox leaned forward and touched noses with the young eagle.
"She will grow," Lirien said softly. "And one day, she will carry more than her own weight."
Mike looked up. "Do you know why I was brought here? Why this is happening to me?"
Lirien's expression shifted, eyes dimming. "I do not know why. But I know what must be done."
She turned and gestured with her head toward a small alcove at the edge of the grove. A pedestal of smooth black stone stood beneath a flowering tree. Upon it rested a single gemstone—iridescent, with a flickering light at its core.
"A piece of what was broken," Lirien said. "It is not enough to return you home. But it may be enough to guide you forward."
Mike stepped toward it, drawn by its quiet hum. He lifted the stone carefully. It pulsed once in his hand, then dimmed.
Aero chirped gently and hopped beside him.
"It's warm," Mike said.
"It remembers," Lirien replied.
He slipped it into his satchel, beside the map. He could feel it respond to the glow of the parchment, the two objects humming faintly together.
Ren sheathed his knife. "You're not coming with us?"
"I go where I'm needed," Lirien said. "And soon, you will not walk this path alone."
She turned back toward the trees and paused. "Beware the whisperer in the fog. He is not what he seems."
Then, with a flick of her tail, she vanished into the underbrush, leaving behind only rustling leaves and the faint scent of rain.
Mike stood in the center of the grove, the world quiet once again.
But he felt no fear.
Only purpose.