The golden field whispered around Orion's legs as he moved, the stalks brushing against his thighs with a dry, gentle rasp. The village lay behind him now, tucked away into the shallow valley like a dream he hadn't chosen to pursue. Ahead stretched the forest—dark green, dense, and still. A living wall waiting with open arms.
Orion adjusted the leather strap of the satchel Ajax had been wearing prior to Orion's awakening—half-empty, containing nothing but a broken compass, a faded map, and two pieces of dried root. His feet found the dirt path naturally, tracing the remnants of what might have once been a road before time and weather reclaimed it.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it was grounding. The kind of quiet that came not from distance, but from presence.
"You ever get tired of being alone?" Orion asked eventually, his voice barely louder than the breeze.
Ajax chuckled inside his head. "No, the voices in my head keep me company."
Orion snorted faintly. "You're not funny."
"Hey! I take offense to that."
"You should."
They both fell quiet again, but this time it was lighter. The weight that had clung to Orion's shoulders since the Veil felt… not gone, but eased. Like walking forward had loosened some invisible chain.
The path curved gently as the trees loomed closer. Orion could see the forest's edge more clearly now—towering trunks wrapped in layers of ivy, branches tangled high above like clasped hands. The air had changed too. Less sun, more shadow. Cooler. Moisture clung to the breeze.
"Tell me something about yourself," he said. "You know a lot about me already."
Ajax made a humming sound. "Not that much. Just the bits you scream internally every time someone mentions failure."
"Rude."
"Honest."
Orion shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Still. You've got all the secrets. Let's even the score."
"Alright," Ajax said, thoughtful. "I once tried to domesticate a second grade lesser Ironglider. Thought I could use it for travel."
"…How'd that go?"
"It threw me into a ravine."
Orion laughed at first, then blinked. "Wait. You survived that?"
"Yeah. Mostly because it fell in after me and broke the fall."
He laughed again—an actual laugh, short and surprised. "You're an idiot."
"And yet, somehow still kicking. Until you, anyway. Now you get to do it for me."
Orion stepped over a root jutting from the trail, the forest beginning to embrace him on both sides. The shadows stretched longer here. Birds rustled overhead. A squirrel-like creature with four tails bolted across the path and vanished into the underbrush.
"I'm serious though," Orion said after a moment. "What were you like before all this?"
There was a pause.
"Yeah, I was lonely," Ajax said finally. "I was curious, angry even, a lot of the time. I came from a place where people didn't really believe in second chances. You either climbed, or you got crushed. So I ran. Tried to prove I could survive without their systems."
"Did it work?"
"I mean, I built a three-story tree castle with rope pulleys and a hammock. So… yeah. Kind of."
Orion glanced up at the canopy ahead, now only a dozen paces away. "Is it really a castle?"
"That depends. Do you count a bucket-on-a-rope as plumbing?"
"No."
"Then no."
The trees opened around him as he stepped into the shade.
One moment he was crossing the boundary, and the next, the world changed. The sunlight fractured overhead, filtered through canopies of moss-strung limbs. The air grew thick with the scent of bark and damp loam, earthy and grounding. Bird calls echoed softly between trunks, woven with the distant creak of old wood shifting in its roots.
Orion slowed instinctively. His boots moved quieter here, brushing against fallen leaves and tangled roots instead of dry soil. Even the wind was different—less a gust, more a breath.
"This place feels older than the field," he murmured.
"It is," Ajax replied. "The villagers call it Hollowroot. Supposedly cursed, but that's just because half the time their kids wander in and don't come back out."
"That… doesn't sound like a legend. That sounds like a problem."
"Semantics."
A branch cracked underfoot. Orion stopped, scanning the shadows between trees.
"You'll be fine," Ajax said. "There's nothing out here during the day. Nothing too dangerous, anyway."
"Comforting."
The path narrowed but didn't vanish, pressed into the forest floor like it had been carved by years of silent steps. As he walked, Orion began to notice things—subtle shifts that hinted this place wasn't as wild as it first appeared. A rope hanging from a high limb, frayed at the ends. A metal spike hammered into a trunk, its tip bent as if used more times than it should have been.
"You built traps out here," Orion said, brushing his fingers against the spike.
"Yeah. Most are broken now. Some of them worked too well."
Orion stepped around a low-hanging branch and found the remains of a snare trap—wire tangled in brambles, still half-tied to a trigger stick.
"You really were paranoid."
"Not paranoid," Ajax replied cheerfully. "Prepared. You try sleeping alone in the woods when everything that breathes wants to consume your soul."
"…Fair point."
The trees thickened as he moved, pressing closer, muffling sound. The light turned greenish. The scent of moss rose up around him.
It was quiet. Almost reverent.
"Do you miss it?" Orion asked. "Being alive, I mean. Separate?"
There was a pause. Ajax answered softly.
"Yes. But it's strange. Sometimes I think I feel more… present now than I did before."
Orion glanced toward the canopy, eyes narrowed. "Because of the soul binding?"
"Because of you," Ajax said simply. "You're not like the others. You don't ignore me. You don't try to overpower me. You listen."
Orion didn't know what to say to that.
He let the silence stretch.
The trail began to rise—just a little. Enough to feel it in the calves. Up ahead, the trees opened slightly, revealing the base of a massive oak—wider than a hut, roots like claws wrapping into the hillside.
Orion slowed.
"…This it?"
"Not yet," Ajax said. "But close. That tree's our marker. From here, we cut left and follow the slope up."
"Got it."
As he turned off the trail, the forest welcomed him again—not as a stranger now, but as someone who had passed some invisible boundary.
He pressed onward, deeper into Hollowroot, toward the home of a soul not quite dead.
The slope climbed steeper, and the trees grew denser still. Moss blanketed the trunks, softening their edges, and the canopy above thickened into a living ceiling. It wasn't dark exactly—light trickled through in shimmering columns—but it felt insulated. Removed. Like the rest of the world had been put on mute.
Orion paused at the base of a narrow rise, glancing up the path of gnarled roots and tangled underbrush.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" he asked.
Ajax snorted. "Of course. You think I'd forget my own front door?"
"I think you've forgotten half the things you told me today."
"Fair. But not this."
With a huff, Orion started up the incline. The ground was uneven and slick in places, but he kept his balance, using the trees as handholds. Birds scattered overhead as he passed, and once, a pale green lizard darted across the bark beside him before vanishing into the moss.
The air thinned slightly as the hill crested. Then, "There," Ajax said, almost reverent. "Look up."
Orion followed his gaze.
And stared.
Tucked into the upper limbs of an enormous tree—twice the width of the others and twisted like it had been struck by lightning a dozen times—stood a structure. Not a house. Not a shack.
A castle.
Three circular platforms were nestled among the branches, each one linked by a rope bridge. Rails of salvaged wood ringed the edges, lashed together with faded rope and lined with what looked like bones—clean, white, polished by time. A small bucket-and-pulley system dangled off the side, swaying gently. From beneath the lowest platform, a wide hammock was suspended like a spider's web.
It wasn't beautiful, exactly.
But it was definitely impressive.
"You built this yourself?" Orion asked, eyebrows raised.
"Told you. Tree Castle."
Orion took a step forward, ducking under a low branch as he approached the base.
There was a ladder nailed into the trunk—weathered but sturdy-looking.
"This looks… kind of dangerous," he muttered.
Ajax chuckled. "Only if you fall."
"Great. Encouraging."
Orion reached for the first rung.
The wood creaked, but it held. Slowly, carefully, he began to climb. The bark scratched at his fingers. The wind stirred the leaves around him. Halfway up, he paused to glance down—and immediately regretted it.
The ground looked farther than he expected.
"Don't tell me you're scared of heights!" Ajax teased.
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one dangling over a death drop."
"Technically, we are."
"Not helping."
The climb took only a moment, but it felt longer. When he finally reached the top and stepped onto the first platform, he took a breath and let his weight settle.
The view was incredible.
The forest stretched in every direction, endless green and gold. The wind was stronger up here, brushing past his cheeks like an old friend.
"Welcome home," Ajax said, quieter now.
Orion glanced around the platform. There was a simple bench, a crate used as a table, and what looked like a bundle of furs in one corner that might have once been a sleeping roll.
"It's… cozy."
"It's mine," Ajax said. "Built every board myself. Hid up here from the world when I didn't want to face it. Which was often."
Orion nodded.
He understood that.
There was something sacred about this place—high above the ground, removed from everything. It felt… safe.
For the first time since arriving in the Tower, Orion allowed himself to relax.
Just a little.
He stepped to the edge of the platform and leaned against the railing.
The wind carried the scent of pine and old rain.
He watched it all, and for a moment, said nothing.
Then, near the base of the tree, a sudden rustle stirred the underbrush. Orion's gaze snapped toward the sound just as a small creature emerged — no larger than a housecat, with stubby tusks and a body covered in dull, overlapping scales. It looked like a boar carved from stone and bred for survival.
"Ah," Ajax started, "and there's dinner. A third grade lesser Gristleback."