The weeks that followed Elias's appointment as second-in-command of the Young Stags brought a tangible shift in his demeanor. The lingering frustrations of his physical vulnerability began to recede, replaced by a burgeoning confidence that crackled beneath his seven-year-old facade. He moved with a new purpose, his observations of the forest and the clan's intricate ways becoming sharper, more analytical. No longer content to simply "notice" things, he approached Kael with increasingly direct suggestions, couched in the pragmatic language of the Weaver Clan. His explanations were not of mystical insights, but of logical deductions gleaned from the "patterns" of nature. His aether, now flowing with a quiet strength, subtly enhanced his senses, making his "intuition" seem uncanny to the uninitiated.
One crisp morning, as the Young Stags gathered for their daily drills, Kael was demonstrating a new method for quickly lashing together temporary shelter frames. His knots were strong, his movements efficient, but Elias, watching with Elara nestled quietly beside him, saw an opportunity for improvement.
"Kael," Elias called, his voice clear and unwavering, cutting through the murmurs of the other boys. "Your method is swift. But if the top cross-beam were secured with a timber hitch first, before the final lashing… it would bear weight more evenly."
Kael paused, a partially tied frame in his hands, and turned. Borin, ever quick to challenge, scoffed. "What would he know about weight? He weighs less than a full waterskin!"
Kael silenced him with a glance. "Why do you say this, Elias?" he asked, his tone curious, not dismissive.
"The weight," Elias explained, stepping forward with newfound boldness, "is not distributed equally across the lashings with the current method. See how this section strains when pressure is applied?" He gently pressed a finger against a specific point on the frame Kael was holding. "If the initial hitch centers the load, the pressure is shared, and the structure becomes less prone to shifting under a sudden heavy rain, or a strong wind. It makes the whole pattern stronger."
Kael considered this, his brow furrowed in thought. He tried Elias's suggestion, tying the knot as advised. The frame, when he tested it, felt subtly more secure, more rigid. A flicker of surprise, then respect, passed over Kael's face. "You truly have a way of seeing the unseen forces, little one," he murmured, a genuine appreciation in his voice. "This will save us effort, and make our shelters more reliable. A good observation, Elias." The other boys, seeing Kael's acceptance, exchanged impressed glances.
Elias's confidence blossomed further. His next suggestion was more strategic, born from his own urgent need to gather intelligence on the fractured world beyond the Blackwood.
During a discussion about expanding their usual foraging routes for winter stores, Elias spoke up. "Kael," he began, addressing the leader directly, "the forest is vast, yes. But it is not endless. We know our usual paths well. But what of the edges? What lies just beyond what we know?"
Kael looked at him, intrigued. "The edges are where the forest thins, little one. Where the trees grow smaller, and the land opens to the hard plains."
"Precisely," Elias affirmed, his mind already mapping out potential routes. "But what grows there? What animals wander? What… patterns exist, that we do not yet understand? If we are to be the strongest Stags, we should know not just our own hunting grounds, but the lay of the wider land. Not just for food, but for knowledge. For understanding the great pattern of the land beyond our immediate sight." He framed it as an expansion of their naturalistic knowledge, a deeper understanding of the "patterns" of the world.
Kael considered this carefully. The Weaver Clan lived in relative isolation, but their pragmatism demanded knowledge of their surroundings. "You speak of true foresight, Elias," Kael conceded, a rare smile touching his lips. "Knowing what lies beyond the tree line. It is a wise thought. We shall extend our scouting routes, into the fringes, where the forest begins to give way to the plains." The other boys, always eager for new territory and adventure, murmured their agreement. This was no longer just about hunting game; it was about exploration, about understanding their world in a larger context.
A few days later, a contingent of Young Stags, led by Kael and Elias, ventured further east than their usual patrols, where the ancient, towering trees of the Blackwood began to thin. Elara, insisting on accompanying Elias, moved with her usual quiet grace, her small hand often finding his for comfort or reassurance. The air grew subtly drier, the undergrowth sparser, and the sounds of the deep forest slowly gave way to the whisper of the wind over open land.
"The forest feels different here," Borin murmured, his usual bravado replaced by a hint of unease. "It doesn't feel like our forest. It feels… emptier."
Elias nodded, his senses on high alert. He extended his aether, not seeking to find something, but to broaden his perception of existing anomalies. He felt subtle vibrations in the earth that weren't natural, detected faint, metallic scents carried on the wind that were alien to the pure air of the Blackwood.
Then, Kael stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. "Wait," he whispered, his eyes narrowed, scanning the ground. "Look."
There, partially obscured by dead leaves, was a faint, shallow indentation in the earth. It was too straight, too uniform to be an animal track. "A boot print," Elias said, his voice grim. "Not from these woods."
Kael nodded slowly. "They are coming closer," he stated, his voice tight.
As they moved deeper, the signs became clearer. They found a patch of trees where the bark had been carelessly stripped, not by animals, but by crude tools, leaving jagged wounds. Then, a shallow pit, recently dug, containing discarded scraps of coarse, unfamiliar cloth and a few rusted iron nails – nothing a Weaver Clan member would leave behind.
"They are those who do not respect the forest," a younger Stag whispered, his face pale. "They take without asking."
Elias's gaze sharpened, scanning the trunks of the remaining trees. He spotted it – a small, crudely carved symbol on the trunk of a broad oak, partially weathered but undeniably present: the familiar, abhorrent symbol of Phelena, the Montala Church's twisted goddess. His blood ran cold.
"Kael," Elias said, his voice low, filled with a gravity that belied his years. "This is the mark of the... the broken pattern. Those who believe the false words. They bring emptiness." He didn't need to explain further. The other Stags, sensing the unspoken threat, grew tense.
They found more. A stretch of ground where the undergrowth had been systematically cleared, creating a narrow, almost unnaturally straight path that wound deeper into the fringes of the Blackwood. And then, faint, carried on the breeze from the east, a sound that sent a chill through Elias's very soul: the discordant clang of a distant bell, followed by the faint, droning murmur of many voices, chanting in unison. The Montala Church.
Kael's face was grim, his eyes wide with a dawning understanding of a threat far greater than any animal. "The priests," he breathed, the word a curse. "They are here. Too close."
"We must turn back," Elias urged, his decision immediate and absolute. "We have found what we needed to know. We must warn the elders. This is not a hunting trail. This is… a path of unreason." He guided Kael with calm, precise instructions, emphasizing caution and stealth. The Young Stags, their faces now mirroring Kael's grim expression, moved silently, swiftly, retracing their steps, every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig, now amplified by a sense of impending danger. Elias pushed his aether to its limit, extending his sensory net, ensuring they remained undetected, a silent guardian against the encroaching darkness.
Upon their return, the report to Elder Joric and the other clan leaders was a tense affair. Kael, his voice solemn, relayed their findings: the boot prints, the stripped trees, the discarded tools, the crude symbol, and finally, the distant sound of the bells and chanting. Elias stood beside him, adding precise details about the patterns of destruction he observed, his words concise, authoritative.
"They are indeed closer than we knew," Elder Joric rumbled, his ancient eyes filled with concern as he looked from Kael to Elias. "The broken pattern spreads. Your keenness, Elias, has given us precious warning." The elders exchanged grave glances, the peace of their isolated existence suddenly feeling fragile.
Later that night, nestled in their dwelling, a single lamp casting long shadows, Elias confided in Elara, his voice a low, intense whisper. "They are reaching out, Elara," he murmured, flipping open the worn leather cover of his Bible. "The false pattern, the broken pattern, it seeks to consume everything. Just as the Architect's words describe. They strip the land, then they strip the people's minds."
Elara nodded, her small hand tracing the lines on his open Bible. "The empty cloth," she said, her voice soft. "But we… we are the strong weave, Elias. We will not break."
Elias looked at her, his heart swelling with a fierce resolve. "No," he agreed, his eyes burning with determination, "we will not break. And now, we know precisely where the broken threads are. This is not merely a warning, Elara. This is the challenge. And I am ready. The Architect's true kingdom needs to be woven, not just in theory, but in the very fabric of this world, thread by precious thread. Our work begins, truly begins, now." His boldness, once a careful calculation, now felt like an undeniable truth, fueled by the tangible threat of Montala's encroaching darkness.