The Whispering Wilds were alive with the murmur of leaves, their branches swaying as though carrying secrets only the wind could hear. Sunlight broke through the canopy in uneven shafts, painting fleeting patterns across the earth. Yet despite the morning's beauty, silence clung to the group like a second skin.
Alice was the first to break it. Her voice was hesitant, but steady enough to carry through the hush.
"Rael… may I ask? Where are they now? Your grandparents? Why are you here, alone in these woods—and where is it you're going?"
Rael slowed. His fists clenched briefly at his sides before his gaze lifted to the canopy, where sunlight faltered against the depth of green. His voice, when it came, was firm—but heavy, each word a burden older than his years.
"They are… in a place I cannot reach," he said quietly. "Not lost to me, but beyond me. They walk where I cannot follow… yet they live here." His hand pressed to his chest. "Every breath, every step, carries them within me."
The words trembled, though his face did not. The hush deepened, broken only by the sighing leaves.
Herbert's voice came next, low and carved with age.
"Time is eternal, boy… but heroes are not. What endures is not their breath, but the echoes they leave in us. Do not mistake their absence for an ending. What you carry—their love, your love—that is the part of them time cannot erase."
Rael's steps faltered. He looked, for a moment, every bit the child he was—lost, yet bracing against the weight of something greater than himself.
Lyra moved closer. She bent slightly, meeting his eyes without condescension, her hand steady on his shoulder.
"I know that weight," she said softly. "I lost someone, too. For a long time I thought it would break me. But sorrow doesn't vanish—it becomes a scar. And sometimes, when you least expect it, that scar reminds you of how strong you truly are."
She hesitated then, her eyes lingering on him longer than she intended. Something in Rael's grief mirrored her own, and for an instant she felt a tug she hadn't expected — not pity, but recognition. The kind that made her chest ache in a way she quickly masked with a faint, almost girlish smile before pulling her hand away.
Rael's throat worked, but words failed him. Lyra turned back to the path, the faint curve of her lips fading as quickly as it had come.
Darren's tone, usually blunt, was quiet. "Your strength honors them, Rael. Don't think it doesn't."
Alice said nothing more, but she edged closer, her sleeve brushing his—an unspoken answer to the question she had begun. Her eyes lingered on him, not with pity but with searching curiosity, as though she wanted to understand the boy more than the story. Her silence wasn't withdrawal; it was thoughtfulness, a weight of questions she wasn't yet ready to ask.
At last, Rael drew a breath that steadied him. His voice was low, but carried with the weight of a vow.
"My grandmother… before she left, she told me to seek someone. My father's old friend. She said he would guide me to what I must know. That is why I walk these woods—because her last wish leads me east."
The air settled heavy with his words. Then his gaze lifted, searching the faces of those beside him.
"…And you?" he asked quietly. "Why are you here, in this forest?"
It was Darren who answered, hand resting on his hilt.
"We're here on a Guild quest. Something stirs in the Wilds—corrupted beasts, perhaps, or restless spirits. That's what they told us. But I don't think it's that simple." His eyes swept the trees, sharp and wary.
Rael said nothing, but his own gaze sharpened, following Darren's.
Then—
They heard it.
A harsh clash, metal striking against something heavy. Another impact followed, louder, fiercer, carrying the rhythm of a fight.
The group froze, every sense alert.
Somewhere ahead, a battle was raging.
The forest no longer felt like it belonged to them.