The forest didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore the moment Alderwyn disappeared behind the ridge. I'd walked these paths since childhood, but today every branch seemed to bend slightly toward me, like the woods were tilting their head in curiosity. The Verdant Chain had a way of watching travelers quietly, patiently, waiting to see what kind of person stepped into its shade.
My boots sank into damp soil, soft from last night's rain. Birds didn't sing here; instead, the trees made their own noises, long groans as bark stretched, the faint creaking of roots adjusting under the earth, leaves that hissed like whispers when wind threaded through them. Life didn't sit still in this forest. It shifted, grew, tightened, breathed.
I flipped open my journal as I walked, inked the date, and wrote the first line of my expedition:
Day One. I have left Alderwyn. The forest feels alive in a way the town never did. I think it wants something from me.
Not a great start, but it was honest.
My first goal was simple: reach the Emberlight Crossing by nightfall. It was a narrow river valley where several races traded, rested, or passed through without much trouble. A safe start, supposedly. But the old stones beneath the forest told different stories, stories of caravans found empty, of strange tracks in the mud, of things that didn't belong to any of the known seventeen races.
I kept walking.
The first creature I saw was an elven scout, sleek, long-limbed, tawny skin that blended into the surroundings. Their eyes were dilated almost black, drinking in every shadow. They perched on a branch fifteen feet above me without a sound. Elves rarely spoke to humans unless they wanted something.
"You walk alone," they said.
"By choice," I replied.
They tilted their head, studying me. Elves didn't blink often; when they did, it was slow, deliberate. "Your kind rarely chooses solitude. They fear the Chain."
"I'm documenting," I said, tapping my journal.
That got a reaction, a twitch, almost like amusement. "You may document your last moments, then." And with that cryptic warning, they vanished deeper into the canopy.
I wasn't sure if they meant it as a threat or a joke.
The next few hours were uneventful except for faint rustling in the underbrush that didn't match any creature I recognized and the occasional vibration beneath the soil, tunneling dwarves probably, or insectoid engineers tracking underground currents. The world worked like a web; everything touched everything else, even if humans pretended otherwise.
Near midday, I reached the first ruin.
It wasn't one of the grand steel skeletons the Archive Council forbade us from approaching. Just an old hatch half-swallowed by roots and moss, the metal corroded into soft flakes. Our ancestors had sealed these places, thinking the world outside them was going to die. Instead, the world lived, and they vanished.
I crouched beside the hatch, brushing away the moss. The symbol etched into the metal, a triangle intersecting a circle, matched the warnings in the few ancient drawings the elders never let us study too closely. Radiation hazard.
Which meant humans had caused something too dangerous to leave unmarked.
I traced the symbol with my fingertip, then quickly pulled my hand back as the metal hummed faintly. Not alive, but still powered. Still sealed.
Still hiding something.
I wanted to open it more than I wanted to breathe. But I forced myself to step away.
Every instinct screamed at me to ignore the elders, ignore my parents, ignore the Council. But the rational part of me, the part that wanted to survive long enough to understand the truth, pulled me onward. I left the ruin behind, though every step felt like betrayal.
By late afternoon, I reached a rocky clearing where the forest peeled away to show the sky. A cluster of massive shapes moved on the horizon, giants. Their moss-covered skin glistened under drifting sunlight, patches of glowing fungus pulsing rhythmically along their limbs. One bent down to scoop water into its hands from a shallow lake. The ripples spread all the way to my feet.
Giants were usually gentle, but their size alone made them dangerous. They rarely interacted with humans unless provoked. Their bodies carried ecosystems, literal living forests that responded to their emotions. If a giant panicked, the fungus on their skin could release clouds of spores that suffocated anything within reach.
Watching them from a distance was safer.
I sketched fast in my journal: proportion ratios, moss patterns, locomotion, the way their joints locked when they stood still. The air smelled like wet stone and forest rot, grounding me in the moment.
A low rumble vibrated the ground.
One giant turned its head, staring directly at me. Its eyes were milky but not blind, just coated in a layer of protective membrane.
I froze.
But after a few seconds, it turned back to its group. I wasn't a threat. Just a small, curious human.
The sun dipped low as I descended toward Emberlight Crossing. Smoke curled upwards ahead, campfires. Voices. Not all human. I could hear the clicking harmonics of insectoid speech, the gravelly cadence of a dwarf arguing, the soft hum of a fairy's wing vibration.
A mix of races, peaceful for now.
My heart lifted slightly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
But as I approached the final bend, a hand shot out from behind a large stone and yanked me into the shadows.
A human hand.
I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs. Someone knelt over me, their grip iron-tight, their eyes dark, hood shadowing their features.
"Cael Rowan," the stranger whispered. Not a question. A statement.
Every hair on my body stood on end.
"We warned your father this day would come. You should not have left your town."
My voice came out strained. "Who are you?"
"The people who stop curious boys from digging up human sins."
Archive Council.
Of all the races in the world, I hadn't expected my own to strike first.
The stranger leaned closer. "Turn around. Go home. Forget the creatures. Forget the ruins. Forget the truth."
"I can't," I said.
For a long, cold moment, they stared at me. Then their grip tightened, painfully so.
"You're on the wrong path," they whispered. "And soon something will make sure you never write another word."
They released me and vanished into the trees as silently as the elf had earlier.
I lay there for a moment, dust rising around me, heart pounding, mind screaming with one single realization:
If the creatures didn't kill me, the humans would. And maybe, just maybe, that meant I was getting close to the truth.