The path south began to change long before any map would admit they had crossed into Karshvar.
The air thickened first. It grew warm and dense, carrying a slow pulse beneath the soil like distant drumming. The trees widened, their trunks grooved like knotted muscle. Roots twisted in deliberate patterns rather than natural sprawl, weaving across the ground in arcs that looked almost intentional—as though the forest were planning something.
Even the wind tasted different, metallic, sweet. Almost like breath exhaled from a slumbering giant.
Eryndor noticed it first.
Not with awe but with suspicion.
He stopped and nudged a thick, coiled root with the toe of his boot. "Tell me that's not moving."
"It's not moving," Garruk said immediately.
The root twitched.
Garruk stared at it in silence for a long moment. "…I retract my statement."
Lirien crouched beside it, brushing her fingers lightly across the bark. "It could be reacting to vibrations," she said thoughtfully. "Like muscle contraction."
"Excellent," Eryndor replied. "The ground has reflexes. What's next? The rocks scream when we step on them?"
As if personally offended, a stone a few steps away cracked sharply with a dry snap.
Garruk jumped. "Boy, stop talking to the land. You're provoking it."
"I'm testing boundaries," Eryndor muttered. "We cannot have the scenery developing a personality without at least consulting us."
They moved deeper.
The forest did not grow louder with creatures. It grew louder with itself.
Trees exhaled warm drafts from fissures in their bark. Vines swayed without wind. Leaves rotated subtly to follow their movement like watchful eyes. Once, the ground beneath them rose and fell in a slow, steady heave, like a chest taking breath. The soil settled again as though nothing had happened.
Garruk swore under his breath. "Forests should not breathe."
"Technically," Eryndor replied, "trees breathe all the time."
"Not like that, boy!"
Lirien's gaze tracked the shifting earth. "Stay close. The land feels… aware. But not hostile." She paused. "Probably."
"That doesn't make me feel better," Eryndor muttered.
Yet even he could not deny the strange beauty around them. Ferns glowed faintly beneath the canopy. Amber veins pulsed beneath the bark of ancient trunks like molten lifeblood. The forest did not feel ancient in the sense of decay. It felt continuous—a thing that had never slept.
It was watching.
Travel demanded caution, but silence rarely lasted long between them.
Garruk trudged ahead, muttering complaints that had more fondness than frustration. Lirien glided like a calm, shadowed breeze, observing everything with unreadable eyes. Eryndor walked between them, talking too much but missing nothing.
A branch twisted downward without warning and brushed through Eryndor's hair like an overly familiar relative.
He jumped. "Hey—personal space!"
The branch withdrew, almost politely.
Lirien's lips curved faintly. "It seems to like you."
"No," Eryndor said firmly. "Nothing with bark should like me."
Garruk's laughter rumbled through the undergrowth. "Keep complaining and the trees might decide you taste interesting."
"I do not taste good."
"How would you know?" Lirien asked calmly.
Eryndor blinked. "…I do not. And I would prefer to keep it that way."
They continued.
The deeper they walked, the stronger the land felt. Moss brightened beneath their steps. Roots coiled lazily across their path, sometimes deciding whether to shift aside. Occasionally they did not.
At one point, a creeping vine wrapped around Garruk's ankle with surprising speed. Lirien's blade flashed once. The vine fell in two pieces and recoiled into the undergrowth like a scolded animal.
"Appreciated," Garruk grunted. "I would have hated to be strangled by shrubbery."
"Better than dying to taxes," Eryndor replied.
Garruk gave him a look. "You do not pay taxes."
"Exactly."
Lirien shook her head. "Both of you are insufferable."
"Thank you," Eryndor said.
"That was not praise."
"I am choosing to interpret it as such."
By late afternoon, the forest thinned and rose into a ridge overlooking a valley that made all their earlier unease seem small.
Emerald plains rolled outward like the hide of a sleeping titan. Distant mountains exhaled soft plumes of mist. Moss shifted along their slopes in slow pulses like veins beneath skin. Rivers wound through the land in curves too deliberate to be accidental.
Garruk let out a low whistle. "By the forge fathers…"
Lirien inhaled deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.
"The continent is awake today," Eryndor said. Awe slipped into his voice before he masked it with a crooked smile. "At least in a 'this place might eat us' sort of way, it's beautiful."
Lirien allowed herself a faint exhale that might have been a laugh.
They descended cautiously.
That was when they saw the first signs of others. At the foot of the ridge, near a cluster of amber-studded boulders, stood a group of figures.
Tall.
Broad.
Furred.
They were clad in armor of bone and hide, layered with metal plates hammered thin and etched with tribal marks. Their eyes glowed faintly—gold, crimson, amber—depending on lineage. There were at least a dozen. Some bore wolfish features, others leonine, some more boar-like or panther-lean. Each was armed, though none had drawn a weapon.
Yet.
Garruk stiffened. "Well. We have been noticed."
Lirien stepped forward half a pace, her hand resting near her sword. Not drawing, just ready.
Eryndor leaned slightly toward them. "Thoughts?"
"Stay respectful," Lirien murmured.
"Do not provoke them," Garruk added.
Eryndor nodded once. "Right. That is the common sense I am familiar with."
He stepped forward.
Eryndor lifted a hand casually. "Good afternoon. Lovely weather. Your land appears to be breathing very healthily today."
Lirien whispered sharply, "Eryndor!"
"Don't worry," he whispered back. "I'm on my best behavior."
"We come in peace." He continued, louder.
Several of them exchanged glances. A wolf-kin tilted his head, studying Eryndor as if deciding whether he was brave or irreparably foolish.
From the center of the group, a larger figure stepped forward.
A lion-kin.
His mane was braided with amber rings. His eyes burned molten gold. He carried a spear taller than Eryndor, its tip glinting faintly in the fading light. His tail swayed in slow, deliberate arcs.
He approached without haste. Deliberate.
Eryndor held still.
The lion-kin leaned closer and inhaled once, subtle but unmistakable.
Eryndor blinked. "Should I be offended or flattered?"
Lirien elbowed him sharply.
The lion-kin's expression did not change.
"You," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Three smallfolk. Why do you walk through the hunting grounds?"
"You are outsiders," he continued. "This path is not meant for you."
Garruk muttered quietly, "That's not a good start…"
Eryndor stepped forward again, calmer now.
"If we have crossed into restricted territory, that is unintentional," he said evenly. "We only seek passage, not trouble."
The Beastfolk behind the lion-kin shifted slightly. Not aggressive, yet not welcoming.
The lion-kin studied them in long, silent contemplation.
Then he simply nodded, slow bow of his head. An acknowledgment, or maybe a warning.
"Where is your destination?" he asked.
"We are heading toward Kael Durn or Nandavara," Eryndor replied.
The lion-kin's eyes narrowed slightly. "You all are heading to Matrabhumi?"
"Correct." Eryndor nodded.
A murmur passed through the gathered Beastfolk.
"You will not reach it directly," the lion-kin said.
Eryndor's brow lifted. "Why, if I may ask?"
"The Eastern Plateau Region is preparing a great gathering," the lion-kin explained. "All major routes are temporarily closed. Even those leading toward Matrabhumi."
"What kind of gathering?" Eryndor asked.
"You will understand when you reach the Herd Cities," a wolf-kin answered with a faint sneer.
"It is one of This plateau greatest events," another added, more neutral in tone.
Eryndor tilted his head and met the lion-kin's gaze again. "Final question. Is this an invitation?"
The lion-kin's eyes did not soften.
"It is an obligation."
Eryndor exhaled slowly. "Of course it is."
He glanced at Lirien. She gave a single nod.
Garruk shrugged. "Better to walk than be carried."
Eryndor gave a faint, resigned smile. Refusing a dozen armed Beastfolks would be idiotic.
"Very well," he said. "Lead on."
The Beastfolk turned without further explanation.
Eryndor, Lirien, and Garruk followed.
As they walked deeper into the Eastern Plateau territory, the forest seemed to shift around the Beastfolk differently. Roots withdrew from their path. The ground stilled beneath their steps.