The scout barely had time to shout before Aeryn's momentum carried him past, the air splitting around him in a sharp crack of displaced mana. He didn't strike to kill—he couldn't bring himself to—not without knowing who these elves were. But he had no intention of being captured either.
The scout stumbled, regaining balance with surprising agility. "He's fast! Intercept—now!"
Leaves burst overhead as two others vaulted through the branches with inhuman speed.
Aeryn sprinted deeper into the Silverwood.
His lungs steadied automatically, controlled by years of instinct honed through difficult travels. But now everything felt sharper—mana surged through him with synchronized rhythm, each step fueled by the System's quiet guidance.
Behind him, footsteps multiplied.
Branches creaked.
Air hummed with tracking spells.
He forced himself not to look back.
Instead, he extended his senses. The forest sang with life, every leaf trembling under the movement of six trained hunters. Their paths zigzagged, flanking him from both sides. They weren't reckless; they were efficient. Coordinated. Almost too coordinated.
Aeryn gritted his teeth.
He shot forward and leaped across a fallen tree trunk. The moment his boots hit the forest floor, the air beside him warped.
A blade flashed.
Aeryn twisted—barely.
The sword grazed his cheek, slicing a thin line across his skin. Warm blood dripped.
"Yield," the female voice commanded, tone crisp and cold. "We do not wish to harm you."
Aeryn stepped back, refusing to lower his guard. "Then stop chasing me."
"It is our duty."
"That doesn't mean anything to me."
"It should." Her eyes locked onto his. "We are your own."
He felt the weight of those words.
But he didn't trust them.
A low hum built behind him—a spell charging.
Aeryn spun just as a net of condensed mana shot toward him, threads gleaming blue. He dropped low, sliding across the dirt. The net snapped shut mid-air, crackling loudly as it hit the tree behind him.
They were trying to restrain him, not kill him.
But capture was just as dangerous.
Aeryn rose to his feet and thrust his palm outward. Mana coiled, igniting a burst of silver light. It wasn't a spell—he didn't know formal casting techniques—but raw energy responded to him as though it had waited for his call.
The blast struck the scout holding the net spell, sending him crashing into a cluster of roots.
The others hesitated.
One whispered, shaken, "That power—he really awakened it."
The woman's expression darkened. "It only confirms the urgency. Do not let him escape again."
Aeryn didn't wait for them to regroup.
He sprinted deeper into the forest.
---
The Silverwood Thickens
The deeper he went, the darker the canopy grew. Light filtered through thick bioluminescent leaves, casting pale blue shadows along the moss-covered ground. The air shifted—凉 and heavy, almost humid with stray ether.
Aeryn felt the terrain change.
Roots rose like coiled serpents. Branches woven overhead formed natural corridors. The Silverwood was never a simple forest—it was alive with ancient presence, responding to those who stepped within its domain.
He heard footsteps behind him, still distant but closing.
He leaped over a ravine littered with crystal shards.
Mana rippled beneath the earth.
This place wasn't safe.
Even without pursuers, the inner Silverwood was known to swallow the unaware. But Aeryn couldn't turn back. Not when every path behind him crawled with hunters who moved like shadows.
He pressed on.
The forest's luminescence dimmed further.
Silence deepened.
No birds. No rustle of smaller creatures.
Just breath, heartbeat, and the faint whisper of mana tracing the roots below.
Aeryn slowed.
Something felt wrong.
The Silverwood never went completely silent unless—
A soft vibration tremored through the ground.
Aeryn froze.
Behind him, his pursuers stopped as well. He heard faint murmurs.
"What was that?"
"Remain alert."
"No sudden movements."
Aeryn backed into a narrow thicket, keeping his breath quiet.
The rumbling grew.
Not loud—subtle. But old. Trembling like the sound of earth remembering something buried long ago.
The roots shifted.
Aeryn's eyes widened.
The ground ahead cracked open as a massive form rose slowly from the soil, scattering dust and glowing spores.
A guardian.
A Silverwood sentinel—an ancient protector shaped like a stag sculpted from living wood and crystalline marrow. Its antlers glowed with drifting silver wisps. Its eyes burned with awareness, not mindless aggression.
The scouts whispered in alarm.
"Why is a sentinel awake?"
"They're dormant during moonfall—this shouldn't be possible."
The leader's voice cut through sharply. "Regroup and step back. Do not provoke it."
Aeryn remained absolutely still.
The sentinel lowered its head and sniffed the air.
Its glowing eyes locked onto him.
Aeryn's heart thudded painfully.
The sentinel took a single step toward him.
The ground trembled.
And then—its mind touched his.
Not in words. Not in thoughts.
In recognition.
An ancient pulse of elven heritage mixed with something foreign—something not of any clan. The sentinel sensed it. Felt it. Judged it.
Aeryn stiffened.
But the creature did not attack.
Instead, it turned its head toward the scouts, lowering its antlers in warning.
The scouts' leader cursed softly. "It's protecting him?"
One of the scouts panicked. "We need him alive! Someone restrain the guardian—"
"Do not touch it," the leader hissed.
The sentinel roared—not loud, but deeply resonant. The echo rippled through the Silverwood, traveling across roots and branches like a signal of territory invoked.
A warning.
Aeryn didn't waste the opportunity.
He slipped backward into the deeper thicket while the sentinel held its ground between him and the scouts. The forest seemed to shift in his favor, branches moving subtly, clearing a path just wide enough for him.
He ran.
The deeper he moved, the more the forest changed. The air cooled. A soft humming emanated from the roots, resonating with the Veil's energy still lingering within him.
Then—
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
He didn't question it.
He followed.
---
The Whispering Hollows
The pathway led into a hollowed arch of roots twisting together like a natural gate. Mana thickened around it like drifting smoke. Aeryn hesitated at the entrance.
No turning back.
He stepped inside.
The air carried whispers—echoes of past presence, memories embedded in the forest's ether. A faint silver wind brushed across his cheeks.
His heartbeat steadied.
He wasn't fully alone.
The System pulsed gently inside his chest.
He walked deeper.
The tunnel gradually widened into a vast cavern formed entirely of ancient roots, woven tightly into a spiraling dome. At the center, a pool of shimmering liquid reflected faint light—neither water nor mana, but something in between.
Silver Essence.
Aeryn approached cautiously.
The pool rippled despite the stillness of the air.
Images flickered across its surface—shifting like memories half-forgotten.
A woman with silver eyes.
A hand reaching.
A shattered sigil.
A burning crest.
A child wrapped in woven cloth.
Aeryn's breath caught.
The images were too fast, too blurred, but something in them tugged at his core.
He reached out—
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the cavern shook.
A voice echoed through him—not through his ears, but through his mind.
"You return at last."
Aeryn staggered backward. "Wh—who…?"
"Blood of the forgotten line. Bearer of the Veil's spark."
Aeryn's pulse hammered.
The voice softened, both ancient and sorrowful.
"You were taken. Hidden. Sent far from the reach of those who coveted your birthright."
His mouth felt dry. "Taken? By whom?"
"By those who feared you."
Aeryn's chest tightened.
"Your clan," the voice whispered, "did not protect you. They imprisoned your fate."
The visions in the pool sharpened—
—an infant wrapped in silver cloth—
—a sigil branded onto a cradle—
—shadows carrying the child away—
—the Shard of the Silver Veil flickering—
—and then darkness.
Aeryn fell to his knees, gripping the edge of the pool. "Why? Why would they do that? What am I?"
The forest voice trembled.
"You are the last heir of the Veilborn. The fragment of a lineage erased from the High Clans' histories. Your existence threatens their rule."
Aeryn's breath shook.
"They will never allow the Veilborn to rise again."
A chilling certainty settled inside him.
"They want to control me."
"They want to erase you," the voice corrected, "if they cannot bind you."
Aeryn's hands clenched.
The pool rippled once more.
"You must decide, Aeryn," the voice murmured. "Run, hide, or rise. But whatever path you choose… the clans are already closing in."
A distant boom echoed through the forest.
Boots thundered.
Shouts grew closer.
The scouts had found the trail.
Aeryn rose slowly, something new crystallizing within him—resolve sharpened by fear, truth, and anger.
He wasn't just running anymore.
He was choosing.
The forest hummed as if responding to his decision.
The Silver Essence swirled, gathering around his fingers like mist choosing a wielder.
Aeryn closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the gentle silver glow burned brighter.
The footsteps approached the cavern entrance.
The leader shouted, "He's inside! Surround the hollow—do not let him escape!"
Aeryn exhaled once.
Steady.
Ready.
Then he turned toward them.
And stepped forward.