Ravel stepped deeper into the forest, and the world changed around him. The air lost its warmth and turned cool and heavy, almost like stepping into an ancient cellar. The colors shifted too. Greens faded into pale silvers and muted grays. Even the sunlight filtering through the branches took on a washed tone, as if the forest strained it before allowing it in.
Seris followed just behind him, her gaze alert. She moved with care, stepping only where the moss was thick enough to silence her weight. Ravel mirrored her movements as best he could, though each shift of the sphere in his arms threatened to throw off his balance.
The forest grew quieter with every step. The usual life of birds and insects seemed to vanish. No wind stirred the branches. No rustling broke the stillness.
It was the silence of a place that watched.
Seris touched Ravel's arm gently and pointed to the roots beneath them. "Do not step on the pale ones. They crack easily. Spirits consider it an offense."
Ravel nodded and stepped around them. The pale roots pulsed faintly, almost like veins under skin. He grimaced. "This place feels alive."
"It is alive," Seris said. "Just not in ways you are familiar with."
The path narrowed until the trees stood so close together that Ravel could have touched both sides at once. Their bark shimmered faintly, as though dusted with frost. The branches reached in twisting arcs overhead, forming a natural archway that stretched into the distance like a tunnel of silver bones.
Ravel swallowed. "Does the whole forest look like this?"
"No," Seris said. "It changes depending on who enters. The Silverwood shows one face to travelers and another to those it marks."
Ravel frowned. "What face is it showing us?"
Seris paused midstep. "A cautious one. It is watching you. It has not yet decided if we are welcome."
Ravel felt a prickle on the back of his neck. "How will we know if it decides we are not welcome?"
Seris continued walking. "The trees will tell us."
"That is extremely vague."
"That is the best you will get."
Ravel quickened his pace until he walked beside her. "You said the spirits here obey no one. Does that mean the Empire cannot track us anymore?"
"For now, yes," Seris said. "Their contracts do not reach this forest. But the spirits here may decide to help them anyway if they believe you are a threat."
Ravel tightened his grip on the sphere. "I do not feel like a threat."
"You will," Seris said quietly. "Once the Rootspire shows you what the spheres truly are."
Ravel did not respond. The thought unsettled him. He did not want to be something dangerous. He wanted answers, not power. But the Crown had marked him, and the sphere pulsed with a rhythm that felt older than language.
They walked for nearly an hour. The path wound through thick roots that rose like serpents and dipped into shallow hollows filled with silver leaves. The forest grew darker even though the sun still hung high somewhere above the canopy.
Ravel finally broke the silence. "Seris. How did you learn all of this? About the forest. The Crown. The spheres."
Seris slowed. "My family served as wardens of the Silverwood long ago. We protected it from intruders. And we learned from the spirits in return."
"Your family served the forest?"
"Yes. Until the Empire took that right away."
Ravel hesitated. "They forced you out."
"Yes." Seris's tone hardened slightly. "They destroyed the old pacts and bound the spirits through force. They feared the forest's power and wanted it for themselves."
Ravel grimaced. "Then you must hate them."
"I do not waste energy on hate," Seris said. "Hatred blinds. Survival requires clarity."
Ravel looked at her more closely. "Is that why you live beyond the Empire's reach?"
"Yes. And because I refuse to serve those who would twist the ancient truths for power."
Ravel considered her words. "So helping me. Protecting the sphere. Guiding me to the Rootspire. This is all against the Empire."
"Yes."
Ravel nodded slowly. "Then I am glad I met you."
Seris glanced at him with a brief, almost hidden smile. "We will see if you still say that after the Rootspire."
As they walked, Ravel noticed something strange. The path ahead split into two trails. One curved left, gently sloping down. The other bent right, leading up a narrow incline with thick silver fog swirling near the top.
Seris stopped. "This was not here before."
Ravel blinked. "The path changed?"
"Yes. The forest is testing us."
Ravel stared at the two paths. "Which one do we take?"
Seris studied both silently. Then she turned to Ravel. "The forest will choose. Not me."
Ravel stiffened. "The forest will choose through me, you mean."
Seris nodded. "It recognizes you. Not me."
Ravel lifted the sphere slightly. "Does it want me to use it?"
"No. It wants to see your intention. Step forward. The path that reacts is the one we take."
Ravel exhaled slowly. His palms felt sweaty despite the cold air. He stepped forward until he stood between the two paths. The sphere warmed, then cooled, then warmed again as if trying to decide.
Ravel closed his eyes. "We are not here to harm anything. We just want answers."
The sphere pulsed.
A gentle breeze stirred.
Leaves rustled on the right path.
Ravel opened his eyes. The fog on the right thickened, then thinned, revealing a clearer trail.
Seris nodded. "The forest accepts your request. We go right."
They climbed the incline carefully. The fog brushed against Ravel's skin like soft cloth. It carried a faint scent of metal and earth. As they reached the crest, the forest opened into a wide clearing.
Ravel froze.
At the center of the clearing stood a massive tree. Its branches reached the sky like raised arms. Its bark shone silver and white, streaked with faint lines that formed patterns almost like runes.
But what drew Ravel's eyes most were the figures around it.
Six stone statues stood in a circle. Each one wore a hood and held a sphere carved from polished stone. Their poses differed. Some stood tall. Others knelt. One leaned forward with hands outstretched, as if offering its sphere to the great tree.
Seris inhaled sharply. "A Sentinel Circle."
Ravel looked at her. "What is that?"
"It is a sign that the forest sees you as more than a traveler," Seris said. "The Sentinels appear only for those who carry a sphere. And only when the forest acknowledges their purpose."
Ravel stepped closer. The air grew colder around the statues. The sphere in his arms pulsed faster.
One statue's stone sphere was cracked.
Ravel reached out and touched the crack.
The clearing shook.
The tree's branches quivered.
A deep voice reverberated through the air. Not words. Not language. A pure sound that vibrated through Ravel's bones until he felt it in his teeth.
Seris drew her sword, though she did not raise it. She kept it low, ready.
The voice grew louder, echoing through the roots beneath them.
Ravel felt the sphere grow hot.
The cracked statue's hands began to glow. The stone sphere flickered like something waking after a long sleep.
Ravel stepped back, but the statue moved.
Its head tilted.
Its hands parted.
Stone dust fell like snow.
The statue's sphere crumbled entirely.
The statue's voice whispered through the clearing, barely audible but filled with weight.
"You hold what we lost."
Ravel felt his breath stop.
The other statues stirred.
A wind swept through the clearing.
The sphere in Ravel's arms shone like a captured star.
And the great tree opened its eyes.