The trees narrowed before we saw them.
It started with birdsong. Too perfect. No breaks, no scattered rhythms—like it had been arranged. Then came the pressure. A presence I couldn't see, but I felt it all the same. Not magic, exactly. Not like the Veilstep's pull. This was older. Woven into the roots, threaded through the branches. A kind of watchfulness.
Selaithe stopped walking.
Her head turned slightly, ears twitching—or ear, rather, with the jagged cut where the other had once been. She didn't smile. Didn't joke.
She just said, "We're close."
I adjusted the sword on my back and took a slow breath. The path had narrowed into a trail of mossy stones, ringed by high ferns and bark carved in patterns I couldn't read. We'd left the last traces of human roads behind miles ago. Even the air smelled different here—less like pine, more like something sweet and foreign. Like flowers that didn't want to be found.
Then something moved.
Not ahead. Above.
A shape dropped soundlessly onto the path in front of us—cloak drawn tight, face hidden beneath a wooden half-mask carved with swirling runes. The bow in their hand was already notched. I hadn't even seen it drawn.
"Step carefully," the scout said. Voice light. Young. Female.
I froze. So did Selaithe.
From the trees above, three more figures materialized. All cloaked in bark-toned leathers, all masked, all armed. Longbows. Spear-hooks. One of them had a curved blade I'd only ever seen drawn in a book labeled Ceremonial Only—Do Not Touch.
"We're not here to cause trouble," Selaithe said calmly.
One of the scouts above snorted. "That's what trouble always says."
The first scout stepped closer. She tilted her head, mask shifting enough to catch the light.
Then her voice sharpened.
"…Your ear."
Selaithe didn't flinch. "Wasn't their finest work."
"You're woodborn," the scout said, less a question than an accusation. "And yet you come back like this. In human garb. With a child of Velmire?"
My jaw tensed. "I'm not—"
"Kaelen Selkareth," the scout cut in. "Runaway. Stolen sword. Tainted aura."
My mouth dried.
Selaithe took a step forward, subtly angling her shoulder in front of me.
"If we were threats," she said, "we wouldn't be walking on foot through the ancestral paths like idiots."
"You don't have permission."
"I don't need permission," Selaithe said evenly. "I was born here."
The scout hesitated. Then gave a short whistle.
The figures above vanished. Not leapt. Not ran.
Vanished.
The first scout turned, motioned with two fingers. "You'll come. One wrong move, and we pin your shadows to the trees."
"Very warm welcome," Selaithe muttered.
The scout didn't respond.
We followed.
⟡
The village of Sylrienn was built into the trees.
Not around them—into them. Every branch, every curve of wood had been shaped, not cut. Homes spiraled around thick trunks, their roots forming walkways and bridges. Lanterns glowed faint blue, suspended in glass orbs that shimmered like dew. I saw deer walking alongside children barefoot in bark-woven clothing, their eyes bright with suspicion as we passed.
Everyone looked at us.
More specifically—at me.
They didn't say my name. But they knew it.
I could feel it in the way they flinched at the sword on my back. In the way one elder whispered behind a hand carved from vines. The Selkareth name had reached even this deep.
We were escorted to a raised platform wrapped around the oldest tree I'd ever seen. Its bark was silver-grey, veins of gold threading through it like lightning caught in wood. Selaithe stood tall beside me, chin up, unreadable. But I could see her hands shaking slightly. Not from fear.
From memory.
A door opened in the trunk itself.
An elf stepped out.
Older than anyone I'd seen here, hair braided with roots and feathers, eyes like sap hardened under moonlight. He wore no crown. No armor. But the air changed when he entered.
"Selaithe."
She stiffened. "Uncle."
My eyes widened. Uncle?
He looked at her ear.
Then at me.
His voice was soft but sharp.
"You brought a Selkareth child to Sylrienn. Why?"
"Because he's more than his name," Selaithe said. "And because the world behind us wants him dead."
"That's not my concern."
"It should be."
They stared at each other for a long time. Then he sighed, turning his back.
"You may stay one week. The boy will be watched. His aura is unstable."
I tensed.
Selaithe stepped closer to him, lowered her voice—but I still heard it.
"If you sell him out… I'll cut your other eye."
The elder turned back slowly. "Still feral, then."
"Still honest," she said.
We were led to a small tree-house platform near the edge of the village. Two beds. One basin. A single glowing orb hung from the ceiling like a caged moon.
I sat on the floor. My legs were shaking.
"…You okay?" Selaithe asked.
"No."
She sat next to me. "Yeah. Me neither."
I looked at her. "Why didn't you tell me you were from here?"
"Would it have helped?"
"…No."
She nodded. "Exactly."
I stared out the window, where the trees whispered like they were passing judgment.
"They hate me."
"Yeah. But only half as much as they pretend to."
"And the other half?"
"They fear you."
"…Good."
She smirked. "Now you're starting to sound like me."
I didn't smile.
Not yet.
Not until the orb above us dimmed and the sounds of Sylrienn fell into quiet.
Then, maybe, I allowed myself a breath that didn't hurt.
Maybe.
⟡
Sylrienn was quiet at night.
Not dead, not empty—just… reverent. Like the village itself had learned to whisper. The wood elf homes were carved into the living trees, not built onto them. Bridges stretched between branches, glowing faintly with woven mana. Lights like trapped stars swayed in hanging lanterns, casting shadows that felt like they belonged.
I couldn't sleep. Not really.
Even with the safety, the food, the roof that wasn't leaking cold onto my spine—my body didn't believe it yet. My muscles twitched like they still expected to run.
Selaithe sat perched on a wooden beam above me, legs swinging, chewing on a dried fruit she'd swiped from someone's unattended basket earlier.
She'd made five friends and two enemies in under a day.
"Elves are weird," she muttered, eyes on the moon. "Too graceful. Too polite. I think one of them tried to bless me when I said hi."
I didn't reply.
I was busy staring at the sword Calden had left me. Still wrapped. Still heavier than it should be.
Selaithe dropped down beside me like a stone wrapped in silk. "You keep staring at it like it's going to bite you."
"It might."
She leaned in, resting her chin on my shoulder. "So. Since we're in a mystical tree village of neutrality and overgrown ambiance…"
"Ambiance?"
"Shut up. Since we're safe for like five minutes, why don't you actually use it?"
I blinked. "What?"
"The sword. Your magic. Whatever it is you've been bottling since we escaped Tharionne. You've been wound tighter than a noble's manners, and I'm bored. Do something cool."
I hesitated. "It's dangerous."
"I'm dangerous," she said, grinning. "You don't see me hiding under a blanket of trauma."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is life. Come on, Kaelen. Show me what kind of warrior you're turning into."
She was half-joking. But only half.
I unwrapped the blade.
It hummed.
Not audibly—but something in the air shifted the moment it breathed open. The wood beneath us creaked like it knew this wasn't just a sword. It was Calden's. It was history. Expectation. Weight.
I stepped out into the small open grove behind the upper roost, where elven warriors sometimes practiced with spirit-laced spears. The moss was soft, the air tinted with incense and leafdust.
Selaithe followed and sat cross-legged on a stone, hands under her chin, watching me like I was about to put on a puppet show.
"I'm not a performer," I muttered.
"You're holding a sword made by a man who moves like murder in slow motion. You're a performer whether you like it or not."
I breathed in. Felt the weight settle.
And then I moved.
Dragon Style.
The forms were deliberate. Controlled. Measured. My feet sank low, my spine locked straight. I drew lines through the air like a noble's calligraphy—each slash steady, each turn rooted. It wasn't fast. It wasn't chaotic. But it was proud. Sharp. Regal.
Selaithe whistled. "Someone's been practicing."
"My instructor… drilled it into me. Every day. Every step. Until my feet bled."
Her eyes flicked to the sword, then to me. "Still holding back."
I exhaled. She was right.
Beast Style.
I let my balance drop. Let instinct creep in.
And then it changed.
The sword became lighter. My feet moved faster. The swings weren't elegant—they were hungry. I leapt between stances like something feral was pulling my limbs forward. One strike carved low through the moss, the next high enough to slice phantom necks.
Selaithe stood without meaning to. Her hand hovered near her knife, but not from fear.
From awe.
"You move like something's chasing you," she said quietly.
"It always is."
Then—without warning—I closed my eyes.
And stepped sideways.
Veilstep.
It wasn't teleportation. Not exactly. It was… slipping. I felt the world fold briefly. Like ducking under a curtain of breath. One step forward—across the grove—and I reappeared behind her, sword already lowered, not pointed at anything.
Selaithe turned slowly.
"That was new."
"It's unstable," I said, voice low. "It tears if I push too hard."
Her mouth quirked. "So don't tear."
"You don't understand—"
"No," she said, stepping close, placing her palm against my chest, over my heartbeat. "You don't understand. I've seen you fall asleep with your hand still on the hilt. I've seen the way your aura twitches when you flinch. You've got all this power boiling under your skin, and you keep locking it up like it's going to explode."
"It will explode."
"Then let it."
Her hand dropped.
"But learn how. Before someone else makes the choice for you."
I stood there, breathing hard, sword still faintly buzzing in my grip.
We were still being hunted. Calden and Veyr weren't gone—they were waiting. Somewhere. And the more I trained, the closer I got to something that might give them a reason to stop chasing me.
Or a reason to chase harder.
Selaithe stepped away and stretched like a cat.
"That was hot," she said casually.
"What?"
She grinned. "Sword-boy doing magic flips? Total crush fuel. If I was one year older I'd propose."
"We're seven."
"Exactly. This gives you time to prepare."
I sheathed the sword before she could say anything else that made my brain short out.
But I didn't deny it felt good.
For a moment, just one—
I felt like someone who could choose what happened next.
Not just survive it.
⟡
That night, the sky above Sylrienn swirled with purple clouds and whispering winds. Spirits danced in the upper boughs—harmless, watching.
Selaithe lay nearby, braid undone, eyes half-lidded.
"You looked like him," she murmured. "Your instructor. When you moved."
I turned my head. "That's a compliment?"
"It's a warning," she said softly.
The wind outside rustled the leaves like it agreed.
And sleep didn't come easy after that.