When the Gods Fall, I Will Rise
Chapter 43: The Forest That Watches
The Prime Pillar's brilliance slowly dimmed, but the memory of its visions lingered in my mind like smoke after fire. The branching corridors awaited, each glowing faintly with its own light. Green. Silver. Red. Choices carved not merely in stone, but in destiny.
My gaze lingered on the green-lit path. Its glow was softer than the others, but insistent, as though it breathed in rhythm with my pulse. The light spilled outward in tendrils that looked like vines, curling gently across the stone floor, beckoning.
Serenya followed my eyes and frowned. "The Verdant Vein," she murmured, voice edged with unease. "The forest preserved there is no mere memory. It is alive. It remembers its conquerors, its caretakers, and those who betrayed it. Of all paths, this one hungers most for recognition."
Despite her warning, my feet moved forward as though pulled by an unseen tether. The closer I drew, the stronger the scent of earth and moss became. The air thickened with the aroma of rainfall, of sap freshly split from bark. By the time I stepped past the arch of stone, the cavern had dissolved around me.
I stood beneath an ancient canopy.
The sky was gone, hidden by colossal trees that soared so high their crowns fused into a single roof of green shadow. Each trunk was broad enough to house an entire hall, their bark etched with spiraling glyphs that pulsed faintly with inner light. Vines hung like curtains, weaving natural walls that shifted subtly, almost breathing. A chorus of unseen insects and birds filled the silence, layered with whispers like the faint murmur of language I almost but not quite recognized.
The forest was not still. It watched.
Every rustle in the branches, every flicker of shadow, felt deliberate. My instincts prickled as though unseen eyes were fixed upon me from every angle.
"This is no ordinary wood," Serenya said, stepping beside me, her voice steady but subdued. "Long before the gods carved their thrones, mortals here worshiped trees older than time itself. They believed the roots of this forest touched every world. When the gods came, they tried to sever those roots." She paused, her expression unreadable. "But forests have long memories."
I pressed my palm against the nearest trunk. The bark was warm, almost feverish, and a thrum of energy coursed through me, rhythmic, alive. For a heartbeat, I saw visions: warriors in bark-woven armor kneeling before a tree whose branches pierced the sky; a harvest festival where glowing fruits spilled into baskets; and then, fire. Trees screaming as they burned, their voices echoing like human cries. I staggered back, breath ragged.
"The Vein shares its pain," Serenya said quietly. "It wants you to know what it has endured."
The ground trembled faintly. Vines shifted across the earth, curling toward my feet like serpents testing their prey. Not hostile, but curious. They brushed against my boots, then retreated, leaving faint streaks of glowing pollen. I couldn't help but shiver.
We followed a path that seemed to form as we walked, the undergrowth parting just enough for our passage. Along the way, we passed towering idols carved into living trees faces of forgotten deities with eyes half-shut in eternal slumber. Some wept sap like blood. Others bore scars of axes that never fully healed, their wounds glowing faintly as though refusing to close.
"The people here did not die in battle," Serenya said, tracing one scar with her fingertips. "They gave themselves to the forest. When the gods demanded sacrifice, the forest answered instead. Their souls wove into the roots, and the trees became vessels of their memory."
As if to confirm her words, faint silhouettes stirred within the bark faces pressed beneath the surface, mouths frozen in silent song. Their eyes flickered open briefly as we passed, glowing with a light that felt both mournful and protective.
The deeper we went, the darker the forest grew, though not from lack of light. Shadows moved where they shouldn't, stretching across the trees like living things. The whispers grew louder, words forming at the edges of my comprehension. My name again. Spoken not once, but many times, in many voices.
"Why does it know me?" I asked, unsettled.
"Because you walk where gods once did," Serenya replied. "And because the Spire has already claimed a piece of you. The forest can sense it."
We came at last to a clearing where the trees bent inward, forming a cathedral of branches. At its center rose an immense root system that spiraled upward into a throne-like shape. Glowing fruit hung from its tangled limbs, casting a soft golden light across the clearing. The air thrummed with a power older than stone.
I felt drawn to the throne, though dread knotted in my chest. The vines shifted, forming steps that led directly to its roots. The whispers surged into a single unified murmur: Sit. Remember. Bind.
Serenya's hand caught my arm. Her eyes were sharp, urgent. "Do not give in. This throne is no gift. It binds whoever claims it. Many have sat before, thinking themselves chosen, only to vanish into the roots. Their faces still live in the bark."
I looked back toward the towering trees, and sure enough, dozens of faint faces shimmered in the bark around the clearing, all frozen mid-scream.
The throne pulsed faintly, as if aware of my hesitation. The forest wanted me needed me. And in my chest, that ember I carried flared, resonating with the forest's rhythm.
For the first time, I felt the Spire itself was not guiding me blindly, but waiting for me to choose whether to resist its pull or embrace it.
To be continued...