"I'd love to learn from someone who gave Solari a run for his money," Torglel said, laughing loud and slapping me on the back—his hand landing like a hammer blow that nearly realigned my spine. The forest still buzzed around us, thick with that electric hum I couldn't shake.
"Thuumar, your name is Laboritus, right?" the field mouse asked, her tiny voice somehow cutting through Torglel's sonic boom.
"I am—yes. And your name might be?" He replied, keeping his voice steady as he narrowed my eyes.
"I'm Seluvia. I noticed your quiver is empty," she said, flicking a glance toward the leather slung over his shoulder.
"It is. I used every arrow fighting off monstrosities before we got here," he said, letting a flicker of pride sneak in.
"What if you never had to run out again?" she asked, tilting her head with a mischievous glint.
"Don't be preposterous—who's ever heard of an infinite arrow quiver?"
"Who's ever heard of a Thuumar archer with a sense of humor?" she snapped, not missing a beat.
My mouth twitched. She was faster than she looked.
"My magic can enchant your quiver to endlessly reproduce any arrow placed inside it," she said, calm and annoyingly confident.
A silence settled as we processed that. I caught myself waiting for the punchline. But this was the same mouse who could bend time and paralyze people with a single word. So... yeah. Magic arrow bag didn't seem that far-fetched anymore.
Laboritus hesitated, then lowered the quiver to the mossy ground with quiet reverence.
Seluvia placed her tiny hands over it and began to chant. The air rippled. Her words were harsh, guttural, old. A red glow flared to life around the quiver, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And something slithered into my thoughts, uninvited as always.
"She's chanting in Velythric—thenightmare tongue of demons."
The forest dropped away. I was back in the dark and familiar.
Him again. My other self. Red eyes gleaming like coals in a furnace. Wings curled behind him like folded knives.
"How do you know about the language of demons?" I asked, throat dry.
He grinned—hungry. "Same reason the Drydalis have red eyes and dark skin. You're one of us. You've always been one of us."
The forest snapped back like bone breaking
"Solari, are you okay?" Alythiel asked, her hand steady on my shoulder.
"Yeah. I'm fine," I lied, blinking fast as the glow around the quiver faded. The whisper still echoed faintly. My stomach churned.
Laboritus picked up the enchanted quiver, turning it over like it might bite. "Now I just need some arrows," he said, almost casual. "Preferably different types."
Petrus and Seluvia led us deeper, the path narrowing into a corridor of hanging vines and whispering leaves. Then, like stepping through an invisible veil, the trees parted—and the world changed. The forest had shaped itself into a city.
Structures spiraled up the trunks of ancient trees, carved from living bark and laced with silver-threaded vines. Bridges of flowering roots linked each level, and bioluminescent moss pulsed along the walkways like starlight. Badgers in tunics. Squirrels in sashes. Foxes with satchels. The forest had a fashion sense and wasn't afraid to flaunt it.
"Welcome to Magicae Hollow," Petrus said proudly, his staff tapping the root-stone beneath us. "Sanctuary of the Magicae. A place hidden from time, built by those transformed by the forest's oldest magic."
"You built all this?" I asked, eyes wide, trying to take in a spiral-shaped building clinging to a tree the size of a castle.
"No," Petrus said, puffing his chest. "The forest built us. We just learned how to live with it."
A fox in a deep purple cloak passed us, nodding politely as he carried a tea tray. A badger and a mouse argued over mushroom prices at a glowing stall. A raccoon in armor polished a spear.
"I don't know if this is paradise," I muttered, "or a hallucination caused by breathing too much enchanted pollen."
"Bit of both," Seluvia chirped, utterly unbothered.
That would explain it.
"If you follow me," she added, "I'll take you to the best merchants in the Hollow." She scampered off, tail flicking. Alythiel and Laboritus followed, leaving Torglel and me with Petrus.
Petrus gestured for us to follow. "You two are with me. Time to see the field where your training begins."
We walked a few steps in silence before I finally asked,
"Wait—did you write the note they found with me as a baby?"
Petrus paused, turned, and met my eyes. He nodded, solemn. "Yes. That was my doing. I wanted to help you when the time came."
My stomach flipped. "So you always intended to train me?"
"Yes. I knew what you were... even before you could walk. Your father wanted a perfect heir."
He hesitated, just for a breath.
"But you weren't his to shape. That's why I took you."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"You know who my father is?"
Petrus nodded. "Aye. Zolphan Dormier. The leader of Nox Arcanus."
The world tilted sideways, like the ground had betrayed me. Air punched out of my chest and didn't come back. My father. The enemy. The monster behind it all.
"Why is he doing this?" My voice shook—could barely get the words out.
Petrus's eyes were hard. "He's trying to unlock the true power of the Drydalis," his gaze met mine. "He believes their demonic blood holds untapped potential. He's been experimenting—on his own people. Trying to draw it out. But instead of evolving, they've regressed. Become feral."
Torglel's face twisted. "You mean those things Laboritus and I fought...?"
Petrus nodded. "Twisted products of his attempts at perfection."
I barely heard them. My thoughts were shards. Truth doesn't stab once, it twists the blade in deeper.
"Then how did I end up with the dwarves?"
"I took you," Petrus said quietly. "He meant to raise you himself. Mold you into his perfect weapon. I couldn't let that happen. So I gave you to the dwarves. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he'd never reach."
The ground felt unsteady. I staggered. Fell to my knees.
All the questions I'd ever asked about who I was—every answer worse than the last.
I pressed my palms to the dirt, breath coming in shudders.
I knelt there, head in my hands, trying to hold together a life that suddenly didn't belong to me at all.
"No this can't be real."
Be careful what you wish for. I get it now. I really do.
The world dissolved at the edges, everything bleeding away—shouts, sunlight, the bite of dirt in my palms. The void crept in....again.
And then—him. Smirking. Always smirking.
"Oh, it's very much real," he said, that voice like rusted iron. "And deep down, you've always known."
"T'raka vosh!" I shouted. The words weren't Locari. Weren't Gnomish. Not even Dwarvish.
The words didn't rise from my throat. They cracked from my bones. They were something older. Something mine.
"Solari! Solari!"
I snapped back to the forest—chest heaving, drenched in sweat.
Alythiel knelt in front of me, worry sharp in her eyes. "You were muttering," her voice soft but urgent. "Words I didn't recognize."
My hands were trembling, nails dug into the earth. I felt sweat cold on my forehead, my whole body still twitching with the last shivers of whatever had taken hold of me. I wiped my mouth. My throat felt scraped raw. "How has Zolphan stayed hidden this long?"
"He disappeared beneath the surface. We've got eyes and ears all over—Magicae and otherwise. Still came up empty."
Torglel grabbed my arm and hauled me upright like I weighed nothing.
"Y'know," he said, grinning, "remind me never to complain about my cousin stealing my sweet roll again. You win. You absolutely win."
I laughed. Dry, cracked—but real.
Torglel raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you had baggage. But me? I win with inheritance."
He snorted. "Don't get cocky just 'cause you won this round, lad. Next time, I'm taking home the prize for worst luck."
I exhaled, and let myself breathe for the time.
The truth wasn't freedom. It was a chain. Coiled around my blood, crafted in someone else's nightmare. But it was mine. And I would carry it—
even if it dragged me under.