He felt like he was suspended in time even as the jungle breathed around him. This kind of quietness was foreign to him. Somewhere inside, Muri Khan felt more alive than his heartbeat. The stories surging about it were not hushed whispers about a mere name. It was real! An ancient and mighty artifact, said to hold the power to start and finish kingdoms.
Aren never looked in Amira's direction while responding.
"Yes," he said, low and steady, "I am searching for the Muri Khan. I need to find it before someone else does."
Amira's eyes did not waver. She studied him as the jungle did-calm, inscrutable, ever-watchful. The silence stretched between them for a while before she replied.
"Alright. I will help."
Aren blinked. "Just like that?"
With a half-turn into the jungle, she nodded once.
"Wait," he hurried to her side and asked, "Are you really going to help me? No strings? No contract to negotiate?"
"I'm not here for the Muri Khan," she said, never glancing back. "I have heard what is at stake. If you go after it, you don't need to go after it alone."
Such was the answer that Muri would love to show scepticism and appreciation. "Most people want something."
"Well, most people are wasting their precious time."
It became quiet for some time. The jungle had grown denser by now. It was no longer green; it was ancient; it was calm. The trees had grown taller and closer.
The roots slithered on the ground like snakes, while old moss draped from above. The air grew heavy and damp, as if it had just poured, and breathing became exhausting.
And so, they reached the mouth of the cave-an eternity later.
The mouth was wide and dark, ready to swallow them. Inside, the tunnel glowed faintly green and blue; vines grew on the walls, and ancient carvings festered on the rocks.
They resembled symbols, moving ever so slightly each time Aren blinked, almost as if alive. Entering, the coolness encircled him.
The air smelled of wet earth and rotting vegetation, with an altogether more arcane scent- like a memory or a ghost.
Amira moved ahead slowly, cautioning her every step and keeping her bow ready to go.
He was right behind her, one hand brushing along the wall, strolling in curiosity and reverence.
"Watch yourself," Amira said softly. "Rune here... they're watchers."
"Watchers?" he repeated. "So they are magic nosy neighbors?"
No reply came from her.
In front of her, her expression was sober. Determined.
The deeper they vented, the narrower the walls became, and the dimmer began the glow. With what felt like miles of slow and careful steps, the tunnel opened into a large room-round and massive, like the inside of a tree.
It felt unreal, the way fungi glowed along the walls. Roots coiled up the room like a cathedral and had balconies and places for repose up in the shadows. This organic room pulsated with life, as if it were breathing.
It was empty but for something...a big wooden heart, glistening from dew, as if lit from within. Long, shining sticks of light streamed from it like it was the sun in the sky.
Aren was mesmerized and wondered aloud, "This is truly what I call interior decoration. Definitely beats every royal hall I have seen."
However, Amira gave no heed and kept walking toward the heart. He saw her hand stretch towards it, fingers hovering just before touching it. The tendrils seemed to reach for her, and then there, suddenly twisted around her hand.
She shut her eyes and began to whisper.
The utterances were certainly not hers-these were rather archaic and unknown, perhaps things that the earth would remember. Her voice filled the space like a soft but strong aura permeating through the roots and walls like the sweet scent of incense.
Aren stood, not moving, blade by his side, watching her.
The tendrils glimmered brighter, appearing to be feeding off the energy of her words. And then she gasped.
Amira's eyes flung open. She staggered back a few steps, and Aren reached her just in time, wrapping an arm around her to prevent her from falling. She was cold. Her breathing was fast and shallow. "Amira?"
She looked at him, barely audible, saying, "It is alive. The Heartwood... it is like a computer that stores the memory of the last events.
The wars. The blood. Those who came to take the Core last time." A shiver graced Aren's spine. "And ours will not be the one waiting for it." The chamber shook.
Vines ripped violently off the walls. They were hissing and flailing. The glowing fungi dimmed, fading from green to violet. "Go!" Aren shouted as he dragged her onwards.
It was safer now, where a big root had fallen just before them. He turned, still sword in hand, and swiftly cut a vine that had seemed to drop upon them, like hot butter. It weirdly screeched; upon a wound, a thick liquid-like blood came gushing out. Amira rolled sideways, stepped back, and shot.
Her arrow went through the second vine, which jerked and withdrew. Aren couldn't help but smile, though still in shock, "You truly weren't kidding about that place remembering, were you?" There were endless vines still craning in the way ahead, hitting fiercely, recklessly, without tiring. "Any suggestions?" he screamed.
Amira pointed to the wall, far up, close to the bend of the chamber.
"Up there! The gap-those lights. That's the location that has the weakest defense. The Core is supplying them with energy. If we kill them, it will be like switching off a device!" Aren agreed, vision searching for the passageway.
Without uttering a single word, he leapt onto the fallen root, which gave him the push to jump even higher.
He climbed rapidly, dodging and chopping off the vines with every appearance, while Amira let arrow after arrow fly, skillfully dispatching obstacles in her usual style.
His body in pain, he made it to the sill and looked into the cavity.
Inside, bulbs pulsed to the heartbeat-like rhythm of the Heartwood. They appeared alive, very delicate ones.
"Well, let's find out just how delicate," he grumbled softly.
With a grand single swing, Aren brought his sword down on them.
Light burst forth, bright as daylight, loud as if a scream.
The chamber became the voice of agony as the vines recoiled in pain and with violence. A last convulsion from above trembled the roots, and then... silence.
The heart faded slowly, into a fatigued barely felt pulse.
Aren let himself slide down next to Amira, breathing ragged.
She looked at him wide-eyed, "You... you really did it."
He smiled, wiping a bit of sap off his shirt. "I told you I am good at gardening."
Amira laughed; no, she really laughed. That sound felt so warm and genuine, ringing through the cave like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds. She closed the space between them, her face softening.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He bopped his head. "You still don't want something in return?"
Amira shook her head. "That was enough for me to help you."
They locked gazes for a second with the jungle as their witness.
Then Amira turned and pointed to the passage behind the heart, the one now emanating soft light as if it welcomed them.
"Come on. The Core is close now."
Together they walked into the light.
Tracker and warrior. Bow and blade. Secrets and an unknown thing, growing silently between them.
No matter what the Muri Khan was, no matter which course it could take, they would fight it together. And this far exceeded both their expectations for that day.