As Fenix delved deeper and deeper into the Western Forest, following the worn markings on Solis's map, he began slowing down; not out of tiredness, but quiet awe.
The fog that had earlier clung to the edge of the forest had already lessened, spreading into pale tendrils that drifted harmlessly through the trees.
Without it, the forest exposed itself in ways that Fenix had not anticipated, or even been warned about.
It was beautiful.
Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy in warm streams of gold. Dew-dappled grass shone up through the soles of his boots. It was as if the ground was carpeted with tiny shards of glass.
Trees thrust their ancient roots above the soil. These were covered in moss, a land tamed. It was as if the rain had recently pounded the earth. Everything was fresh. There was the muffled sound of running water, too, a thick background murmur.
It was the kind of place that might appear on the walls of the cathedral, or in the pages of a fairytale.
And yet—
There was something amiss.
The feeling seeped into him gradually, with the passing of the hours, like a cold seeping into his bones. Fenix became aware of it when he stopped to take a drink from his waterskin and noticed that something was off.
There was no birdsong.
There was no rustling of small animals scurrying through the thickets. There was no hum of insects, chirping cicadas, or distant cry of anything living.
The forest was silent.
Not peaceful silence, but watchful silence
He had always been raised among the din: the constant whispers of the servants, the ring of steel in the training courts, the laughter and the arguments that reverberated through the halls of the palace. There had always been life, even at night.
Here, the silent pressed in on him all around.
Fenix swallowed and clenched his fist around the map, forcing his mind to center on its smudged ink. There was a settlement, Solis had indicated by his markings, not too far off. It was small, isolated, and situated at a river bend.
He'd arrive there by day after next, if his reckoning of the distance was any good.
That was a comforting thought.
He sidestepped a huge tree root that was growing diagonally over the path—
And froze.
A shiver ran violently down his spine.
For a fleeting moment, no longer than a heartbeat, he felt it.
Eyes
Not one pair.
Many.
Observing.
Fenix whirled around suddenly, taking a breath with throat constricted, the hand going automatically towards the dagger at his belt.
He looked around at the trees and the shadows between.
Nothing.
Only trunks. Leaves. Light
He was standing, immobile, listening.
Seconds passed.
Then—
A soft giggle rang out among the trees.
It wasn't loud. Nor was it threatening.
However, every muscle in Fenix's body was tense.
The ash circling his wrist contracted fiercely, as if made of living, breathing material. A muted hiss escaped through his clenched teeth, his eyes darting to the subtle, almost imperceptible darkening of the strange substance.
"Focus," he muttered to himself.
Laughter echoed once more—this time nearer.
Fenix slowly turned, his heart pounding, his senses stretched to the limit.
There was a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye.
Fabric was brushed against the bark.
A dull thud echoed as something, or someone, landed quietly on the ground.
Fenix turned, blade half-drawn
Then stopped.
Before him was a boy, no older than he was.
His black hair was draped down his back in heavy tangles with red leaves strung through it, the work of moments ago, with the leaves rustling down nearly to the elbows. A lone dark feather was attached to one ear. His clothing was dark green with tints of black so muted that it was nearly indistinguishable from the foliage around him—Fenix had trouble understanding how he'd overlooked him.
Dark green eyes looked at him openly and laughed.
"Hello, there!" exclaimed the boy cheerfully, as if they had encountered each other on a palatial road, not an empty, haunted forest path.
Instantly, the ashes relaxed their hold.
The pressure around Fenix's wrist relaxed, retreating into a dormant state.
Fenix did not relax, however.
His eyes clouded and his stance went defensive.
"Who might you say you are?" he questioned cautiously, his voice even and low.
The boy smiled. "I'm Aeris."
He studied Fenix openly, his eyes darting quickly from the ash to the charm resting beneath his tunic.
"And you are Fenix, of course," Aeris went on, smiling. "Cassius has told me a lot about you, too."
Fenix stiffened
"Cassius?" he inquired, suspicious.
Aeris blinked. "Oh? He didn't mention me?"
Slowly, Fenix shook his head.
Aeris hummed thoughtfully. "Odd. I guess he didn't think it was relevant either, then." His eyes deliberately lowered. "That pendant you are wearing. I'm the one who gave that to him."
Fenix stared.
The boy simply tilted his head, smiling as if he had not said anything out of the ordinary.
However, before Fenix could react, Aeris quickly turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the deeper forest.
"Well?" he added casually. "You coming?"
And without giving her a chance to respond, he started moving away—he wasn't moving along the path, but into a direction that looked like it was chosen totally randomly.
"Wait—!" Fenix began, then caught himself.
There was only a moment's hesitation before he followed.
They walked in silence.
The forest seemed to be breathing around them—leaves lightly rustling, trees swaying in the absence of wind. Fenix was ever vigilant, monitoring Aeris out of the corner of his vision.
Then he heard it.
A faint, rhythmic rustling.
Fenix's head jerked up.
His eyes widened.
Under Aeris' robes spread out two immense wings of black obsidian. They shimmered with faint light wherever the sun touched them. They flexed with ease, folding and extending as if they'd been there the whole time—as if they'd never been absent. This was perfectly concealed.
Fenix slowly breathed out through his nose.
He said nothing. Drawed no weapon. Asked no questions.
But all he did was follow.
Maybe he should have been scared.
Perhaps he should have turned back.
However, a part of him, a weary part, didn't care anymore.
If this forest was going to deceive him, then so be it.
He sighed aloud; the sound was swallowed by the trees.
This was the life he had to live now, he guessed.
And so, for better or worse—
It had only just begun.