Mike had never seen trees move before.
At first, he thought it was just the wind. The branches swayed, the leaves whispered, and the forest seemed to breathe like a living thing. But the deeper he ventured into the strange world, the more he noticed—these trees moved with intention. Their limbs shifted without breeze, and their roots curled and uncurled like sleeping fingers.
He walked beneath a canopy of violet and green, Aero nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest. She had fallen asleep shortly after the makeshift bandage was tied in place. Even asleep, her small body radiated warmth.
Her feathers, soft and black as silk, shimmered faintly in the dappled light. They looked almost too perfect for a creature so young, untouched by time or dust. Every now and then, her wing would twitch, and her tiny talons would flex in his shirt.
"Hang in there," Mike whispered.
The glowing moss beneath his feet pulsed with each step, guiding him like a path through the living woods. But when he reached a cluster of trees at the forest's heart, the moss stopped.
The trees here were ancient—twice as tall as those before, with bark like polished obsidian and leaves that changed color as he watched. They were arranged in a circle, and in their center stood a stone pedestal covered in vines. It pulsed with the same light he'd seen in the cave.
Mike stepped closer, but the ground refused to glow beneath him. He hesitated, then stepped into the circle.
The trees groaned.
Their limbs creaked and stretched, shifting to form a barrier behind him. The canopy closed overhead, casting the clearing into a kaleidoscope of dim, shimmering light.
A deep voice—not quite a voice—rumbled through the clearing.
"One has come."
Mike's hand shot to the bow on his back. Aero stirred in his arm.
"One who bears the mark of change. One who carries the lost wing."
Mike looked down at Aero. The downy feathers on her head shimmered faintly under the light.
"I'm just trying to help her," he said aloud. "I don't want trouble."
The trees didn't respond with words. Instead, they moved again—roots parting the ground around the pedestal, revealing a narrow hole just big enough for a hand.
Mike stepped forward cautiously. The pedestal pulsed once.
"To walk this world, you must be chosen."
He glanced down at Aero, then slipped his hand into the hole.
For a moment—nothing.
Then pain.
A flash of light surged through his body, and the bow on his back grew warm, humming with energy. Aero let out a faint chirp and nuzzled deeper into his shirt.
The pedestal pulsed again, and the stone shifted—revealing a compartment hidden within.
Inside lay a satchel. It looked simple: stitched leather with a bone clasp and an embroidered symbol that matched the carvings from the cave.
He reached for it.
The moment his fingers touched the strap, the pedestal dimmed, and the trees sighed—relaxing, receding, their branches uncurling from the sky.
Mike opened the satchel. It was far deeper than it appeared from the outside. He reached into it and pulled out a waterskin, a small coil of rope, and a folded piece of cloth that shimmered when the light hit it.
A magic bag.
A gift.
"He who listens walks with life," the voice murmured one last time.
"Follow the path unseen."
Then the moss lit up again, forming a new trail that stretched into the dense forest beyond.
Mike adjusted Aero in his arms, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and followed the light.
He didn't know where it would lead.
But he had passed whatever test the trees had given him.
And he was ready for what came next.