That night was not a restful one. The burn on Aidan's neck throbbed, and his mind continuously replayed the image of the dense black cloud of mosquitoes. His fitful sleep was filled with humming sounds and the sensation of needle pricks. When dawn arrived, bringing with it a cold mist from the swamp behind them, both men looked haggard, but their eyes shone with an iron resolve.
They didn't speak much, just silently ate their breakfast of hard dried meat and water. All energy was being conserved for the challenge ahead. Before them, standing like a natural fortress wall, was the Twisted Thorn Forest.
It was unlike any forest Aidan had ever seen. The trees here were gaunt, twisted in unnatural ways, their branches and leaves intertwining into a dense canopy that allowed almost no light to pass through. But what defined this place were the thorns. They weren't small bushes. They were massive thickets of thorns, their main stems as thick as a person's arm, glossy black like obsidian and covered in smaller, needle-sharp spines. They grew close together, forming walls, corridors, and dead ends, turning the forest into a deadly labyrinth.
"This place has its own rule," Kaelen said, his voice low and grave, as they stood at the edge of the forest. "And there is only one rule: never stand still for too long."
"What does that mean?" Aidan asked, his hand tightening around the boartusk spear.
Kaelen didn't answer with words. He picked up a rock and threw it deep into a narrow path between two walls of thorns. The rock landed on the ground with a dry clack. At first, nothing happened. But as they watched, a slow, almost imperceptible change began to take place. The thorn branches from both sides slowly, very slowly, began to extend, their small spines creating a horrid rasping sound on the ground. They moved like pythons constricting their prey, enveloping the rock until it completely vanished in a dense knot of thorns.
"This forest is alive," Kaelen said. "It has a collective consciousness, slow, but very hungry. If you move, it watches. If you stop, it eats."
A chill ran down Aidan's spine. This wasn't a battle of strength, but a race against a predator the size of an entire forest.
"Normal eyes aren't enough to navigate this place," Kaelen looked at Aidan. "The safest paths can turn into a trap in the blink of an eye. I need your eyes. The ones in your mind."
They stepped into the labyrinth. The air inside was suffocating and eerily silent. Dim, gray light filtered through the canopy of thorns, creating bizarre shadows on the ground. The only sounds were their own footsteps and the ghostly rustling of the constantly shifting thorn branches.
Kaelen went first, using his dagger to cut away small thorns blocking their path. But he moved with hesitation, constantly glancing around. He was like a man walking through a minefield.
"Aidan," he called softly. "Focus."
Aidan complied. He closed his eyes and reached out with his Spark. The sensation this time was completely different. It wasn't the chaos of the swamp. This was a single, vast presence, stretching across the entire forest. A slow, vegetative consciousness, but one that carried a deep, primal hunger. It was like they were walking inside the stomach of a giant, lazy beast. He could feel the "flow" of that consciousness, the places where it was "awake" and the places where it was "sleeping."
"Turn left," Aidan said suddenly. "The path ahead... I feel it's 'waking up'."
Without a moment's hesitation, Kaelen immediately changed course. They entered a narrower path. A few seconds later, they heard a creaking sound and the scraping of thorns from behind. The path they had just intended to take had completely closed.
Kaelen glanced at Aidan, a new respect and astonishment in his eyes. "Keep going, navigator."
And so, their roles were set. Kaelen was the one to clear the path, using his experience and strength to deal with physical obstacles. Aidan was the navigator, the prophet, using his supernatural sense to read the forest's intent, leading them through the "sleeping" paths, avoiding the "waking" traps. "Slow down," Aidan would whisper. "The wall on the right is preparing to reach out." Or, "Hurry, the ground beneath us... it doesn't like us being here."
It was a journey of extreme tension, requiring absolute concentration from them both. A single wrong decision could be their last.
After many hours of moving in breathless tension, Aidan sensed something different. Amidst the uniform hunger of the forest, there was a "still" point. An empty zone, carrying a feeling of despair and surrender. It wasn't a trap. It was like a scar.
"That way," he pointed. "There's a place... the forest is avoiding it."
Curious, Kaelen followed his direction. They came to a small clearing, almost perfectly circular. The surrounding walls of thorns seemed to recoil, not daring to encroach upon this land. And in the center of the clearing was a sight that made them freeze.
A human skeleton, bleached white by the years, was imprisoned in a block of amber-like sap that had hardened like stone, interspersed with thorns that had pierced through it. The person had died in a standing position, their arms held out in front as if trying to fight off an invisible force. A horrific death, buried alive by the forest itself.
"Gods above," Kaelen muttered, the hardness on his face faltering.
The skeleton's bony hand was still clutching a small leather pouch, now moldy and rotten. With great care, Kaelen used the tip of his dagger to cut the pouch free. Inside were a few items: a rusted flint and steel, a few silver coins engraved with a tree they had never seen before, and a small, leather-bound journal.
The journal was heavily water-damaged, many pages stuck together. But the first few pages were still legible. Aidan took the journal and, in the dim light, began to read the trembling handwriting.
"Day 7. Left Silverwood. Our hopes rest on the Sunken Library of the Mages. Father said it holds the knowledge to fight back the rot..."
"Day 12. The Twisted Thorn Forest is worse than the rumors. Joric was taken last night. We heard him scream. When we went back, only his crushed shield remained..."
"Day 14. I am the only one left. I think this forest thinks. It's playing with me. The paths change when I'm not looking. I can hear it singing, a lullaby of hunger and silence..."
The last line was scrawled in a panicked, chaotic hand, as if the writer had been taken mid-sentence.
"The thorns... they move when I'm not looking. It knows I'm here. It's singing to me, a song about..."
The rest was just a long, smeared streak of ink.
Aidan closed the journal, his hand trembling. Silverwood. The Sunken Library of the Mages. New names, new goals, stories of others who had walked this path and failed. His world had once again expanded, filled with forgotten histories and tragedies.
The sight of the skeleton and the stranger's tragic story spurred them on. They had no more time for fear. With Aidan's now more precise guidance, they pushed their pace, crossing the rest of the forest in silence.
And then, as suddenly as they had entered, they escaped.
They nearly stumbled out of the forest's edge, blinking in the bright sunlight. Fresh air filled their lungs. Behind them was the terrifying, black wall of thorns. But ahead, the sight made them forget all their fatigue.
The ground began to slope upwards, forming rugged, rocky hills. And in the distance, for the first time, a majestic mountain range appeared before them, its sharp peaks reaching for the blue sky, covered in a layer of snow that sparkled under the sun.
The Silent Mountains.
Their destination was in sight. They had overcome another trial, a test of spirit and trust. But they carried with them the story of one who had fallen, and a journal filled with new mysteries. The journey was still long, but now, they could see the light at the end of the path.