The forest narrowed until there was nowhere left to go but forward. Roots braided the earth into a stairway of gnarled wood, and above it loomed the Entrance Tree.
It wasn't merely large—it commanded space. The trunk rose higher than any tower in Greyspire City, bark the color of storm-cloud ash, its base so wide ten men could not encircle it hand in hand. A slow, steady creak passed through the air as its boughs shifted in a wind that none of them felt on their skin. Moss glowed faintly along the ridges, pale green light breathing in and out like the tree was alive in more ways than one.
Caleb stopped short, his jaw tight.
"You've never been past here?" Malachi asked, stepping up beside him.
Caleb didn't look away from the trunk. "I've seen it from a distance. You don't go in unless you plan on not coming out."
Gideon huffed. "So, same as every cursed place we've been."
"It's different," Caleb muttered. His hand twitched toward the druid staff he had picked from a branch earlier—already half-stripped of its leaves. "This tree… it listens."
Eliakim brushed dust from his Codex of Imreth and began sketching the outline of the entrance, his charcoal dragging across parchment in slow arcs. "Good. That means we can speak to it. Negotiate."
"Negotiate?" Ezra asked, her voice calm but curious.
"Or it will speak to us whether we're ready or not," Eliakim replied without looking up.
The bark shifted. Not in the casual sway of wood but in a way that pulled their attention like a voice—lines rearranging, textures bending until the knots resembled deep, unblinking eyes.
A shiver ran through Caleb's shoulders. "It wants something before it lets us through."
The First Trial – Caleb
Without warning, a section of root slid up like a ramp and coiled around Caleb's foot, tugging him forward. He stumbled, and the world twisted.
The others saw him step through the arch of roots and vanish, the moss-light winking out where he'd been.
Inside, Caleb stood in a glade that smelled of smoke and resin. Before him lay his home from years past, the true home—long since gone—its timber walls intact, the old hearth still burning. On the table was the bow of his ancestors, the one he carried now, and beside it, the same staff he held in his hand.
A whisper rustled through the branches above. The staff's gift is not free.
He gripped it tighter. "I know what you want."
Each time you draw on the heartwood's magic, you grow closer to the tree's age. One day you will not put it down, and it will finish the work.
He had suspected. He had seen the deep lines in the faces of elder druids who'd used such weapons too long.
The vision shifted—the staff rotting in his hands, his hair white, his joints knotted like bark. His bow lay untouched on the table.
Choose, the forest said.
He closed his eyes, breathed through his teeth, and released the staff. In his hand, the bow appeared—solid, warm, familiar. When the vision broke, he was back before the others. The root uncoiled.
He didn't speak of what he'd seen. But Eliakim watched him for a long moment before marking something in the Codex.
The Second Trial – Ezra
The tree's mosslight dimmed. The roots shifted again, curling into an arch before Ezra. She met its silent call without flinching, stepping inside.
The moment she crossed, the world bled into tones of deep blue. Her blindfold was gone, but her sight returned in full, crisp detail—sharper than reality. She stood in an open plain under a moon so close it filled half the sky.
The wind carried voices she recognized but couldn't place—urgent, calling her name.
A shape approached in the distance. Not a monster. A person.
She tried to push her mana perception outward. The moment she did, the figure blurred, the air crackled, and a spike of pain drilled into her mind. The voice of the forest rode the wind: To see all is to lose the self.
The figure stepped closer—half her height, hand outstretched. She wanted to reach back, but her hands wouldn't move.
Then the scene snapped away. She was outside again, her blindfold still in place, the others staring.
"You're pale," Gideon said.
"I'm fine," she lied, though her pulse wouldn't slow.
The Third Trial – Malachi
The roots didn't ask his permission. They surged up around Malachi and dragged him inside before he could curse them.
The scene he faced was not a forest, nor a home—it was a battlefield. Ash underfoot, corpses scattered. He recognized the slope of the hill, the broken watchtower. He also recognized the faces of the fallen.
They weren't all enemies.
The forest's voice was low this time, almost gentle. You do not regret the fight. You regret the quiet after.
He looked down. His mace was slick with blood.
One in your group smells of this quiet, the voice said. It draws the hunt.
His head snapped up. "Who?"
But the scene dissolved, and he was back with the others, his expression dark.
The Path Inward
The Entrance Tree's roots parted. The way forward was a corridor of woven branches, wide enough for two abreast, bending into the first curve of the Forbidden Canopy's interior. The air thickened with the scent of wet bark and a sound like a thousand heartbeats beneath their feet.
Eliakim traced the route in the Codex of Imreth—starting at the southeast red point on the map you'd drawn and marking each twist of the passage.
As they moved, the forest seemed to breathe with them. When they spoke quietly, the leaves only rustled faintly; when their voices rose, the branches tensed overhead.
Ezra walked with her hand hovering near trunks, feeling for the subtle shifts in mana. "It's… listening to how we feel," she murmured.
Gideon didn't like that. "Forests don't listen. They burn, they rot, or they grow."
"This one doesn't burn," Caleb said grimly.
The Suspicion Tightens
At the second bend of the path, the moss dimmed sharply. Shapes rustled in the branches above, too quick to track. Everyone froze, weapons half-raised.
The sound passed them by—but the movement circled around one member of the group before dispersing into the shadows.
Eliakim's eyes narrowed, flicking from face to face. "It's narrowing in."
"On who?" Gideon asked.
No one answered.
The silence after was heavier than before.
By the time they reached the wide, cavern-like chamber just before the northwest bend, they had each glanced over their shoulder more than once. The forest had not attacked—but it had marked them.
Somewhere ahead, deeper into the map's central area, lay the Heart of the Canopy. And whatever waited there would know them better than they knew themselves.