The council chamber was a memory now. Lirien had swept out first, his cloak cutting the silence like a blade. Sira lingered by Aria's side, offering a gentleness the others never did.
"Don't let their stares sink into you," she murmured, her voice low enough to feel like a secret. "This castle is colder than it looks. I'll return later, when the torches burn low."
And with that, she left, her figure vanishing down the corridor.
For the first time since she had woken in this alien world, Aria was alone. Truly alone. No watchful eyes, no voices she couldn't quite trust. Only the hush of stone and fire, the distant murmur of the tree's light bleeding through the windows.
Her gaze fell to the diary.
It lay on the table like something waiting, patient and certain. She brushed her fingers across its surface. The parchment was rough, brittle with age, and yet when her hand lingered, the letters stirred faintly—as if the fruit she had eaten had carved a path between her and this ancient hand.
She drew in a breath and began to read.
The forests here are not silent—they are alive, ancient, fierce. Every shadow moves, every root twists, and the air hums with the pulse of creatures unseen. Yet it was here, in this place where I thought myself hunted, that I found them—the Amoths.
They live not against the wild but with it. Their homes curve into stone softened by time. Their fires do not burn; they glow, fed by sparks coaxed from the earth itself. When they feast, the whole forest listens. Drums echo against the hills, and the stars seem to bow lower to hear their laughter.
I was a stranger. They welcomed me still.
Among them I saw a boy—Yougen.
The elders call him reckless. He does not listen when told to still his tongue. His eyes are always turned to the sky, as though he is searching for something he cannot name. He asked me about the world beyond the trees. About the stars. About whether there was more than roots and rivers. His spirit is restless, but bright. Foolish, perhaps. And yet… he calls me friend, and I find myself answering.
Aria traced the last word with her fingertip, lips parted. The pages felt less like history and more like memory whispered in her ear. She didn't know why the name clung to her so tightly—Yougen. It was like touching a locked door.
"Reading again?"
The voice cut through her thoughts. Aria jolted, snapping the diary shut.
Xyren stood near the doorway, his silhouette half in shadow. His presence filled the chamber without effort. His arms were crossed, but his eyes—dark, restless—were fixed on her.
"You like to sneak up on people," Aria muttered, pressing her palm flat over the parchment.
"I didn't sneak," he replied smoothly, pushing away from the wall. "You were too deep in it to notice. That book devours your attention."
She scowled. "Maybe because it's the only thing here that speaks to me without barbs or threats."
He tilted his head, a faint smile ghosting his lips. "Sharp tongue. Careful, it cuts both ways." His gaze flicked to the diary. "What did it give you this time?"
Aria hesitated, then said quietly, "A boy. His name was Yougen."
The shift in Xyren was subtle but unmistakable. His easy stance stiffened; his smile vanished like smoke. He closed the distance between them in measured steps, until the edge of the table stood between them.
"You read that name?" he asked, voice low.
Aria straightened in her chair, defiant despite the weight in his tone. "Yes. It said he was restless. Always laughing. Always… searching. Someone called him a friend." She lifted her chin. "Who is he?"
Xyren's jaw tightened. He looked at the diary, then at her, as if torn between warning her away and answering. For a moment, he said nothing, only the faint sound of his breath filling the space between them.
Finally, he leaned closer, resting his hands on the table. His voice was quiet, but it carried an edge that prickled her skin.
"Yougen is not a name to be spoken lightly."
Aria refused to shrink back. "Why? Because he mattered? Because he's a piece of your history no one wants me to touch?"
His eyes narrowed, dark and burning. "Because names carry weight. Because some names are roots—you pull at them, and the whole tree shudders."
Aria's heart beat faster, but she held his gaze. "I'm already tangled in your tree whether I like it or not. So tell me—was he real?"
For a heartbeat, silence stretched taut between them. Then, to her surprise, the corner of his mouth curved, not in mockery, but in something almost… sad.
"He was real," Xyren said at last. "More real than most who sit in crowns."
She leaned forward, seizing the opening. "Then why hide him? Why bury his name in an old diary? What are you so afraid I'll find?"
His hand slammed down on the diary before she could react. The sound echoed off the stone walls.
"You think everything written is for your eyes," he said harshly. "But you don't know the cost of uncovering what was meant to be forgotten."
Aria's voice trembled, but she forced the words out. "Then teach me. Because the more you try to keep me blind, the more I want to see."
They stared at each other, the silence between them crackling like a storm waiting to break.
Finally, Xyren pushed the diary back toward her, fingers brushing hers for the briefest instant.
"Read, then," he said, his tone softer, almost resigned. "But don't say I didn't warn you. Once you step into these roots, there's no climbing back out."
He turned and walked toward the door, his cloak trailing behind him like shadow. Just before he vanished, he looked back once, his eyes meeting hers.
"Yougen was more than you think," he said quietly. "One day, you'll understand why his name makes even kings uneasy."
Then he was gone.
Aria sat frozen, her hand resting on the closed diary, her pulse racing. The candle flickered, and the silence felt heavier now, as though even the walls had heard the forbidden name.