The deeper they walked, the stranger the forest became.
Not darker.Not colder.
Just… aware.
As if every tree, every leaf, every grain of soil had opened a silent eye to watch Ren pass.
Lyra clung to his hand.Borin moved behind them like a stone wall.Draven whispered prayers to gods no one had ever named.
Ren didn't speak.
He couldn't.
The echo pulsed with a new rhythm now—not a call,not a command,but a memory.
One that wasn't his.
One the forest was remembering for him.
The path ahead bent unnaturally, like roots had grown overnight to guide their steps.The branches above swayed without wind, pointing deeper and deeper into the ancient grove.
Lyra noticed Ren slowing.
"Ren… what are you feeling?"
He hesitated before answering.
"It's not coming from inside me anymore."
Borin frowned.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ren's voice was soft, distant.
"Someone else remembered something.And I'm hearing it."
Lyra's grip tightened.
"You mean the forest."
Ren nodded.
"The roots. The trees. Something left a memory behind."
Draven squeaked:
"MEMORIES DON'T JUST FLOAT AROUND, REN!"
Maybe they shouldn't.
But they did.
The forest trembled—barely—as if reacting to a thought no one had voiced.
Then the echo pulsed again.
Ren followed.
Not blindly.Not willingly.But with the quiet acceptance of someone walking toward a truth they already half-know.
They entered a clearing.
A perfect circle.
The trees around it were massive and ancient—their trunks wide and twisted,their bark cracked like old scars,their roots thick as serpents bursting from the ground.
Lyra's voice wavered.
"What is this place…?"
Ren took a slow breath.
"This is where she stopped."
Borin stiffened.
"The Shadow?"
Ren nodded.
"She wasn't just passing through the forest.She… paused here."
Draven immediately tried to run back the way they came.
Borin caught him by the collar.
"You're staying."
"I DON'T WANT TO STAY!"
"No one asked what you want."
Ren stepped forward.
The clearing hummed.A faint pulse.Like a heartbeat buried deep beneath the earth.
He knelt.
Placed his hand on a root.
And the world changed.
Not physically.
Inside him.
The echo didn't pull this time—it pushed.
A memory burst through his mind.
Too fragile to be clear.Too ancient to be clean.Too heavy to belong to a human child.
He saw nothing.
He heard nothing.
But he felt—
—someone sitting.Here.Alone.
Not the Shadow.Not quite.
But someone shaped like her.Someone made of silence and gray.
Someone… waiting.
Ren pulled his hand back sharply.
Lyra rushed to him, hands on his shoulders.
"Ren—what did you see?!"
He struggled for breath.
"I didn't see her."His voice trembled."But I felt what she felt."
Borin knelt beside him.
"And what was that?"
Ren raised his eyes.
They looked older than thirteen.Older than they should ever look.
"Grief," he whispered."And… expectation."
Draven's knees buckled.
"EXPECTATION OF WHAT?! PLEASE TELL ME IT'S SOMETHING NORMAL LIKE FLOWERS OR FRIENDSHIP OR—"
Ren shook his head.
"No."
Lyra felt her pulse spike.
"Ren… expectation of who?"
Ren lowered his gaze to the roots beneath him.
And answered:
"Me."
Silence.
Heavy.Suffocating.
Lyra grabbed his face between her hands.
"No. Ren. That's impossible. There's no way she—"
"She wasn't waiting for me, Lyra."His voice was low, fractured."She was waiting for someone who could walk the path she left behind."
Borin exhaled through his teeth.
"And you're the first one who fits."
Ren didn't deny it.
Lyra stepped back, shaking her head.
"This isn't fate. This isn't destiny. This is—this is something else."
Ren stood.
The clearing vibrated, as if reacting to his heartbeat.
"No," he said.
"It's a memory.A memory that's trying to repeat itself."
Draven fell to the ground.
"WE'RE GOING TO DIE HERE."
But the forest didn't feel hostile.
It felt… sad.
Ren looked around.
Every tree leaned slightly inward, as if bowing.
As if mourning something ancient.As if remembering something too heavy to carry.
Lyra touched his arm gently.
"What do we do, Ren?"
He turned to her.
And for the first time since this began, he spoke without trembling:
"We listen."
The forest inhaled.
The air thickened.
And beneath their feet, the roots began to move—slow, deliberate, careful—forming symbols, patterns, words that weren't words.
Ren watched.
Lyra held her breath.
Borin raised his axe in silent readiness.
Draven buried his face in his hands.
And Ren whispered:
"The forest remembers."
The roots glowed faintly.
A pulse—
like the echo inside him.
Ren understood at once.
"It's not showing me her path," he said quietly.
Lyra looked at him.
"Then what is it showing?"
Ren placed his hand over the roots again.
And felt the truth:
"It's showing me the beginning."
The air shook.
Somewhere far away,something answered.
And Ren knew—
whatever comes next…will change everything.