They moved through the forest at a steady pace. Not slow enough to lose momentum, not fast enough to draw the attention of beasts or soldiers. Seris took point, slipping between roots and brush with the ease of someone who had traveled these woods since childhood. Ravel followed close behind, adjusting the sphere in his arms with care. Its faint glow pulsed through the cloth he wrapped around it, and each pulse felt like a heartbeat against his chest.
A thin wind drifted through the trees. Leaves rustled overhead, whispering quiet warnings. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy in narrow spears, illuminating motes of dust that floated like tiny ghosts.
Ravel wiped sweat from his brow. "How far until the Silverwood?"
Seris kept her eyes forward. "If we move without stopping, we reach the old border before sunset. The true heart of the Silverwood is another day beyond that."
"Border?"
"Yes. The forest does not start suddenly. The edges warn you before you enter the dangerous parts."
"What sort of warning?"
Seris stepped over a fallen log with the grace of a hunting cat. "You will see."
Ravel frowned. "That is not comforting."
"It is not meant to be," Seris said. "Nothing about the Silverwood is comforting."
They walked in silence for a while. Birds chirped in the branches above, but the sound felt distant, as if muted by something unseen. The farther they went, the quieter the forest became. Ravel began to notice the change in the air. It grew colder, thinner. Even the light lost some of its warmth.
Ravel spoke again. "Seris?"
"Yes."
"You said the forest would guide the Empire. Does that mean it knows where we are?"
Seris did not answer immediately. She brushed aside a curtain of vines and motioned for him to pass under it.
"The forest listens," she said finally. "But it listens to everyone. Spirits do not choose sides unless forced. The Empire forced them long ago."
"So the spirits help them because they have no choice."
"Correct."
Ravel exhaled slowly. "Then we are walking straight through a listening world."
Seris gave a small nod. "Yes. But the Silverwood is different. The spirits there obey no one."
Ravel tightened his grip on the sphere. "Then they might attack us."
"They might," Seris said calmly. "Or they might ignore us. Or they might recognize your sphere and open the path. Nothing is certain inside that forest."
Ravel grimaced. "You seem almost comfortable with that."
"I am not," Seris said. "I am simply familiar with uncertainty."
They continued through a narrowing path where the trees grew taller and denser. Shadows stretched long across the ground, even though it was still midday. The sound of running water reached them, faint but steady.
Seris slowed her pace. "A stream is ahead. We stop there for a moment."
Ravel sighed with relief. His legs were beginning to ache. The sphere felt heavier with each step.
They reached the stream. It was narrow but swift, cutting through the earth like a silver ribbon. The water reflected the canopy above, creating rippling patterns that made the forest look alive.
Seris knelt and cupped water in her hands. She drank with short, practiced gulps, then splashed her face.
Ravel knelt beside her and dipped his fingers into the cold water. The shock made him gasp softly.
"Do not drink," Seris said without looking up.
Ravel froze. "Why not?"
"Your sphere is reacting. It changes how the spirits sense you. Until we cross into the Silverwood, you must not drink from moving water."
Ravel pulled his hand back quickly. "Thank you for telling me now."
Seris glanced at him with a small smirk. "You were not dying of thirst yet. I would have told you if it mattered."
Ravel groaned. "That is not how reassurance works."
Seris rose to her feet and brushed her cloak clean. "Reassurance is a luxury. Survival is not."
Ravel stood and adjusted the straps of his pack. He looked down at the sphere. Its glow shimmered faintly, almost as if it sensed the forest's unease.
"Seris," he said quietly, "what if the Crown marked me in a way that helps the spirits find me?"
Seris stepped close and looked at him with steady eyes. "Listen to me. The Crown chose you because you can carry it without breaking. Whatever mark it placed on you, the Empire cannot use it. And the spirits cannot twist it. Only the Rootspire can reveal what it means."
Ravel swallowed. "So as long as we reach the Rootspire, I stay alive."
Seris slid her sword back into place and nodded. "Yes. That is the idea."
Ravel took a breath. "Then we keep moving."
They crossed the stream using a fallen tree trunk as a narrow bridge. The moment they reached the other side, Ravel noticed something different. The trees here seemed taller, their bark pale and peeling, almost like shedding skin. The air held a faint metallic scent. The ground was softer, covered in thick moss that muffled their steps completely.
Seris stopped walking.
Ravel nearly bumped into her. "What is it?"
Seris raised a finger, pointing to a small patch of strange flowers along the path. They were silver in color, each petal shaped like a tiny crescent. They glowed faintly even in the daylight.
Ravel stared. "I have never seen those before."
"You would not," Seris said. "These grow only on the threshold of the Silverwood."
"So this is the border."
"Yes."
Ravel stepped closer to the flowers. They trembled as he approached, as if sensing him. The sphere in his arms pulsed in response. A faint resonance passed between him and the flowers, stirring the air.
Seris placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stay still."
The flowers bent slightly toward Ravel. Not toward his face or his steps, but toward the sphere he carried.
Their silver petals shimmered.
Then the flowers closed.
Every single one shut its petals at the same moment, bowing toward the earth.
Ravel whispered, "Is that normal?"
"No," Seris said. Her voice was low. Almost reverent. "They only do that for those the Silverwood recognizes."
Ravel's pulse quickened. "Recognizes as what?"
Seris looked at him with an expression he had never seen from her before. A mix of awe and concern.
"As a bearer," she said. "The forest sees you as someone who carries a truth older than its roots."
Ravel took a slow breath, feeling the weight of those words settle inside him like a stone.
"So the Silverwood will let us enter."
"It seems so," Seris said. "But it will not be gentle."
She gestured toward a narrow path that wound deeper into the pale forest.
Ravel looked at the glowing flowers one last time.
Then he stepped forward, crossing fully into the Silverwood.