The forest announced itself long before it was seen.
The air changed first—cooler, sharper, threaded with a faint hum that made Kael's skin prickle. Then the light thinned, filtered through layers of ancient leaves until the world turned green and gold. Greenwood, the heartland of the Elf Kingdom, stood before them like a living wall.
No gate. No road.
Just trees that watched.
"Stay close," Lysa murmured. "Elves don't warn twice."
Kael nodded, senses stretched thin. Magic was everywhere here—not rushing, not demanding, but present, woven into bark and breath alike. He remembered the Pandoran pass, the rawness of belief-made-power. This was different. Disciplined. Curated.
A figure stepped from the shadow of a silver-barked oak.
Tall, slender, eyes like polished jade. The elf wore layered robes marked with faint sigils that shifted when Kael tried to focus on them.
"You walk uninvited," the elf said, voice calm and cool. "State your purpose."
"We seek passage," Kael replied, choosing honesty over cleverness. "And knowledge."
The elf's gaze flicked briefly to Mask, then back to Kael. "Knowledge is not freely given here."
Mask inclined his head. "We respect your law."
That earned a pause.
"Then follow," the elf said. "And speak only when asked."
---
Greenwood unfolded in tiers.
The outer paths were quiet—hunters, gatherers, elves who lived close to the soil. Kael felt almost no magic here. It surprised him.
"First Veil," the elf guide said without turning. "The Rootbound. They serve the forest. They do not wield magic."
Kael frowned. "But elves are—"
"—not equal," the guide finished. "You'll learn."
Deeper in, the forest opened into terraces of stone and living wood. Here, runes glowed faintly. Elves moved objects without touching them, coaxed vines into shape, shaped light into symbols.
"Second Veil," the guide continued. "The Leafbound. Trained. Licensed. Limited."
"And the third?" Lysa asked before she could stop herself.
The guide smiled thinly. "You will not see it. The Crownveil reveals itself only to those of noble rank."
Kael felt something settle uncomfortably in his chest.
A city rose ahead—elegant towers grown rather than built, bridges of light and leaf arcing overhead. The magic here was precise, beautiful, controlled to the breath.
Inside the Hall of Seasons, they were made to wait.
At last, an elf woman entered, her presence quieting the room without effort. Her robes bore no sigils—yet the air bent subtly around her.
"You stand before the Council of Greenwood," she said. "Speak."
Kael stepped forward. "Magic is awakening beyond borders. Untrained. Unregulated. Someone is encouraging it."
The council exchanged looks.
"The human kidnapper," one councilor said coolly. "Yes. We are aware."
"You're not stopping it," Kael pressed.
"We are containing it," the woman replied. "Magic must be shaped by lineage and law. Anything else invites collapse."
Kael clenched his jaw. "People are hurting because they're denied access."
"People always hurt," another councilor said. "Order prevents worse."
Mask spoke then, measured. "Influence grows fastest where denial is deepest."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the chamber.
The woman studied Kael. "You carry magic without rank. Who teaches you?"
Kael hesitated—then answered carefully. "Someone who teaches restraint."
Silence stretched.
"At dawn," the woman said finally, "you will be tested."
---
The testing ground lay beneath the city, carved into living stone.
An elf youth stood opposite Kael, eyes sharp, hands already glowing faintly.
"Do not force it," the youth warned. "Magic here responds to harmony."
Kael closed his eyes.
He didn't reach. He listened.
The magic resisted him—not violently, but firmly, like a door closed by tradition. He felt the weight of the Veils pressing down, defining who was allowed to touch what.
He stepped back, breathing hard.
The council murmured.
"He's blocked," someone said.
"No," said the woman. "He's being judged."
The air shifted. Not opening—but acknowledging.
A faint glow answered Kael's presence, tentative but real.
The youth staggered, surprise breaking his composure.
"He shouldn't be able to—"
"Enough," the woman said sharply.
She turned to Kael. "You are dangerous—not because you are powerful, but because you don't fit."
Kael met her gaze. "Neither does the world anymore."
That night, as Greenwood slept, Kael stood beneath the trees, the hum of magic a constant companion. He understood now: the Elf Kingdom's strength was also its weakness. Control had become exclusion.
Mask stood nearby, silent.
Far away, beyond roots and crowns, belief continued to spread—unveiled, unlicensed, unstoppable.
And somewhere in the deep forest, a noble watched the stars with narrowed eyes, already considering how to claim what the Veils could no longer hide.
The turning had reached Greenwood.