Argolaith felt it again.
The steady drumbeat beneath his ribs, not his heart—but the tree's.
The seed of memory pulsed faintly within his cloak, echoing that rhythm, synchronizing with the great force that waited for him somewhere beyond the mountains.
The second tree was no longer just a destination.
It was calling him.
And he was answering.
They ran through jagged stone paths, the valley walls rising steep on either side.
The air was dry, heavy with dust and silence. No birds, no insects, no rustle of wind.
Just the sound of their feet striking rock and the distant hum of the seed.
Kaelred's voice echoed through the stillness. "I swear this place is cursed. Everything's too quiet. Even the rocks look like they're holding their breath."
Malakar's violet eyes burned faintly. "Because something is watching."
Argolaith didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His legs ached, lungs burned, but he welcomed it—the movement anchored him.
The farther he ran, the closer the pull became.
