The forest had changed.
Its silence no longer felt ominous, nor did the trees seem to bend with suspicion. Instead, they stood tall and open, as if recognizing Argolaith's passage not with resistance, but with quiet acknowledgment. He had passed two trials. The third tree had begun to call.
And between that call and its final challenge, there was distance.
Seven days of it.
They moved on foot now, weaving through deep forest paths and over quiet hills veined with frostroot and lightmoss. Thae'Zirak offered to fly them again, but the forest's unseen winds pushed against his wings—a sign, Malakar had said, that the trials required Argolaith to walk.
To feel the land beneath his feet.
To let the tree watch his approach.
And so they walked.
By the fifth night, they reached a break in the trees where stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken ribs. The sky overhead was starless, but the air was calm, and the land stretched far and open in all directions.
