The path through the Vale stretched before them, bathed in silvery light that seemed to emanate not from above but from the very air itself. Each step Amriel took felt weightier than it should, as if the ground beneath her feet was more substantial than the earth she'd known all her life.
Power thrummed through everything here. It pulsed within the ancient trees that towered overhead, vibrated through the soft forest floor beneath her feet, and even resonated in the strange, fleeting creatures that darted among the branches—brief flashes of iridescent wings and eyes that held impossible colors. The Vale didn't just contain magic; it was composed of it, right down to the air that filled her lungs with each breath.
"These trees...this light," she began, gesturing upward to where silver-edged leaves caught and transformed the ambient glow. Words seemed inadequate to describe what her senses were revealing to her.
"Everything is older here," Thalon supplied, his voice low and reverent, carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "Of all the realms, the mortal one—your realm—is the youngest by far. In many ways, it's merely an echo of what you see around you."
Amriel's fingers curled around the iron ring at her throat as she studied their surroundings. The forest around them bore an uncanny resemblance to the Vhengal she'd known since childhood, yet it felt immeasurably older, as if the Vhengal were merely a sapling grown from a seed of this primordial wood. Here, the trees didn't merely exist—they observed, they remembered, they knew.
"It feels like the Vhengal," she said, trailing her fingertips across bark that was warm and almost silken beneath her touch, "but more..."
"More itself," Thalon finished. "What you're sensing is the essence of forest without the constraints of your realm. The Sha-Vallard, or what you call the Vhengal Forest, exists in all of the realms. What you see is but a reflection of what truly exists. Everything here is distilled to its purest form."
A soft breeze caressed Amriel's face, carrying scents both familiar and alien—rich loam and pine resin mingled with something sweeter, more intoxicating. Each breath felt substantial in her lungs, as if the air contained more essence than mere oxygen.
"The Power here," she murmured, instinctively reaching for the iron ring at her throat, feeling its comforting weight against her skin. "It's incredible. I can feel it everywhere, flowing through everything."
"You can sense Power?" Thalon asked, turning to regard her with newfound interest. His emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully before his expression shifted to one of realization. "I suppose that makes sense, considering it saw fit to bring you back from death."
"I suppose," Amriel agreed, her brows drawing together as she considered the implication.
"Sense it, but not use it, is that correct?" Thalon said, as much a statement as it was a question.
"Yes," Amriel nodded, stepping over a root that seemed to shift subtly to avoid her foot. "I can sense Power, always have, but I can't channel it. I'm not a Witch."
"Do you crave it?" Thalon asked, his voice remained even. "Do you desire to manipulate the Power yourself?"
The question caught Amriel off-guard. She'd never framed her relationship with Power in those terms before, but as she searched her heart, she found an uncomfortable truth there.
"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I suppose I do sometimes." She gnawed on her lower lip as painful memories surfaced. "I could have saved so many more lives if I could use Power. I could have healed..." The words caught in her throat as her father's haunted face flickered through her mind.
Thalon remained silent for several heartbeats, allowing her time with her memories. The only sounds were their footfalls and the subtle rustle of leaves overhead, as if the forest itself were listening to their conversation.
"Power would not have saved your father, Amriel," he said finally, his tone gentler than she'd heard it before. "Power can do many things, but it cannot heal wounds of the mind. That lies beyond its reach, even here."
The words struck her with unexpected force—both the insight and the compassion behind them. She hadn't realized how deeply she'd buried that belief, that if only she'd had Power, she might have saved her father from his gradual disintegration after the war.
They walked in contemplative silence as the path narrowed, forcing them into single file. Amriel took the opportunity to absorb the majesty of their surroundings. The trees of the Vhengal forest, which had always impressed her with their ancient dignity, now seemed like saplings in comparison to these titans.
Here, the trees soared impossibly high, their crowns vanishing into a silver-tinged mist far above. Their massive trunks, wide enough that five people couldn't join hands around them, were covered in dark bark, threaded with fine veins of silver that pulsed with subtle luminescence—like blood flowing through a living body. The pattern reminded her of the strange creature they'd encountered before entering the Vale, and she shivered at the memory.
High in the vaulted canopy, leaves that should have been green shimmered with an opalescent quality, their edges lined with what appeared to be liquid moonlight. Ancient vines, faded to the blue of twilight and adorned with small silver leaves, twisted their way up the trunks and formed living bridges between the arboreal giants.
The forest floor itself was a tapestry of impossible beauty. Flowers unlike any Amriel had ever cataloged—blossoms with petals that shifted color with each breath of wind, plants with geometric patterns too perfect to be natural, fungi that seemed to communicate through pulses of soft light—dotted the ground between expanses of moss that shimmered like crushed velvet.
How can they grow so vibrant in such little light? she wondered, each plant seeming to beckon to her as they passed, calling her to learn their secrets, to discover their medicinal properties and magical uses.
"If I were to make a healing poultice here," she asked, her healer's curiosity overcoming her momentary melancholy, "would it be more effective than at home?"
"Tremendously so," Thalon confirmed, stepping carefully around a cluster of crystalline flowers that chimed softly as they passed. "But be cautious—everything is amplified here, including consequences. A remedy that might soothe a fever in your world could freeze the blood in this one."
"I see," Amriel frowned, the implications sinking in. That meant learning all these plants from scratch if she remained here and intended to practice her craft. And that was assuming the inhabitants of this realm would even accept her help. It's not as if Thalon had been particularly welcoming at first.
Though he did rescue you from the Dreadfort and that shadow creature, she reminded herself. There was more to her enigmatic guide than his initially cold demeanor suggested.
"In your realm," Thalon continued, navigating around a patch of luminescent mushrooms that pulsed with quiet greeting as they passed, "Power is channeled by those born with the gift—Witches or Warlocks who can manipulate the Currents. Here, Power isn't separate from anything; it's woven into the fabric of existence itself." He gestured broadly at their surroundings. "The very ground we walk on is saturated with it. Though even here, most cannot sense it as you do, even those born in the Vale."
"So anyone could use magic here?" Amriel asked, trying to understand. She couldn't deny the prospect excited her—to finally access what she'd always sensed but never touched.
A half-smile played at the corner of Thalon's mouth, transforming his severe features momentarily. "Not exactly. Think of it like..." he paused, searching for an analogy. "In your world, Power is like water flowing through specific channels—rivers and streams that only certain people can redirect. Here, Power is like the air itself—everywhere, touching everything. You don't channel it so much as participate in it."
Thalon's unexpected snort of laughter startled her—she hadn't meant to speak aloud.
After composing himself, he considered her analogy seriously. "Then, if you like tarts, I imagine the Vale will be a very difficult place for you," he said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "To live constantly with something just beyond your reach would be quite vexing."
The path before them wound upward, ascending a gentle slope covered in silver-blue moss that seemed to cushion their steps. As they climbed, the questions that had been building since their arrival pressed more urgently against Amriel's mind.
"That creature back in the forest," she said, recalling the being that had attacked them just before they entered the moon gate. Its unnaturally tall form remained vivid in her memory—elegant yet wrong, with limbs too long and joints that bent at angles that defied natural anatomy. Its skin had gleamed like polished obsidian shot through with veins of starlight, neither fully solid nor entirely ethereal. Most unsettling were its eyes—those almond-shaped pools of swirling galaxies that had seemed to peer directly into her soul. "Will it come for us here in the Vale once it's healed?"
"No," Thalon shook his head definitively as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. Here, unlike in the Vhengal, the forest did not accommodate his passage. "The Vale's rules forbid it."
"The Vale's rules?" Amriel repeated, intrigued.
"Yes, they apply to all who wish to enter the Vale," Thalon explained, his voice taking on the cadence of recitation. "To break them is to be brought before the Firstborns for judgment.
The ominous weight he placed on "judgment" did little to make these Firstborns sound welcoming. But she wanted answers, and with so many questions piling up, she could use a few to even the odds. So she let her mind drift to another.
"My mother," she said, the words emerging more abruptly than she'd intended. The rhythm of her feet against the path faltered momentarily. "You said she's one of you. A Guardian."
Thalon's pace slowed, though his gaze remained fixed on the trail ahead. "Yes," he confirmed simply.
"Why did she leave?" The question escaped as barely more than a whisper, the pain behind it still raw despite the years that had passed. "Why didn't she come back?"
For several moments, only their footsteps broke the forest's watchful silence. When Thalon finally spoke, his voice carried unexpected gentleness.
"Those are questions I cannot answer with certainty," he admitted, surprising her with his honesty. "Nythia, your mother—she was a Guardian, but also something more. What exactly that entailed, none of us ever fully understood. But her difference was recognized by all."
"I see," Amriel replied, fighting back a crushing wave of disappointment. Even here, among those who knew her mother, answers remained elusive. "Is it normal, then, for Guardians to marry humans and have mortal children?"
"No!" Thalon exclaimed, his response startlingly emphatic before he quickly moderated his tone. "Truth be told, none of us understood why she married your father, let alone bore him a child. It was... unexpected."
"I'm trying not to be offended," Amriel said, her voice cooling as she scowled at his back, "but I'm struggling."
Thalon stopped abruptly and turned to face her, emerald eyes full of unexpected remorse. "Forgive me," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "That would have been easy to misinterpret. My surprise has nothing to do with any belief in our superiority."
"Oh please, do explain then," Amriel challenged, eyes narrowing in doubt.
Thalon exhaled slowly, something ancient and weary passing across his features. "You mortals are easy to love," he said plainly. "But your lives are so terribly brief. So fragile. It is as simple and selfish as this: it hurts too much to watch as one of your kind grow old and die, then to endure the same with any children, grandchildren, and onward through generations." His eyes held a pain that suggested personal experience. "Can you understand the weight of such grief?"
Amriel softened at the unexpected vulnerability in his expression. "Yes," she nodded, thinking of her own losses. "I suppose that explains how my mother was able to marry my father and have me. She wasn't exactly the loving type."
Thalon's eyes narrowed as he studied her, his emerald gaze seeming to pierce through her defenses. Amriel felt her pulse quicken and heat rise to her face as he continued to regard her intently, as if searching for something hidden beneath her words. For a moment, she felt utterly exposed, as if he were reading truths she herself hadn't fully acknowledged.
Then, abruptly, he simply shrugged and said, "Perhaps," before turning to continue along the path.
They walked in companionable silence, the forest around them growing gradually less dense. Shafts of silver light penetrated the canopy more frequently, creating pools of luminescence on the forest floor.
"The dwellings are near now," Thalon finally announced, his pace quickening slightly. "It shouldn't be much longer before we can rest and take some refreshment."
Before Amriel could respond, a sudden rustling in the undergrowth to their right caught her attention. Her hand dropped instinctively to the bone blade at her hip, body tensing as she prepared to face whatever new strangeness the Vale might present.