The compass rested in Richard's palm, its needle oscillating irregularly. Unlike a normal compass, this one didn't point north. Instead of traditional cardinal points, it had ancient symbols that Richard didn't completely recognize: a tree, a mountain, a spiral, a drop, and others more abstract and difficult to interpret.
"I've never seen anything like it," murmured Richard, slowly turning it. "It doesn't seem to indicate physical directions."
Elyndra observed it with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
"It doesn't," she finally confirmed. "It's a temporal compass. It doesn't point to places, but to moments."
Richard looked at her with surprise.
"Moments? You mean it can indicate the past and future?"
"Not exactly," Elyndra extended her hand to touch it lightly. "Temporal compasses are rare artifacts, created to navigate places where time flows differently. Like the Umbral Forest."
Richard studied the object again, now with greater interest. The needle continued moving indecisively between the various symbols.
"Do you know how it works?"
"Just the basics," she admitted. "The symbols represent different temporal flows. The tree indicates stable time, like what we normally experience. The spiral points to temporal distortions. The mountain..."
"Slow time," Richard completed intuitively, surprising himself.
Elyndra nodded, somewhat impressed.
"It seems the wind fragment is awakening more than just physical abilities in you."
They carefully stored the compass and resumed their journey. The descending path finally led them to the valley, where the landscape gradually transformed. Vegetation became more abundant as they moved away from the mountains. The stream they had been following joined others to form a river of considerable size: the Naran.
For three days they followed its course, advancing along its banks. The weather was pleasant, though the nights were cold. Richard used every moment of rest to practice his wind abilities, perfecting his control and discovering new applications.
On the fourth day, the river widened significantly, becoming deeper and more voluminous. Its banks were covered with lush vegetation, and the trees grew taller and more leafy.
"We're entering the peripheral lands of the Umbral Forest," explained Elyndra as they camped by the shore. "From here on, we must be more alert. The forest has ways of confusing travelers even before they reach its heart."
That night, Richard couldn't sleep. He sat by the river, watching how the moonlight reflected on its surface. The water seemed to whisper as it flowed, almost as if it carried distant voices.
"You hear it too, don't you?" Elyndra's voice surprised him. He hadn't heard her approach.
"Yes," Richard replied. "It's as if the river were speaking."
"That's why locals call it the River of Whispers," she said, sitting beside him. "It's said to carry echoes of past and future conversations."
Richard listened more carefully. Among the murmur of water, he thought he could distinguish fragments of words, laughter, crying... incomplete stories carried by the current.
"Is it another temporal distortion?"
"In a way. Water has memory, Richard. And in places close to the Umbral Forest, that memory can manifest."
They remained silent for a moment, listening to the whispers of the river. Richard felt a strange melancholy, as if those fragmented voices awakened memories that weren't his.
"May I ask you something personal?" he finally said, looking at Elyndra.
She nodded, her face bathed in the silver light of the moon.
"In the temple, during your trials... what did you see?"
Elyndra looked away toward the river. For a moment, Richard thought she wouldn't answer.
"I saw my home," she finally said, her voice barely audible over the whispers of the water. "Not as it is now, but as it was before. Before the war, before the Veil formed."
Richard recalled the fragments of information he had obtained about the Sylvans and their world.
"What was it like?"
A sad smile briefly illuminated Elyndra's face.
"Beautiful, in a way that words cannot adequately describe. Imagine a place where light doesn't come just from the sun, but emanates from the earth itself. Where trees sing with the wind and mountains breathe. Where time is flexible, like the branch of a willow."
Her voice broke slightly.
"The temple showed me what we lost. And it asked me if I would be willing to sacrifice everything to recover it."
Richard looked at her intently.
"And would you?"
Elyndra remained silent for so long that Richard thought she wouldn't answer. Finally, she said:
"There was a time when I would have said yes without hesitation. Now... I'm not so sure."
She rose with a fluid movement.
"You should rest. Tomorrow we venture deeper into unknown territory."
Richard nodded, though he knew sleep would continue to elude him. As he watched Elyndra return to camp, he realized she had revealed more about herself in those few minutes than in all the time they had been together.
Dawn brought with it a dense fog that rose from the river, enveloping everything in a pale, ghostly shroud. They packed up camp in silence, the atmosphere charged with an expectation that neither could name.
As they advanced, the vegetation became denser and stranger. Trees grew twisted, their branches intertwining in ways that seemed almost deliberate. Moss of unusual colors—pale blue, dark purple, glimmering silver—covered trunks and stones.
"The forest is recognizing us," murmured Elyndra, pointing to how the branches seemed to subtly incline toward them as they passed.
Richard activated his "Echo Vision" and held his breath. The entire forest was alive with energy. Not just the trees and plants, but the air itself pulsed with a network of magical currents that interlaced in complex patterns.
"It's... incredible," he whispered, turning slowly to absorb the vision. "It's as if everything were connected."
"It is," confirmed Elyndra. "The Umbral Forest is one of the places where the separation between our world and the Other Side is thinnest. Here, energies filter through and nourish all forms of life."
They continued their journey following the river, which now wound between increasingly large and ancient trees. Light barely penetrated the canopy, creating a perpetual greenish twilight. Time seemed to stretch and contract in strange ways; moments that seemed to last hours were just minutes, and vice versa.
At midday, or what Richard supposed was midday, they found something unexpected: a small wooden dock projecting over the river. Next to it, a simple but well-constructed boat rocked gently with the current.
"This can't be coincidence," said Richard, approaching cautiously.
They examined the vessel. There were no signs of its owner, but in the bottom of the boat was a small wooden chest. Richard opened it carefully, finding inside fresh provisions, an oil lamp, and a rudimentary map of the river.
"Thaelen?" suggested Richard, showing the contents to Elyndra.
"Possibly," she replied, studying the map. "Or perhaps another 'observer' as he mentioned."
Richard unfolded the map on a flat rock. It showed the river's course leading into the heart of the forest, with marks and annotations in the margins. A route was traced in red ink, deviating from the main channel toward a narrower tributary.
"Look at this," pointed Richard. "There's a note here: 'The current of time is weaker where the trees sing'."
"The singing trees," murmured Elyndra. "They're ancient guardians of the forest. If we can find them, they might offer us safe passage to the temple."
The decision seemed clear: they would take the boat and follow the marked path. While loading their backpacks into the vessel, Richard noticed a symbol carved on the prow: a spiral identical to one of the symbols on the temporal compass.
"It's not a coincidence," he said, taking out the compass. The needle now pointed firmly toward the spiral.
"No," agreed Elyndra. "Someone is guiding our path."
They embarked with some apprehension. The river welcomed them with a gentle current that moved the boat without the constant need to row. The whispers of the water intensified, and now Richard could distinguish occasional words among the murmurs: "time," "roots," "deep," "eternal."
As they ventured deeper into the forest, the feeling of being watched grew. Invisible eyes seemed to follow them from the thickets, though when Richard tried to focus his vision on any specific point, he saw nothing but shadows and moving leaves.
"We're being evaluated," explained Elyndra in a low voice. "The forest decides who can pass and who must become lost."
"And how does it decide?" asked Richard, uncomfortable with the idea that trees could judge him.
"By your intentions. By the footprint your spirit leaves in the world."
Richard reflected on this as the boat continued its course. What were his intentions, really? At the beginning of his journey, it had been curiosity, the desire for knowledge. But now, after all he had seen and experienced, what drove him?
The river narrowed and the current became faster. Richard had to use the oar to avoid colliding with submerged trunks and rocks that suddenly appeared in their path. The forest around them subtly changed: the trees were now taller, their trunks thicker, and their branches formed natural arches over the river, as if they were the ribbing of a living cathedral.
Late in the afternoon, the river turned sharply and carried them to a perfectly circular clearing where the water formed a tranquil pool. The boat stopped by itself in the exact center of the pool.
Richard and Elyndra gazed in wonder at what surrounded them. Seven enormous trees, of a species Richard didn't recognize, rose around the pool. Their silver trunks glowed with their own light, and their leaves, a green so intense it seemed supernatural, moved in perfect unison despite there being no wind.
"The singing trees," whispered Elyndra with reverence. "I didn't expect to find them so easily."
As if responding to her words, the leaves began to move more intensely, producing a sound that wasn't simply the rustling of foliage, but clear, resonant musical notes. It was an ethereal melody, ancient and, somehow, deeply familiar to Richard, although he was sure he had never heard it before.
"It's beautiful," he said, feeling how the music resonated within him, touching something primordial in his being.
"They're speaking," translated Elyndra, listening attentively. "They say they've been waiting for us."
Richard looked at her in surprise.
"You can understand them?"
"Not completely. It's an ancient language, predating even the formation of the Veil. But I catch fragments, impressions."
The music changed, acquiring a more interrogative tone.
"They're asking who we are and why we've come," continued Elyndra.
Richard didn't know if the trees could understand him, but he decided to respond directly:
"My name is Richard Wonder. I seek the Temple of Deep Roots to recover a fragment of primordial knowledge."
The singing stopped abruptly. A thick silence filled the clearing for several seconds. Then, slowly, the trees began a new song, deeper and more solemn.
"They've recognized you," translated Elyndra, her eyes wide. "They say your essence carries the mark of the ancient fragments."
The music became more complex, with counterpoints and harmonies that seemed impossible to create just with the movement of leaves.
"They're debating," explained Elyndra. "Some believe we should pass. Others fear the consequences of gathering the fragments."
"What consequences?" asked Richard, but Elyndra raised a hand, indicating he should wait while she continued listening.
The musical debate continued for what seemed like hours, though Richard suspected that, given the nature of the forest, real time could be very different. Finally, the melody unified again, acquiring a decided and solemn tone.
"They've reached a decision," said Elyndra. "They'll allow us to pass, but with one condition."
"Which is?"
"We must spend a night here, under their vigilance. They want to 'listen to our dreams,' as they put it."
Richard wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but he nodded.
"Tell them we accept their condition."
Elyndra conveyed their response in a soft song that vaguely imitated the tones of the trees. The branches stirred in response, and the boat began to move by itself toward the shore of the pool.
When they disembarked, Richard noticed that the ground beneath his feet was covered by a soft moss that emitted a faint bluish glow. The air in the clearing was different from the rest of the forest: lighter, sweeter, charged with fragrances that evoked memories Richard didn't know he had.
"What does it mean to 'listen to our dreams'?" he asked as they prepared a small camp.
Elyndra spread a blanket over the luminous moss.
"The singing trees are ancient and wise, but their perception is different from ours. They can't 'see' us as we see them. Instead, they perceive energies, emotions, thoughts... and especially dreams."
"They're going to read our minds while we sleep?"
"Not exactly. It's more like... tuning into the frequency of our spirit." Elyndra paused, searching for the right words. "Dreams reveal truths that we hide even from ourselves. The trees want to know those truths before deciding whether to guide us to the temple."
Richard wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, but he understood the logic. If the forest decided who passed based on intentions, what better way to know them than through dreams, where masks fall away?
As night fell over the clearing, the trees began to glow subtly, their silver trunks emitting a soft light that bathed the pool in an ethereal radiance. Their song changed, becoming softer, more hypnotic.
"It's time to sleep," murmured Elyndra, already reclining on her blanket. "Don't resist. Let the trees guide you."
Richard lay down as well, looking up at the intertwined branches that formed a canopy above them. The song of the trees was now an ancient lullaby, a melody that seemed to come not just from the leaves but from time itself. His eyelids became heavy, and before he realized it, he was immersed in a deep sleep.
His dream began with familiar images: the university library, the hallways of the history department, Emily smiling at him over a cup of coffee. But gradually, these scenes gave way to stranger visions. He saw himself standing in a vast desert, holding a shining fragment that pulsed with its own light. Then he was in the mountains, absorbing the second fragment as the wind swirled around him.
The dream changed. Now he saw a possible future: himself, but changed, transformed by the power of all the fragments. His eyes shone with ancient knowledge, and the air around him seemed to distort with invisible energies. Was he still human in that vision? He couldn't say with certainty.
Then, a fork in the road: two paths opened before him. In one, he used the power of the fragments to protect, to heal the breach between worlds. In the other, the power consumed him, turning him into something terrible and magnificent at once, a being capable of tearing the Veil completely.
A voice resonated in his dream, as ancient as time itself:
*"Power does not corrupt. It reveals. What you will become already exists within you, a seed waiting to bloom."*
Richard awoke with the first ray of sunlight filtering through the leaves. He felt rested but strangely moved, as if he had experienced something profoundly significant that he couldn't completely remember.
Elyndra was already awake, sitting by the pool with a contemplative expression.
"How did you sleep?" she asked when Richard approached.
"Deeply. I dreamed... strange things. And you?"
"The same." Her gaze was lost in the crystalline water. "The trees have listened to our dreams."
As if confirming her words, the seven trees began to sing again, this time a melody that conveyed decision and purpose.
"They will guide us to the temple," translated Elyndra. "They have seen into your heart and, although there are shadows and light intermingled, they believe your intention is true."
Richard nodded, grateful but also disturbed. What exactly had the trees seen in his dreams? The vision of himself consumed by power? Or the alternative, where he used the fragments to heal?
He had no time to reflect further. The pool began to stir, and in its center formed a whirlpool that didn't drag the water downward but upward, creating a liquid column that rose several meters.
"It's the path," said Elyndra, quickly gathering their belongings. "The temple isn't in a constant physical location. The trees are opening a passage for us."
They hurried to embark again. The boat moved by itself toward the center of the pool, directly toward the rotating column of water. Richard felt a moment of panic as they approached the supernatural phenomenon, but he forced himself to remain calm.
The song of the trees enveloped them one last time, now with a melody that sounded like a blessing, a farewell, and a warning all at once.
And then, the boat entered the column of water.
They weren't wet. The water separated before them as if it were a liquid curtain, forming a resplendent tunnel that extended into the unknown. Refracted light created rainbows that danced around them as the current dragged them faster and faster.
Richard instinctively took out the temporal compass. The needle spun frantically between all the symbols, as if crazed.
"We're crossing a temporal threshold," explained Elyndra, her voice distorted by the strange environment. "Prepare yourself. From here on, time won't follow known rules."
The boat rushed forward with increasing speed, the aquatic tunnel twisted at impossible angles, and Richard felt his very perception stretching and contracting. Clinging to the edge of the vessel, he could only trust that the singing trees had truly shown them the correct path.
Because if he had understood correctly the warnings about the Temple of Deep Roots, getting lost in its temporal distortions could mean that by the time they found the exit, the world they knew might have ceased to exist long ago.