"Let's go off the track now; nobody can see us," Trisha said, already springing up onto a moss-covered boulder that jutted out like a tooth from the edge of the dirt path. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and purpose.
Alex and Callum exchanged glances. Then, with a shrug and a matching grin, they followed.
In seconds, all three of them had disappeared into the thick trees, leaping from branch to branch like wildcats with too much adrenaline and not enough supervision.
After ten minutes of silent movement through the treetops, the forest broke into a wide ledge—a cliff that opened up to a breathtaking view of the dense canopy below, rolling endlessly toward the east.
Alex walked to the edge, stretched his arms, and inhaled deeply.
"Guys, this is my terminal," he said casually. "See you on the other side."
And before either of them could react, he stepped off the cliff.
"HEY, MAN!" Callum shouted, half in shock and half expecting a splat.
But there was no thud. Instead, there was a rush of wind, and from below, a large hawk shot upward—brown feathers, sharp wings slicing the air, and unmistakably Alex in shapeshifted form.
"Eeeerk!" the hawk cried, circling once above their heads, as if mocking them.
"That is so unfair," Trisha muttered, shading her eyes to watch him fly eastward. "I knew he would do that. Of course he would."
"Well, honestly," Callum said with a sigh, "if I could turn into a bird, I'd do the same thing. Zero hesitation. Not even a goodbye."
"Yeah, me too," Trisha said, crossing her arms. "I'd be more than happy to abandon you guys in the wilderness and never look back."
Callum chuckled. "Come on, damsel in distress. Let's catch up. This detour was your brilliant idea, remember?"
"Sheeesh!" Trisha rolled her eyes, then crouched low and launched herself high into the air.
She sailed over the forest in a streak of black and silver, clearing three tall trees in a single bound, her body moving like a shadow with wings. Graceful. Dangerous. Slightly show-offy.
Callum, watching her disappear into the treetops, exhaled long and loud. "Okay dokey," he muttered to himself, slapping his hands against his thighs. "I'm supposed to be the jungle expert here, but it turns out I'm the weakest link. Having freaks for teammates really sucks."
Still, he grinned as he jumped after them—maybe five times lower than Trisha's leap and about twenty times slower than Alex, who was now nothing more than a bird-sized blur in the sky. But Callum didn't mind. There was something exhilarating about chasing after giants.
Alex had been soaring through the skies for a few minutes, the wind slicing past his wings as he glided over the endless green ridges of the mountain range. The air was crisp up here, clean and laced with the scent of pine, distant fog, and wild adventure. Below him stretched the rolling wilderness of Mindanao—untamed, ancient, and humming with secrets.
Then he saw it.
Nestled between steep cliffs and shaded by clouds, the forest ahead looked like something pulled straight out of a fantasy novel. Trees taller than most buildings stretched their moss-draped arms skyward, their trunks gnarled and ancient. A pale green carpet clung to every branch and root—thick, glowing softly even under the daylight.
The mossy forest, as Trisha had called it. And now he understood why.
Alex spiraled downward, wings tucking slightly as he zeroed in on one of the enormous trees. He landed with practiced grace on a wide, sturdy branch, and the moment his talons touched bark, his body began to shift.
In a blur of feathers and light, the hawk dissolved, giving way to human form. Alex dropped neatly to the forest floor, his boots landing with a soft thud on the moss-covered ground. In one fluid motion, he summoned his clothes from the spatial ring, pulling on his usual field gear before the last shimmer of magic faded.
It was eerily quiet.
Not the dead kind of silence—but the expectant, watchful kind. Like the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Alex looked around slowly, admiring the breathtaking spectacle. The trees here weren't just tall; they were alive in a way that regular forests couldn't match. Their bark pulsed faintly. The vines curled lazily like snakes dreaming in sunlight. Bright flowers opened and closed like blinking eyes.
"This place…" he whispered, reaching out to a nearby tree, "feels older than everything."
He placed his hand on the thick bark and closed his eyes. At once, a soft current surged through him—whispers, not of words, but of memories. The ancient tree stirred within his consciousness, its voice a slow rumble in the back of his mind.
"Danger nearby. Hidden. Watching."
Alex opened his eyes, the connection fading. The tree had spoken. Not in a language he could name, but in something deeper—instinctive and old as the earth.
He stepped back, already activating his senses. His high perception bloomed outward like a radar. He reached deeper, using the Acute Vibration Sensitivity skill that let him feel even the faintest tremor within a mile.
A heartbeat later, he found them.
Not monsters. Not dark energy.
But small, darting presences flitting like shadows just beyond vision. Watching.
Alex allowed himself a slow smile.
"I know what you are," he muttered. "I've met your kind before."
He stepped into the open clearing, glancing around casually but keeping his aura calm and non-threatening.
"Come out," he said aloud, his voice gentle and coaxing. "I'm not here to hurt you."
He paused, letting the air settle. The moss rustled faintly. Leaves stirred. But still, nothing stepped out.
"I'm here to offer help," he continued, his tone firm now, a touch of druidic authority bleeding into his words. "You don't have to run. I'm not your enemy."
The forest seemed to hold its breath again.
Then, ever so softly, something shifted in the underbrush.
At that exact moment the pixies started swarming around him; Alex could tell they weren't ordinary forest pests. They were too fast, too coordinated, and too intentional. Glimmering like motes of light, they zipped around him, circling excitedly in a chattering cloud of wings and sparkling dust. Their voices were high-pitched and jittery—like a choir of sugar-high chipmunks.
"Woah—okay, slow down!" Alex said, raising both hands in surrender as they zipped around his head.
They danced in erratic loops, tugging at his sleeves, poking his boots, and squealing things he couldn't understand. Then, as suddenly as they came, they stopped midair.
Just froze.
Dozens of glittering eyes turned to him, wide and uncertain.
Then they bolted.
In a blur of wings and wind, they scattered into the mossy canopy, vanishing like whispers.
"Hey! Where are you going? I just want to talk!" Alex called after them, bewildered. "I'm not carrying bug spray!"
But the forest didn't answer.
Instead, the air thickened. The dry leaves around his boots rustled unnaturally, swept by a wind that didn't feel like wind at all—more like a presence, circling him from the right in a perfect semicircle.
Alex's spine straightened.
Something was wrong.
His senses sharpened in an instant. Muscles tensed beneath his shirt. The cheerful green of the forest dimmed like someone had drawn a gray veil over everything. Mist bled between the trees, dense and sudden, curling like smoke in every direction.
Within seconds, he couldn't see his hand stretched in front of him.
Then… it happened.
Something tugged at him—not physically, but psychically, like the universe had yanked a string tied to his chest. The mist swirled and peeled back like curtains in a gust of wind.
Alex blinked.
Before him stood a massive oak tree—old, older than any tree had a right to be. Its bark was thick and smooth, devoid of moss. Its roots twisted deep into the earth like the fingers of a giant clutching the land. Small, nimble creatures played silently in its branches, watching him.
"What the hell is going on?" Alex muttered, stepping closer. "Are you planning something? I told you—I'm not your enemy! I'm a friend!"
As if in response, the oak tree shimmered, then began to fade.
Smoke-like wisps peeled away from its trunk, curling upward into the fog. The mighty branches vanished into air as though the tree had never existed.
And behind where it once stood, a man emerged.
He wasn't large, but he stood with the kind of presence that filled the clearing. Late forties, maybe older. His sharp silver hair hung to his shoulders, and his piercing green eyes didn't blink. Most notable of all—pointed ears.
An elf.
"That remains to be seen, stranger," the elf said coldly.
Alex frowned. "What? Why? I didn't do anything."
"Exactly," the man replied. "And that's what worries us."
Before Alex could come up with a decent response—perhaps something involving sarcasm and dramatic eye-rolling—four women appeared.
Appeared, as in—literally stepped out of thin air.
They surrounded him in perfect synchrony, long cloaks flowing like water, and began a slow, sweeping movement that resembled some sort of ceremonial dance. Their hands moved with deliberate grace, weaving patterns in the air. Every full step was punctuated with a chant—deep, melodic, and resonant, as though the forest itself was singing with them.
"Okay. This is getting creepy," Alex muttered.
Then they stopped.
They stared at him—intense, searching eyes glowing faintly gold.
Another chant. A final step.
Then, whoosh.
The fog cleared in an instant, sucked backward like air from a collapsing lung.
But something was different.
The mossy forest—gone.