I didn't know trees could sweat.
But this one did.
It oozed warmth through its bark like breath, and the den inside pulsed like a lung. Antic led me through the arched roots without speaking. I didn't ask where we were going. I think I already knew.
Somewhere his — not ours.
Somewhere that smelled like wet stone and cinnamon and the inside of a memory you weren't sure was yours.
Dolly and Grin stayed behind. Not because they had to. Because they knew.
This wasn't for them.
The roots opened like ribs.
Antic didn't speak as he led me through the arch, deeper into a den that smelled like smoke and bark, and the bitter underside of something once sweet. The moss here clung thick to everything—walls, ceiling, bowls half-full of dried herbs and fruit peels. A piece of the forest, frozen mid-heartbeat.
He didn't invite me in.
Didn't need to.
I stepped inside, anyway.
The door closed behind us without sound.
"Home sweet trauma hole," Antic muttered. He didn't turn around.
I didn't answer. My fingers brushed a wooden shelf etched with tiny claw marks. Some curved like talons. Others—smaller, messier—felt human. Childlike.
His hand grazed the wall. Not softly. Not fondly.
"This place grew around what was left," he said. "After the fire. After they were gone."
He didn't say who. He didn't have to.
I stepped closer. "Your parents?"
He flinched. Almost covered it with a smirk.
"Took you long enough," he said, forcing a chuckle. "Yeah. They were… important. Council level. Power couple. Used to make the forest sing."
"And now?"
His jaw ticked. "Now they're roots. Dust. Whatever the Breaths don't bother remembering."
The silence pressed at my ears.
He sat down heavily on a flat patch of moss. The weight in his shoulders didn't match his voice.
"I was supposed to be something," he said. "Legacy kid. The next big whatever. But after they died... I broke. And breaking wasn't allowed."
I lowered myself beside him. My knees ached. So did something I couldn't name.
"Is that why you left?"
He looked at me then. Really looked. No smirk. No dodge.
"Part of it."
"What's the rest?"
He hesitated. For once, his hands didn't fidget. They just sat in his lap like they were waiting for a verdict.
"I want revenge," he said, voice quiet. "Not answers. Not peace. Not healing. I want the ones who took them gone."
The heat in his words was quiet but sharp.
"I thought if I stayed," he continued, "I'd become what they wanted. Something they could use. But I couldn't. I couldn't live in their house without choking on their ghosts."
I didn't say anything.
His voice lowered.
"And now everyone just sees a failure who plays songs and makes jokes and bleeds when he gets too close."
He turned his head, but not enough to break the thread between us.
"They don't see the kid who tried to hold his parents' bodies together with his hands."
My breath caught.
He blinked fast, then laughed once—dry and mean. "Sorry. That got real."
I didn't move. I didn't let him twist away.
"You're not a failure," I said.
He looked skeptical.
I leaned in a little closer.
"You're angry. You're grieving. And you never stopped walking, even when it hurt. That doesn't look like failure to me."
He didn't answer.
His shoulder brushed mine.
His voice dropped to a murmur. "You're the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm cracked glass."
"You are cracked glass," I said softly. "But you're still sharp enough to cut things."
He laughed again, this time quieter. More real.
"...Careful," he muttered. "I might actually like you."
"I don't understand."
We sat there in the hush, surrounded by memory.
And for a while, the den didn't feel like a grave.
It felt like a story still being written.
___________________
We met Grin and Dolly sitting on the dirt
outside the den.
We walked through a forest that didn't know how to sit still.
The moss here pulsed with sound—not memory, but beat. Like a thousand hidden hearts were tapping against the roots. Trees leaned too close, then leaned away, whispering to each other in a language of creaks and pollen.
Antic was walking faster than usual. Not cocky-fast. Not his usual swagger. More like a boy heading toward a house he might still be banned from. Which, knowing him, he probably was.
"Why is everything glowing?" I muttered.
Grin, beside me, ran a hand along a trunk that blinked blue. "...Bioluminescent warning system... We're...unwelcome."
"Oh, good," Dolly said, floating behind us. "We're about to be eaten by polite trees."
Antic didn't look back. "It ain't the trees you gotta worry about. It's the things that trained 'em."
We passed a fallen log sprouting what looked like mushrooms and teeth. A bird flew overhead with three wings and no beak. The air smelled like wet electricity and honey rot.
This was not a safe place.
But Antic belonged to it.
That was the weird part. The forest didn't flinch from him. It bristled around him like a dog sniffing an old master—unsure whether to bite or beg.
We reached a clearing framed by antler-branches and woven rope.
Antic stopped in front of what looked like a large den—a tangle of living wood and scavenged metal and bones painted with runes. A doorway yawned in the center, draped in hanging vines and bells that didn't ring.
"You sure this is a good idea?" I asked.
"Nope," he said. "But I ran outta good ideas two realms ago."
Then he stepped inside.
I followed.
The scent hit first: fire smoke, cedar, something sharp and minty. The floor was soft moss over packed dirt. Crystals hung from the ceiling like chandeliers made by kids with no supervision.
And voices met us instantly.
"Well well well. Look what the trash dragged in."
A badger with one glass eye sat near a firepit, stirring soup with a sword.
Antic groaned. "Hi, Barnaby."
"You smell worse," Barnaby sniffed. "More humid. More desperate."
"Still prettier than you," Antic shot back.
Another figure floated down from the rafters—Willow. Half-moss, half-mischief, wrapped in vines and gossip.
She landed behind me, hands already in my hair. "Ooooh. This one's soft. I like her."
"She's not a souvenir," Antic snapped.
I blinked. "I'm not?"
Willow giggled. "He likes you."
Antic made a strangled noise.
"Important," he said. "She's...important."
Barnaby snorted. "Important important, or forest-flirt important?"
Antic said nothing.
Which said everything.
A third voice joined. Low. Feathers rustling.
"You should've warned us."
A massive griffin stepped into the light, silver-plumed and scowling.
Jasper.
Antic lifted both hands. "Didn't think I'd be welcome."
"You're not."
"Cool. Just checkin'."
I shifted a little closer to him.
Jasper noticed.
So did everyone else.
Willow twirled a glowing vine. "Ohhh. He's so into her."
Antic turned red.
I stayed quiet. Because I didn't know what they meant. Into her? Into what? Was this still about soup?
Barnaby threw a berry at Antic. "You came back all soft."
"I came back with purpose."
Willow's smile faded. "Then prove it."
Jasper growled. "Or get out."
Antic exhaled slowly. "I came back because I need help. The girl—No Eyes—she's tied to something bigger. Something bad. I figured maybe the Wilds weren't done with me yet."
Silence.
Then Willow laughed, not kindly. "You were never finished. You just ran."
Antic didn't argue.
Barnaby tossed another berry. "Still an idiot. But you're our idiot."
"Not mine," Jasper muttered.
Willow pointed at me. "She's still not talking."
"She listens," Antic said. "That's rarer."
Willow turned her full attention on me. "What do they call you, silent one?"
"No Eyes," I said softly.
Willow's smile turned curious. "What do you call yourself?"
I paused.
Antic looked at me.
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know. Not yet
The den breathed.
It wasn't a metaphor. The walls swelled in and out like lungs, slow and steady, exhaling something warm and green into the air. The floor was moss, but not like the moss outside—it was trimmed, velvety, and clearly domesticated. Some of it had little flowers growing from it. One patch sneezed when Grin stepped on it.
"You're insultin' the carpet," Antic said. "Real classy."
Grin just blinked slowly. "...It... hissed at me."
We'd barely been here an hour. The den was more like a glade sealed into a belly of trees. Vines wove hammocks through the branches, soft fire-globes hovered near the ceiling, and carved bowls hung on hooks—some held spices, others tiny teeth.
I didn't ask.
Antic's friends were scattered around the space. Willow was upside down again, tangled in vines like it was an art installation. Jasper leaned against a bark-covered pillar, arms crossed, scowl permanent. Barnaby sat cross-legged on a stump, sharpening a twig. The twig bled. No one commented on it.
Dolly hovered near me, tulle skirts fanned just so, one porcelain finger resting against her cheek.
"I do so adore local color," she said. "Even if it's all varying shades of mud and moss."
Willow snorted. "You're the one in a prom dress."
"It's couture."
Antic plopped beside me, still breathless from dodging saplings with personalities. "Alright, alright. So. Welcome to the old crew. Don't worry, they look murderous, but that's just how they flirt."
Barnaby didn't look up. "We don't flirt."
"Exactly."
Grin stepped carefully across the floor, hands in pockets, movements deliberate. Jasper squinted at him. "Why's he talk like that?"
"...Like what?" Grin asked, voice slow, dragging the syllables out like taffy.
"Like someone's pressing 'pause' every word."
Dolly smirked. "He was born allergic to haste. It's terminal."
Willow chuckled. "Seriously, though. What are you two? And why's the blind one smell like burnt lilies and trauma?"
"I don't smell," I said.
"You do," she said cheerfully. "Not bad. Just… layered."
Antic put a hand up. "Look, it's complicated. She's with me. They all are."
Jasper narrowed his eyes. "You bring strangers here. You don't even tell us why. And now you want what, exactly?"
Antic's grin faltered.
Barnaby tossed his bleeding twig aside. "Out with it, Antic. We know that face. It's the same one you wore before you set the Root Watch on fire."
"That was a controlled blaze," Antic muttered. "Mostly."
He stood.
"I need help," he said. "Real help. We're getting out of this realm. There's a path near the west ravine. But we need time, distraction, cover—"
"Out of the realm?" Jasper snapped. "Are you out of your rotted skull?"
"They'll kill you," Willow added, more gently. "Even trying is death."
Antic looked at me.
And I think, for once, he wasn't posturing.
"They'll kill her first."
No one spoke.
Dolly's voice floated in, precise and too clean. "What a stirring speech. Can we embroider it on a napkin?"
Barnaby leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You serious about this?"
"Deadly."
Jasper spat. "You're still chasing ghosts, Antic. Still trying to outdo your father's shadow."
"That shadow buried my mother," Antic said. "I'm done standing in it."
That shut him up.
Grin finally moved beside me, his hand brushing the back of my shoulder lightly. "…He… means it. And we don't… have time… to wait for belief."
Willow glanced at me. "You really trust him?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't know what trust looked like. But I knew what standing still felt like. And it wasn't this.
"He's… warm," I said finally. "And the forest hasn't tried to eat him today. That's something."
Dolly groaned. "That's your bar for loyalty? Temperature and non-edibility?"
"Better than murder and lace."
She gave me a half-smile. "…Touché."
Jasper cursed under his breath.
Barnaby clapped his hands once. "Then we do it. One night. That's what you get. We'll stir the roots, get you a path. After that?"
"You're on your own," Willow finished.
Antic bowed deeply. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
I didn't smile.
But I didn't frown either.
That, I was learning, meant I was almost brave.
The den was strange in its comfort. Warm, earthy light seeped through woven bark windows, pooling on the moss carpets like sleepy afternoon sighs. Above us, amber glass jars flickered with trapped fireflies, pulsing in rhythms I couldn't quite match to time. A smell clung to everything—fermented fruit, old parchment, and something sweet like bark syrup.
They gave me a cup of something bitter and fizzy. I didn't know what to do with it, so I held it like it might explain itself eventually.
Antic was pacing. Not nervous pacing—brag pacing. Arms moving. Words louder than needed. His overalls had been tugged half off again, straps hanging like lazy parentheses.
"We don't steal the amulet," he was saying. "We liberate it. There's a difference. One gets you cursed, the other gets you legendary."
Grin—who'd finally taken a seat on a mushroom pouf that whined under his weight—grunted. "And what... makes you think you're the legendary type...?"
Antic pointed at himself with both thumbs. "Hello? Face like sin, voice like scandal, legs like a prophecy. Obviously I'm the main character."
From the corner, one of his friends—a bark-skinned girl with pinecone earrings and a permanent squint—snorted. "Main character? In what, a cautionary tale?"
Dolly twirled a strand of her lace hair around one sharp finger. "He's the footnote of a failed spell."
"I'm standing right here," Antic said, grinning anyway.
Another of his friends, the one with badger eyes and glowing knuckle tattoos, tilted his head at Dolly. "Does she always talk like a haunted fashion critique?"
Dolly fluttered her lashes. "Only when inspired. You look like a cursed candle."
"Guys," I said, soft. "Focus."
They turned toward me.
It was strange—the stillness that happened when I spoke. Like I could pluck silence from the air and make everyone wear it.
"We need to leave," I said. "And we need help."
The badger-eyed one folded his arms. "What's in it for us?"
Antic jumped in, boots thudding against the woven root floor. "You want the Elders breathing down your neck forever? They find out you helped me vanish, they'll put a curse on your reproductive future so tangled your kids'll be born backwards."
The pinecone girl raised a brow. "So you want us to betray the Council and risk being tracked by the Gravestone Scouts?"
"Yup."
"Cool," she said. "Just checking."
Grin leaned forward, voice gravel and ghost-light. "…This place ain't safe. You all know it. Too many rules. Too many whispers. He's not wrong... leaving might be the smartest stupid thing you ever do."
"I've done lots of stupid things," muttered the cursed candle guy. "But this one feels personal."
Antic stopped in front of me.
His hands were suddenly still.
I realized I'd never seen him still.
"No Eyes," he said. "If we do this… if we actually get past the gates, into the next realm—whatever comes—we do it together. You in?"
I didn't nod.
I just stepped toward him. Let my hand brush his, just slightly.
He didn't flinch.
That was enough.
Behind us, Dolly sighed dramatically. "If we're done declaring oaths of sentimental desperation, can someone draw a damn map?"
The pinecone girl slapped a palm against the table. "Fine. I'll do it. But if we die, I'm haunting you."
"I hope so," Antic winked. "You've got a sexy poltergeist vibe."
Dolly whispered toward me, "How many times can one boy flirt before he combusts?"
Grin muttered, "…We may find out soon."
I sipped the bitter drink. It still hadn't explained itself.
But I liked the way it burned.
The bark table in the middle of the den creaked like it didn't want to be involved.
A giant leaf was spread across it—wide-veined, sun-dried, and brittle at the edges. It twitched slightly every time someone exhaled too hard. That might've been on purpose. Nothing in the Wildlife Realm was inanimate for long.
Pinecone Girl—whose name I'd learned was Nyxie—stabbed a quill into a jar of beetle ink. The quill promptly hissed at her and tried to wiggle away.
She pinned it down harder. "Stay."
The firefly jars above us dimmed, as if bracing for secrets.
"This," Nyxie muttered, sketching a sweeping arc along the leaf's center, "is the Heartroot Spine. Main artery of the Realm. You wanna leave? Gotta get past this."
Antic leaned over her shoulder, too close. "I missed your moss-scented rage."
She elbowed him in the ribs.
Grin hovered on the far side, scythe resting against the wall, his expression unreadable. "…How many checkpoints?"
"Four," Nyxie said. "Not counting the Creeping Gate."
Dolly floated down from wherever she'd been sulking near the ceiling. "Why is everything here named like it wants to eat you in a dream?"
"Because it does," said Badger Eyes—Corvix, apparently. "This realm was built to keep things in. Not let things out."
Antic's shoulders tightened. His voice dipped.
"Yeah. I know."
I stayed quiet.
I didn't know what any of this meant.
Didn't know the names. The shapes. The distances.
But I did know fear. And this realm tasted like old, forgotten fear soaked in syrup and soil.
Grin's fingers moved slowly across the table edge, tracing it like memory.
"…The second checkpoint. That's where the trees hum backwards... ain't it?"
Nyxie nodded. "You hear it too?"
"…Only once. Didn't like it."
Antic reached for the quill, then thought better of it when it snapped at his hand.
"We use the Undergrowth Slide," he said. "Sewage run-off from the fungus villages. Smells like sins and cheese. Leads right under the Heartroot Spine."
Nyxie made a face. "You remember that route? I thought you got lost and passed out in a pile of glow mold."
"I did," Antic said proudly. "But I survived. And hallucinated a talking banana that told me where the hatch was."
Dolly tilted her head. "Was the banana hot?"
"Distressingly."
I leaned in a little closer to the map. The ink shimmered faintly, like it was listening to the conversation.
Something pulsed under my palm.
"Something's wrong here," I said.
They all looked up.
Grin's voice was quiet. "…Where?"
I tapped a patch on the leaf. The ink wrinkled.
"There's nothing drawn here. But it's… loud. I can feel it."
Nyxie narrowed her eyes. "That's weird. That's just deadland. Nothing grows there. Nothing sings. Nothing should be humming."
Antic met my gaze. His grin was gone. "Then that's where we don't go."
I didn't answer.
Because whatever it was—I could hear it now.
Faint. Like someone calling my name through moss.
"No Eyes," Dolly said suddenly, pulling me gently back. "Focus. Don't get caught in it."
I blinked.
The hum faded.
Antic placed a hand over mine. His was warm.
"You good?"
"Yeah," I lied.
"Cool. We're not. But that's tradition."
Nyxie rolled up the map—crackling leaf edges curling like dry laughter.
"We move at twilight," she said. "Pack light. Don't piss off anything with more than four legs. And if you see a tree that waves—don't wave back."
"Because it'll eat you?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Because it gets clingy."
Dolly muttered, "I dated a tree once. Very sappy."
Antic groaned. "Why are you like this?"
"Craftsmanship," she replied sweetly. "And poor oversight."
Grin chuckled. Just once. Like thunder flirting with the clouds.
We had a plan.
It was broken, chaotic, and built on memory, spite, and bug juice.
But it was ours.
Twilight in the Wildlife Realm didn't fall like a curtain. It oozed.
The sky bled lavender down the tree trunks, pooling in moss gutters and spider-silk gutters. Light curled low over the village's canopy like it was trying not to be noticed. Even the bugs hushed—like they knew the realm was holding its breath.
I stood at the edge of Nyxie's den, watching the shadows bloom. My hands itched.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
Behind me, Dolly adjusted the ribbon around her throat like she was primping for a cursed masquerade. Her sleeves shimmered faintly, collecting moonlight like an accusation.
"Well, murder babies," she announced, smoothing her skirt, "ready to commit a regrettable number of crimes?"
Antic stumbled out from the den, half-dressed as usual—his overalls hanging from one strap, freckles glowing like guilt. His hair was damp from river sweat, and he smelled like fermented peaches and whatever poor decisions came bottled in bark flasks.
"Alright," he muttered. "Nobody look at me too long, or I'll fall in love."
Dolly clucked. "You already did."
Antic ignored her.
He met my eyes instead.
Or tried to.
"…You sure?" he asked. "Last chance to back out, No Eyes. Say the word and I'll knock Grin unconscious and fake your death. Again."
"I'm sure," I said, and I was.
Even if I didn't understand the shape of sure, I felt its weight. I needed to move. Needed to leave. The humming hadn't stopped since I touched the map. It was growing louder.
Grin joined us without a word, scythe slung across his back like it belonged there.
"…Gate'll be guarded by Rootfolk by now," he muttered. "Sniffers. No eyes, but they hear color."
"That's not a thing," I said.
Grin turned to me. "…It is here."
Nyxie stormed out last, holding a pouch that hissed faintly and wiggled like it wasn't thrilled to be there. "Smoke pod grenades. One each. Don't shake them unless you like poison hallucinations."
Antic grinned. "Those are the good kind."
"Antic," Nyxie said flatly, "shut up forever."
I reached out. Took mine carefully.
It was warm.
Like a heartbeat that didn't belong to me.
Dolly tucked hers into her garter. "Now we're flirting."
We moved quickly, slipping between overgrown root-bridges and beneath whispering fungus domes. The trees leaned in to listen. Even the mushrooms looked like they were gossiping. I swear one blinked at me.
Corvix popped out of a hollow tree to hand us a bone-carved flute.
"For luck," he said. "Or death. Depends who plays it."
Antic kissed his cheek. "You're the worst. I'll miss you."
"You always say that," Corvix muttered. "But you never die."
"Bad habit," Antic shrugged.
Nyxie led the way, cutting through vines with a blade made from a beetle's jawbone. We kept low. The realm listened too hard at twilight.
Every now and then, something twitched nearby—too big to be birds, too smart to be just trees.
I didn't ask.
We passed under a canopy of hanging roots that dripped with bioluminescent sap. One drop hit Dolly's shoulder and hissed.
She grinned. "I do love a place that tries to assassinate me with fashion."
At last, we reached the drop point—an old tunnel carved under a rotting fungus belfry. The hatch was crooked and pulsing faintly.
Undergrowth Slide.
It smelled like spoiled laughter.
Antic turned to us, eyes a little too bright.
"We go in," he said, "we don't stop. We don't talk. We don't panic. Unless something touches your thigh. Then absolutely panic."
I swallowed.
Dolly offered me her hand.
I didn't take it—but I stayed close.
We went in, one by one, swallowed by the dark that smelled like stories no one wanted to tell.
The realm didn't say goodbye.
It just listened.