Morning came without sunrise.
Light filtered into the clearing slowly, as if the forest itself was deciding how much of the world Kael deserved to see. He woke with the unsettling certainty that someone had been watching him all night—not hunting, not guarding, but measuring.
The fire was cold.
Mask was gone.
No footprints. No broken leaves. No sign he had ever been there.
Except the quiet hum inside Kael's chest, like something newly awakened and unwilling to sleep again.
"He wasn't a dream," Kael said.
Elmyra stood nearby, fastening the clasp of her cloak. She hadn't slept either. The usual sharpness in her eyes had softened, replaced by something heavier—thoughtful.
"I know," she replied. "Dreams don't change the way the world feels afterward."
Their eyes met for a moment longer than necessary.
Kael looked away first.
They moved through the forest in tense silence. Even Tessa held back her comments, sensing the fragile stillness wrapped around them. Jorin kept his hand near his weapon.
Then the forest closed.
The path ahead folded inward, trees leaning just enough to block passage without a sound. No wind. No warning.
Elfs stepped forward from the greenery itself.
Their armor looked grown rather than forged—bark layered with veins of pale metal, leaves shifting slightly with each breath they took. At their center stood an Elf draped in robes threaded with faintly glowing sigils.
High Bough.
"You walk where permission is required," the noble Elf said. "State your purpose."
Elmyra stepped forward. "I am Princess Elmyra of Valewynn."
The Elf inclined their head slightly. "Names are not purpose."
Before Elmyra could respond, Kael spoke. "We follow the fractures. They led us here."
The noble's gaze snapped to him. Sharp. Assessing.
"Fractures threaten stability."
"Stability is already broken," Kael said. "We're just honest enough to admit it."
A ripple of quiet disapproval moved through the Elfs.
The noble raised a hand.
Leaves rose into the air, aligning into precise, glowing patterns. The magic was elegant—disciplined. Nothing wasted.
High Bough magic.
"This is what prevents collapse," the Elf said. "Magic bound by law, blood, and memory."
Elmyra glanced at Kael, her voice low. "Careful."
Kael didn't look away from the noble. "What happens when law becomes fear?"
The leaves froze midair.
"You have been instructed," the noble said slowly. "By one without standing."
Kael said nothing.
"You have met the one called Mask."
Elmyra's breath caught—just barely.
"He violates our highest law," the Elf continued. "Magic is not taught. It is inherited."
"No," Kael said quietly. "It's controlled."
The forest seemed to tighten around them.
After a long moment, the noble lowered their hand. "You will be escorted to Lethrien. The Greenwood will host you. The High Bough will observe."
"And the Rootbound?" Elmyra asked.
"They are not relevant."
As they were led deeper into the forest, Elmyra slowed just enough to walk beside Kael.
"You shouldn't provoke them," she whispered.
Kael gave a faint smile. "You shouldn't worry."
She stopped walking.
Kael noticed too late.
"You don't get to decide that alone," Elmyra said quietly. "Not anymore."
Their eyes met again—this time unguarded.
For a brief moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them: the prince without a throne and the princess bound by one. Two people standing at the edge of something neither could name.
"I don't want to lose you," she said, barely louder than the forest.
Kael's throat tightened. "Then don't let this world make enemies of us."
She reached out—hesitated—then let her fingers brush his wrist. Not a promise. Not a claim. Just a moment of honesty before the world intruded again.
Ahead, Lethrien emerged—platforms grown into ancient branches, bridges of living wood, light filtering like breath through leaves.
Elf society revealed.
As they entered the Greenwood district, a young Elf woman passed Kael, eyes lowered. As she brushed by, she whispered:
"Do not practice where the roots can hear."
Kael barely reacted.
That night, as they were given quarters grown from living trees, Kael stood alone on a narrow balcony overlooking the forest. The relic blade hummed softly at his side.
"You feel it too," a voice said behind him.
Elmyra.
"I do," he admitted.
She stepped closer, the distance between them suddenly fragile. "If they discover you're learning magic—"
"I know," Kael said. "They won't forgive it."
Below them, far beneath the platforms, the forest floor shifted.
A pulse rippled through the roots.
Deep. Ancient. Wrong.
Kael's blade flared faintly.
Elmyra turned sharply. "Kael… what is that?"
Before he could answer, a scream tore through the forest—cut off instantly.
Then the roots beneath Lethrien began to move.
And far below, in the forbidden depths where the Rootbound dwell, something old and watching finally opened its eyes.
End of Chapter 11