Sorrel followed Erythos through the Veilwood, trying to keep her steps steady even though the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. The forest didn't behave like any forest she'd ever known. Paths curved where they shouldn't. Trees moved when she wasn't looking. Light pooled in strange places, glowing softly like veins beneath the bark.
Erythos walked as if the forest bent around him.
Sorrel walked as if it was testing her.
"Can you slow down?" she asked, breath catching as she stumbled over a root that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.
"I am slowing down," Erythos said without turning.
"Then slow down more."
"No."
She glared at the back of his head. "You're impossible."
"And you're unsteady."
"I'm human."
"That explains the unsteady part."
She made a frustrated sound under her breath. "You could at least pretend to be helpful."
"I am being helpful," he said. "You're still alive."
"That's a low bar."
"Yet you're meeting it."
She wanted to throw a glowing leaf at him. She didn't, mostly because she wasn't sure the leaf wouldn't explode.
The rune on her ribs pulsed again — faint, warm, unsettling. Every time it did, Erythos's mark flickered in answer. She didn't understand it. She didn't want to understand it. She just wanted to go home.
But the boundary was closed. The forest was alive. And Erythos was the only thing standing between her and… everything else.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the refuge."
"That tells me nothing."
"It tells you enough."
"No, it really doesn't."
He finally glanced back at her, silver eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "It's safe."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
She groaned. "You're infuriating."
"And you're slow."
"I'm trying not to die."
"That's admirable. Try harder."
She opened her mouth to argue — then froze.
The forest shifted.
Not subtly. Not gently.
The trees ahead parted like curtains, revealing a clearing she hadn't seen until the moment it appeared. The air grew warmer, softer, threaded with a faint floral scent. Light pooled in the center of the clearing, glowing like moonlight trapped in water.
Erythos stepped aside, letting her see.
Sorrel's breath caught.
At the center of the clearing stood a structure — not a house, not a hut, not anything she had a word for. It was grown, not built. Branches twisted together to form walls. Leaves layered into a roof. Roots curled into steps. The whole thing pulsed faintly with the same glow as the forest.
It looked alive.
It looked ancient.
It looked… welcoming.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"The refuge," Erythos said. "My home."
She blinked. "You live in a tree."
"I live in the Veilwood."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
She shot him a look. "You really enjoy being cryptic, don't you?"
"It's not cryptic," he said. "It's accurate."
Sorrel stepped closer, drawn to the soft glow. The air around the refuge felt different — warmer, calmer, like the forest was exhaling. She reached out and brushed her fingers against the bark.
It was warm.
Not sun‑warm. Not heat‑warm.
Alive‑warm.
The bark pulsed beneath her touch, a soft thrum that traveled up her arm and settled in her chest.
Her rune pulsed in answer.
Erythos stiffened.
Sorrel jerked her hand back. "Sorry! I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," he said, though his voice was tight. "The refuge recognizes you."
She blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're not a threat."
"That's… good?"
"For now."
She frowned. "You're terrible at reassurance."
"I'm not trying to reassure you."
"Clearly."
He brushed past her, placing a hand on the door — if it could be called a door. It was more like a curtain of woven vines. They parted at his touch, curling back like living fingers.
He stepped inside.
Sorrel hesitated.
The forest hummed — low, steady, urging.
She followed.
The interior was dim but warm, lit by soft bioluminescent moss along the walls. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something sweet she couldn't name. The floor was smooth, the walls curved, the ceiling high enough that she didn't feel trapped.
It felt… safe.
Erythos turned to her. "Sit."
She bristled. "Don't order me around."
"Then sit voluntarily."
"That's not better."
He gave her a look that said he didn't care whether it was better.
She sat.
Erythos crouched in front of her — too close again, always too close — and reached for her shirt.
She slapped his hand away. "Stop doing that!"
"I need to see the mark."
"No, you don't!"
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"Because it's glowing again."
She froze.
He wasn't wrong.
The rune on her ribs pulsed faintly, warm beneath her skin.
Erythos's eyes darkened. "Lift your shirt."
"No."
"Sorrel."
"No."
He exhaled sharply, clearly losing patience. "Fine. Then I'll—"
"Don't you dare."
He paused.
She glared.
He glared back.
The forest hummed — amused, if that was possible.
Finally, Sorrel huffed and lifted her shirt just enough to expose the rune.
Erythos leaned in, eyes narrowing.
The vine‑shaped mark glowed softly, curling like living ink beneath her skin. It pulsed once, twice, then steadied.
Erythos didn't touch her.
But he hovered close enough that she felt the heat of him.
"It's reacting," he murmured.
"To what?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
He reached out — slow, careful — and traced the air above the rune. Not touching her, but close enough that her breath caught.
The rune pulsed.
His mark pulsed in answer.
Erythos's jaw tightened. "This shouldn't be possible."
Sorrel swallowed. "What does it mean?"
"I don't know."
She stared at him. "You don't know anything, do you?"
He shot her a look. "I know enough."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me something useful!"
He opened his mouth — then froze.
The air shifted.
The refuge trembled.
The forest outside went silent.
Erythos rose to his feet in one smooth motion, eyes narrowing, hand going to the blade at his hip.
"What is it?" Sorrel whispered.
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
A pulse of magic rippled through the Veilwood — distant, sharp, unmistakable.
Sorrel felt it in her bones.
Erythos felt it in his mark.
And somewhere deep in the forest…
someone else felt her.
Erythos's voice was low, dangerous. "One of the others is awake."
Sorrel's breath caught. "One of the Seven?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
He didn't look at her.
He didn't blink.
He just stared into the forest, eyes glowing silver.
"The shadow‑born."