Chương 104: The Singing Forest

They did not ride far. No one said that out loud at first, because saying it would have made the choice feel smaller than it was. They had fled the spider's lair with the smell of burnt web and sour ichor clinging to their clothes, with wounds sealed too recently by potions, with Garet's hands still trembling from the fire that had burst out of him, and with Finni's mana wolf limping beside the runners despite every attempt the boy made to make it rest.

The Flower of the Seeking Current hung limp in its leather tube at James's belt. It had drooped with the sunset, its guidance sleeping with the day, and that left them moving by Selathi's eyes, Finni's uneasy sense of the forest, and the quiet instinct of the Cold Mistdrake Runners. The runners wanted distance from the webbed clearing. That was clear enough. Their proud heads stayed high, nostrils flaring, mist curling in restless puffs around their mouths as they picked a path through the dark. James let them.

He had no desire to argue with creatures that had better night sense than he did and far stronger opinions about where a sane being should sleep. The forest around them remained sick. Moonlight filtered through branches that looked too thin for the trunks beneath them. Web strands glimmered here and there, though no great fence of silk appeared again. The ground felt dry in patches and damp in others, as if the soil could not decide which kind of misery suited it best.

Mana Resonance whispered of sourness under roots, faint and uneven, trailing them from the lair like a smell they could not wash away. James rode with one hand resting against his runner's mane and the other near the pouch of potions at his belt. His body ached in a dozen places. His mana armor had faded after the battle, leaving only ordinary skin beneath his travel clothes, and that made every rustle louder, every shadow deeper.

His core was not empty, but it felt scraped along the edges, as if the shields he had raised against venom, web, and brood had rubbed something raw inside him. Ahead, Selathi rode without speaking. That alone unsettled him. Selathi was often quiet, but there were kinds of quiet. This one held calculation and strain. Her bow rested across her lap, and she kept scanning the branches above, the ground below, the gaps between trunks. Her runner moved with careful grace, avoiding dark roots and thin webs.

Kerrin rode near the front as well, jaw tight, spear ready, refusing to show exhaustion in the same way a cracked wall refused to admit rain had entered it. Havlik swayed near the back, still mounted on the largest runner, his shield strapped behind him and his hands buried in mist-silver mane. He had stopped complaining. Somehow, that made James more worried. Garet rode close to James. The young man's face looked pale in the moonlight, his eyes hollow from pain and the aftermath of too much mana expenditure.

His runner tolerated him with unexpected gentleness, slowing whenever Garet shifted wrong. The fire mage's new levels had done little to remove the bite marks beneath his bandages, and every so often he flexed his fingers as if checking they still belonged to him. Finni walked for a while instead of riding. He kept one hand buried in the mana wolf's fur, matching the creature's uneven pace. The wolf had refused to be carried, refused to lean against a runner, and refused any suggestion that it might need help.

It limped, blackened bite marks hidden beneath silver-blue fur where the potion had helped but not erased the wounds. Finni said nothing, but James could see the worry plainly on his face. They found a second clearing a short distance before midnight. Cleaner, James decided, though that word had become fragile. At the very least there were fewer webs. Less grey in the moss. The trees still looked unhealthy, but they did not bend inward like watchers.

A shallow dip in the ground gave them some cover from the wind, and a ring of old stones made the place feel as if people had camped there once, long ago, before the forest learned this new bitterness. Selathi walked the perimeter twice before she nodded.

"This will do," she said. No one asked if she meant safe. Around them, everyone understood the difference between safe and usable. James dismounted with care, which was a dignified way of saying he slid down his runner's side and barely kept his legs from folding. The runner looked at him over one pale shoulder, golden eyes calm and faintly disappointed. James patted its neck.

"Yes, I am aware," he murmured.

"You're very graceful. I am doing my best." The runner huffed mist into his hair. Lumen hovered beside him, dimmer than usual.

"It may be offering encouragement."

"It is mocking me."

"I choose to believe otherwise." James ignored him and began giving practical instructions, because practical instructions kept fear from settling too comfortably in the chest.

"Water first. Everyone drinks. Then wounds. Potions only if needed. Kerrin, check the perimeter with Selathi once more. Havlik, sit down before you fall down. Garet, you sit too. Finni, let me look at the wolf."

"I can handle him," Finni said. His voice came out sharper than usual. James paused, then softened his own.

"I know. Let me help anyway." Finni looked at him for a long second, then nodded. The camp took shape in small, tired motions. Bedrolls were laid close together near the center of the clearing. The runners settled near the outer edge, still awake, still alert, their bodies pale among the trees. The mana wolf lowered itself with a slow, unwilling motion, and Finni knelt beside it at once. James checked their supplies with a growing pit in his stomach. One Darkfire Smoke Vial used. One Minor Stoneflesh Draught used.

Several health potions gone. Garet had needed one immediately, then a second sip from another after the grey around one bite refused to fade. The mana wolf had taken a full potion, and James suspected it would need another by morning. Havlik had drunk a health potion for his ribs and shoulder. Garet had used a mana potion after Cinder Cone nearly hollowed his core out. Their food was fine. Their water was fine. Their Pulsepods were fine. Their confidence had taken the largest wound.

James rubbed a hand over his face and looked at the pouch where Ilyndra's remaining creations rested. Preparation had felt generous when they left Hearthroot. It felt thin now. The road had swallowed resources on the first night like a hungry thing. Garet sat on a flat stone near the center of camp, elbows on knees, staring at his hands. James lowered himself beside him. For a while neither of them spoke. Selathi and Kerrin moved at the edge of the clearing, quiet shapes between trees.

Havlik sat nearby, pretending not to listen while drinking water in slow, pained sips. Finni murmured to the mana wolf, his voice too soft to carry. Garet eventually exhaled.

"I read them properly." James looked at him.

"Your notifications?" He nodded.

"Level twelve. Cinder Cone. It says short-range cone of fire and sparks. Useful against swarms, webbing, dry organic matter. High mana cost for current control."

"That sounds accurate." Garet laughed once, without humor.

"It came because I was being eaten."

"That is one way to unlock things in Vaelrin."

"I do not like that way."

"Neither do I." Garet rubbed his still raw wrist. His fingers trembled again, and he curled them into a fist until they stilled.

"When the fire came out, for a moment I was back there. Ashbrook. Smoke everywhere. Estin crying. People shouting. Someone saying mage like it was the same as murderer. I thought if I cast more, everyone would look at me like that." James leaned back against the stone, feeling its cold through his tunic.

"They won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know Hearthroot." Garet turned his head. His eyes were tired and wet, though no tears fell.

"Will they look at me differently?" James held his gaze.

"Yes." The answer struck him, and James saw the fear flare. Then he continued.

"They will look at you differently because now they know what you can become. That is not the same as fear. It might be awe. Curiosity. Some bad jokes from Bren. Probably too many requests from Wicksnap to light ceremonial mushrooms or whatever madness he invents. But they will not string you up because you have fire in your hands." Garet swallowed. James lowered his voice.

"Magic was not the problem in Ashbrook. Fear was. Ignorance was. No one trained Estin, and then people punished him for losing control of something he had never been taught to hold. In Hearthroot, we train. We build spaces for dangerous things until they become useful things. That includes fire." Garet stared down at his hands again. The silence lasted long enough that James thought the conversation had ended. Then Kerrin spoke from nearby.

"Usefulness in one battle does not make someone dependable." The words landed hard. Garet's shoulders stiffened. James turned slowly. Kerrin stood near the edge of camp, spear in hand, face half-hidden by shadow. He had finished his perimeter check and had come close enough to hear too much. Garet looked up at him.

"Have you been measuring me since we left?" Kerrin's jaw tightened.

"I measure anyone who stands in formation with me."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It keeps people alive."

"Does glaring help too?" Havlik lowered his water skin.

"Careful." Garet stood, slower than he might have without the bites.

"I burned the brood because they were killing me. I did not ask for fire. I did not ask to leave my home. I did not ask for your approval either." Kerrin's eyes flashed.

"Good. You have not earned it." James started to rise. Havlik got there first.

"Enough." The word came steady and quiet, with more weight than James expected. Havlik stood despite the pain in his ribs, one hand resting against the hilt of his sword. The young Warden looked between Kerrin and Garet, and something in his face had changed since the first days James remembered him.

"The spider would have killed us if any one of us failed," Havlik said.

"Kerrin held the line. Garet burned the brood. Selathi killed the matriarch. Finni saved the wolf. James kept the back safe. I took hits because that was my place. That is all." Kerrin looked away. Garet's anger faltered. Havlik breathed out through his nose.

"The forest does not care which of us feels overlooked. It will kill whoever stands badly, and then the rest of us will be weaker for it." The clearing went quiet. James sat back down very slowly. He could have kissed the man on the forehead if that would not have mortified him beyond recovery. Kerrin bowed his head a fraction.

"You are right." Garet took a breath, then gave a stiff nod.

"Fine." Havlik looked satisfied for exactly one heartbeat before pain crossed his face and he sat down a little too quickly. James passed him a water skin.

"Warden wisdom comes with sore ribs?"

"Everything comes with sore ribs tonight," Havlik muttered. The tension eased, its edge dulled enough that it no longer felt sharp enough to cut. They settled again. The night deepened around them. James was almost asleep when Finni made a sound. It was small, but panic had a pitch James had learned to hear. He sat up. Finni knelt over the mana wolf, one hand pressed to the creature's side. The wolf growled in its sleep, legs twitching.

Beneath its fur, the blackened bite marks pulsed faintly, grey spreading and receding in slow, ugly waves. Its breathing had grown harsh. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Finni lifted both hands. Green mana gathered. James moved quickly and caught his wrists.

"No." Finni's eyes snapped to him, wide and wild.

"He needs strength."

"He needs healing. Packheart Surge is not healing."

"It helped before."

"It helped him fight. If you pour more into him now, you might drain yourself, and he may still wake up with the same wounds." Finni's breath shook. For a moment James thought he would argue. Then Selathi appeared beside them, kneeling without a sound.

"Let me see," she said. Finni looked at her, then let his hands lower. Selathi worked carefully. She cleaned the worst marks with water and cloth, cutting away clumped fur where needed. The wolf growled once, then went still when Finni pressed his forehead to its neck and whispered something into its ear. The black marks looked wrong. They did not spread like ordinary poison. They seemed to sit beneath the skin in cold stains, as if the bites had placed absence where warmth should be. Finni swallowed.

"When he was under them, I felt something tear open inside me. I do not know if I unlocked the spell or if the forest forced it through." Selathi's hands paused. James listened. Finni's voice went softer.

"The brood felt like little empty mouths. They moved, but there was no warmth. The matriarch too. The forest around it still had trunks and leaves and roots, but something had taught it to forget how to be alive." Lumen floated close to James's shoulder, his glow subdued.

"This does not match ordinary venom," the familiar said quietly.

"Nor simple disease, nor an imbalance caused by excess mana. I cannot identify it with certainty." James hated how careful the words were. Lumen always had something to say. Hearing him hesitate made the night colder.

"Can you treat it?" James whispered.

"Ilyndra may be able to create a counteragent from the venom sacs. Irla may help with restorative magic. For now, potions and cleaning are the best options available." James nodded, though the answer satisfied nothing. They gave the wolf another small measure from a health potion, not enough to waste what they might need, enough to ease the worst of its breathing.

Finni stayed beside it afterward, one hand on its neck, refusing to lie down until James wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and sat nearby long enough that the boy's eyes finally drooped. James lay down last. He thought sleep would dodge him again, but Selathi came without a word. She settled beside him on the blanket, close enough that her hair brushed his chin.

For a heartbeat he went still, unsure whether to move, unsure whether the others were watching, unsure whether the forest deserved any tenderness after everything it had shown them. Selathi took his wrist and drew his arm over her waist. That answered every question that mattered. James let out a slow breath and curled closer, his hand resting lightly against her stomach, the warmth of her body seeping through the cold left by the night.

She smelled of leaves, bowstring wax, dried sweat, and the faint floral oil her people used on their hair. Her breathing steadied beneath his palm. Neither of them spoke. They were both too tired for words and perhaps too honest without them. For a little while, the forest held its distance. For a little while, there were no spiders, no road east, no village waiting behind them. There was only Selathi's back against his chest, the weight of his arm around her, and the quiet admission that fear touched them both.

James slept. He woke up before dawn to Kerrin and Selathi moving beyond the clearing. He rose carefully, stiff and cold, and followed after checking that the others still slept. Havlik snored softly. Garet had curled on one side, one hand tucked against his chest. Finni slept with his shoulder against the wolf, and the wolf's breathing sounded steadier. The grey light before sunrise made the forest look older. Selathi crouched near a patch of disturbed soil a little way from camp.

Kerrin stood beside her, spear planted, eyes narrowed.

"The lair was recent," Selathi said as James approached.

"At least the largest webbing. Older strands beneath, but the main trap was built recently." Kerrin pointed with the butt of his spear.

"Tracks circle wide around the place. Deer. Boar. Smaller animals. Then they stop. Like they learned to avoid it and then something changed again." They moved farther, following the rough line back toward the webbed clearing without returning fully. Bones lay near one tree, half-covered by dead leaves. James crouched and studied them. Too clean. The bones lay dry and almost polished, untouched by scavenger teeth, beetles, or the usual mess of the forest. Whatever had fed there had taken more than meat.

Havlik called from behind them.

"My lord?" James turned. The young Warden stood near a tangle of roots and dead leaves, shield on his back, face drawn from lack of sleep. He had found something half-buried beneath old webbing. A broken stone marker. It leaned at an angle, covered in moss that had gone pale grey. The visible part was waist-high, though more might have been buried. Carvings ran along one edge, too worn to read clearly. Lines curved across the stone in a pattern that tugged at James's memory.

"Old road marker?" Havlik asked.

"Maybe," James said. He reached out with Mana Resonance. At first, he felt only the sourness in the soil. Thin, stale, clinging. Then, beneath it, something older answered faintly. A line. Almost dead, but there. It ran under the marker and away through the forest, too weak to follow far, but recognizable enough to make James think of Onvir's lessons in the Lorekeeper's Hall. Ancient wayroads. Forgotten routes. Mana roads beneath forests. Lines that once joined places in ways ordinary paths could not.

The wrongness had gathered around the weakened line. Something had found the crack in the old magic and nested there, feeding in the place where the land had lost its defenses. James's skin prickled.

"I can't fix this," he said. Lumen hovered closer, his glow dimming with thought.

"Likely not. You would need more than instinct for something like this, James. A proper structure, a ritual framework, and enough information to know what you are actually touching."

"Thank you for the list of my limitations."

"You are welcome." James lifted both hands. Blueprint Weaving answered, but he kept it small. Only a small marker. A temporary mana sign that would hold their memory of this place and give them a way to find it again. Blue lines formed around the broken stone, delicate and spare, weaving through air and into the exposed carvings without forcing them. He fed the marker a thread of mana. The stone flickered. For one breath, the sour feeling in the soil eased. The grey moss near the base darkened toward green.

Then the effect faded, leaving only a faint shimmer on the carved edge. James stepped back, breathing harder than such a small effort should have required. His runner approached. The Cold Mistdrake Runner lowered its head over the marker and breathed mist across the stone. Finni's runner came next, doing the same. The vapor curled over the carvings, cool and silver. It did not cleanse the wrongness. It quieted it, as water quieted ash. Lumen's glow brightened slightly.

"The runners may naturally resist whatever is drying or hollowing this part of the forest. Water-aspected spirit-beasts. The river spirit may have considered this." James looked east, toward the unseen destination.

"Of course she did."

The day had apparently decided to introduce itself with teeth. James gagged at the sound of a wet chopping noise, a burst of flame, and Havlik yelling something deeply unflattering about vegetables. They had ridden for perhaps two hours before the ambush, and now the fight was nearly over. A harrowing plant thrashed in the undergrowth ahead. It stood taller than Garet, if stood was the right word for a mass of red-green leaves, hooked tendrils, and a central bloom shaped like a bruised purple mouth.

The leaves looked like tongues. The tendrils snapped like whips. A ring of smaller growths writhed around it, several already burning from Garet's magic. Cinder Cone had done ugly work. Blackened vines smoked across the ground. Two smaller plants curled in on themselves, their petals shriveling under soot. Garet stood with one hand raised, breathing hard but steadier than the night before. His fire had not spread beyond the target area, which James silently counted as a victory. Kerrin stepped in.

Green mana gathered around his spear.

"Verdant Blow!" The strike drove into the plant's root-heart, a thick knot hidden beneath the mouth-bloom. The spear punched through with a wet crack. Living green mana tore along the inner fibers. The harrowing plant spasmed once, tendrils lashing wildly, then collapsed into a steaming heap of dark sap and twitching leaves. Havlik lowered his shield.

"I have decided," he said, "that I also hate plants." Finni stared at the dead thing with open offense.

"That was barely a plant." Garet let out a breathless laugh, then froze as his eyes unfocused. A grin spread across his face.

"I leveled again." Kerrin turned his head. James saw the effort it took the young warrior to say nothing sharp.

"What level?" James asked.

"Thirteen," Garet said, with more pride than he probably intended.

"Good," James said.

"You kept control." That mattered more than the level. Garet's smile softened with relief.

"I did." The others did not celebrate much. Everyone was too tired, too grimy, too unsettled by the fact that the forest kept trying to eat them in new shapes. Selathi used a stick to lift one of the dead tendrils, watching the dark sap drip from it.

"We should stop making unnecessary rests," she said.

"We ride until we leave this part of the forest or reach the settlement." Havlik looked at the flesh-eating plant, then at the grey webs behind them.

"Agreed." Kerrin nodded.

"Agreed." Finni rested a hand on the mana wolf's neck. The wolf looked better after sleep, though black marks still hid under its fur.

"Agreed." James took out the flower. Its stem bent east.

"Then we move. Before we leave though," he said, "I need to do something." Selathi glanced at him. Kerrin straightened slightly, his spear still angled toward the dead plant. Havlik, who had been inspecting one of the severed tendrils with deep personal offense, looked up. James walked to Garet. The young man blinked, lowering his hand.

"My lord?"

"I have two blessings a day now," James said.

"No use wasting them." Garet's eyes widened.

"You want to bless me? Now?" James smiled faintly.

"Unless you would prefer the plant." Havlik made a thoughtful sound.

"The plant might become less unpleasant." Garet gave a weak laugh, but it broke quickly. His gaze shifted to the scorched ground, to the blackened leaves, to the smoke still rising from the ruin of the ambush. His fingers flexed again, and James could almost see Ashbrook behind his eyes. Burned houses. Shouting neighbors. A brother marked as dangerous because no one had known how to teach him. James placed a hand on Garet's shoulder. The Hearthguard armor beneath his palm was warm from exertion and fire.

Beneath that, Garet trembled.

"So that you can grow strong," James murmured, voice low enough that the moment belonged mostly to them, "and learn not to fear the fire. So that you can tame it. Shape it. Make it yours." Mana stirred in James's core. It rose differently now than it had in the old days of his chieftain's blessing. Deeper. Broader. Threaded with Heartroot's warmth, the Wellspring's calm, the Emberforge's steady heat, and the faint river-current that had joined his senses since the sanctuary awakened.

It flowed down his arm, through his hand, and into Garet. The young man gasped. Red light answered from within him. At first it flickered wildly, like flame caught in wind. Then James felt the blessing wrap around that fire without smothering it. Mana moved with careful pressure, finding fear-knotted places, not breaking them, simply giving the fire room to breathe without tearing free.

The Emberforge's pulse answered from far away, or maybe James only imagined it, but for a breath he smelled hot iron, smoke, and clean sparks. Garet went very still. His eyes unfocused. The forest seemed to hold its breath around them. Then his mouth parted.

"I got a class," he whispered. James's hand remained on his shoulder.

"What class?" Garet swallowed, awe spreading across his face in slow, disbelieving light.

"Pyromancer." Havlik let out a low whistle. Even Kerrin's expression shifted, jealousy briefly losing ground to surprise. Garet kept staring at the invisible words before him.

"And a skill." His voice shook.

"Mana Shaping." Lumen brightened beside James's shoulder.

"Oh, that is useful." James smiled before he could stop himself. Garet looked at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. Fire did not gather there now, but James could almost feel how close it waited, no longer only a frightened spark hidden in his core. Something had named it. Something had given it a path.

"What does it do?" Selathi asked. Garet read silently for a moment, then answered in a hushed voice.

"It helps me move mana before casting. Shape it better. Waste less. Keep spells from flaring wrong." He looked up at James, and his eyes held renewed determination.

"It says control improves with practice." James squeezed his shoulder once, then let go.

"Then we practice," he said. Garet nodded, too quickly at first, then steadier.

"Yes," he said.

"We practice." They rode hard through the morning and into afternoon. The corrupted forest lingered around them for a while. Grey moss. Hollow trunks. Webbed hollows. Plants that leaned too close. Silence where there should have been birds. The runners moved faster when they could, slower where the ground grew tangled. No one spoke much. Even Lumen remained quiet, which James appreciated and feared in equal measure. Then, little by little, the world changed. The sourness faded first.

James felt it through Mana Resonance as a gradual loosening, like unclenching a fist he had not realized he was making. The air became easier to breathe. The roots beneath the ground held warmth again. The mana stayed thinner than Heartroot's rich density, yet it opened around them with a quiet welcome. Green returned. Then green began to blush. Leaves shifted toward pink along their edges. Fern undersides glowed soft rose when stirred by the runners' passage.

Bushes bloomed with red and crimson flowers, small at first, then heavy clusters that spilled over branches. Tree bark smoothed and warmed, grey giving way to russet bands, burgundy stripes, and pale pink moss that grew in curling patterns along trunks. By late afternoon, the forest had become something out of a dream painted at sunset. Pink, red, burgundy, rose, and deep wine colors filled the world around them. Flowers hung in curtains from branches. Bushes blazed with soft color.

The ground thickened into lush moss and wild grass, scattered with tiny star-shaped blossoms. Mushrooms appeared everywhere. Small ones clustered beneath roots like lanterns. Larger ones swayed lazily though no wind moved them, their caps glowing pale blue, warm pink, and buttery gold. The riders slowed without deciding to. Even Selathi forgot to pretend she was unaffected. Her eyes moved from tree to tree, drinking the colors with something close to wonder.

A soft smile touched her mouth, unguarded and young in a way James rarely saw. The burgundy light made her hair look warmer, her face less severe, and for a moment James was glad the others rode ahead enough that he could look without being teased. She noticed anyway.

"What?" she asked. James smiled.

"You like it here." She looked away too quickly.

"It is a healthy forest."

"Very professional answer."

"It is beautiful," she admitted, quieter.

"Strange, but beautiful."

"It suits you." Her eyes flicked back to him, sharp enough to punish and warm enough to reward. Then Garet pointed upward.

"What are those?" Small fluffy critters with pink coats swung between branches overhead. They had round bodies, long tails, and bright black eyes. Their fur puffed around them like seed fluff. One hung upside down from a vine, chattered at the runners, then launched itself to another branch with ridiculous confidence. The mana wolf saw them. Its ears rose. Finni sighed before the chase began. The wolf bounded forward with sudden energy, pain forgotten or buried beneath delight.

The pink critters scattered through the branches, chirping and leaping. The wolf chased beneath them, never close to catching one, tail high, tongue lolling. After the horror of the spider and the cold worry of its wounds, the sight loosened something in everyone. Havlik laughed first. Then Garet. Even Kerrin smiled, though he looked away immediately as if the expression had slipped out without permission. The Flower of the Seeking Current began changing too. It no longer pointed in one steady direction.

The stem tilted east, then a little north, then back south-east, then straight ahead. Its petals shifted minutely as they moved, fine-tuning the path through the pink-red forest. James held it carefully, heart beating faster.

"We're close," he said. Selathi scanned the trees.

"How close?"

"I don't know. Closer than before. It keeps adjusting." They rode until the light began to fade. The flower drooped as the sun slipped behind the canopy. James cursed under his breath. Without its guidance, the settlement could be nearby and still impossible to find. This forest was dense, colorful, and full of odd turns. A village might sit beyond the next rise, behind a curtain of flowering vines, or across a shallow ravine hidden by moss. Riding blind in darkness after the last two ambushes felt foolish.

"We stop," James said reluctantly. No one cheered, but no one argued. They found a clearing beneath towering mushrooms. It was the softest place James had ever seen in Vaelrin. The ground was a carpet of grass, moss, and wildflowers so thick it felt like stepping onto woven wool. Pink blossoms brushed their boots. The trees around the clearing curled overhead in gentle arches, their leaves glowing faintly red in the mushroom light.

Huge mushrooms rose among them like living lantern towers, their caps wide and luminous, casting warm gold, blue, and rose light over the camp. The runners relaxed almost immediately. That helped everyone else. The mana wolf sniffed a cluster of flowers, sneezed, then flopped down with a dramatic sigh. Finni crouched beside it and checked its wounds again, his face easing when the black marks looked no worse. Havlik slid from his runner and landed with a groan.

"My legs have become separate people," he announced, sinking onto the grass.

"Angry people. They hate me." Garet laughed as he dismounted.

"Your dignity survived."

"No," Havlik said.

"My dignity fell off somewhere before lunch. If you see it, be kind." Selathi stepped down lightly.

"Your riding improved." Havlik squinted at her.

"That sounds like a kind lie."

"It is a practical truth. You screamed less."

"I had less voice left." Kerrin almost smiled again. James should have helped set camp. The mushrooms caught his attention first. They swayed in a slow, lazy motion, like bells moving under water. Their caps glowed from within, the light pulsing in a faint rhythm, while a soft hum drifted from them, low and melodic, layered through the clearing. One tone rose, another answered, and a third vibrated somewhere beneath the soles of his boots.

The sound settled over him, beautiful and gentle, soothing in a way that reached deeper than tired muscles. James took a step closer. His tired mind latched onto the structure of the hum. Resonance. Hollow stems, perhaps. Mana vibrating through fungal chambers. The caps might be acting like natural amplifiers. If this could be understood, if it could be incorporated into a building, a hall of rest, a healing chamber, a nursery...

"James," Lumen said softly. James barely heard him. The mushroom's surface looked velvety. Tiny specks shimmered along the underside of the cap, drifting downward like glowing dust. Spores, he realized, golden-pink in the light, beautiful as they filled the air around him. His eyes narrowed.

"Lumen?" The familiar flared bright.

"It's a trap!" James whirled.

"Everyone..." The word died. They were already down. Havlik lay sprawled on the grass mid-complaint, one arm flung over his face. Garet slumped against his pack, mouth slightly open. Kerrin had fallen sideways, one hand still near his spear. Selathi lay near her runner, bow within reach but fingers slack. Finni had collapsed against the mana wolf, and the wolf itself breathed heavily, asleep beneath a dusting of glowing spores. The runners stood with lowered heads, eyes half-lidded. James's own limbs grew heavy.

The hum deepened, wrapping around his thoughts like warm cloth. His knees weakened. He tried to call Aether Armament, but the idea slid away from him, too smooth to hold. Mana gathered weakly at his fingers, then dissolved. Glowing spores drifted around him like soft snow.

"Crap," James muttered. The grass rose to meet him. The last thing he saw was one of the huge mushrooms bending toward him, its glowing cap swaying gently as the forest sang him deeper into sleep.