After leaving the Sayer Canopy behind, the weight of Maple’s words stayed with us. The path to Caladhel felt less like an assignment and more like the first real step in our journey facing whatever waited in the East.

---The 100 Rings Inn---

The descent from the Sayer Canopy felt longer than the climb up. Maybe it was the weight of the parchment Rowan had given us, tucked at my side like a stone. Maybe it was the silence. Even Pip didn’t talk much on the way down.

By the time we reached the Center Shoots, lanterns were glowing along the bark walls and low music drifted from the hallways. The sign for the 100 Rings Inn swung gently overhead.

Pip stopped so fast Wint almost walked into him. “We’re staying. Absolutely staying. My legs are about to shatter.”

Wint groaned and rolled his shoulders. “Agreed. If I have to take one more step, my body will give out.”

Roe crossed her arms. “We don’t have the time. Caladhel is days away and the corruption isn’t slowing down.”

“I agree,” I said. “The sooner we move, the better. We should keep going.”

Pip turned to me like I’d betrayed him. “Keep going? I can see the inn from here. I can smell the stew.”

“All you ever want is food,” Roe said.

“I mean, who doesn’t?” Pip answered.

Allura stepped between us. “We should rest,” she said. “Not for comfort, but for survival. We’ve pushed on since Greatfall and the road to Caladhel is long. This might be the last easy night we get for a while.”

Wint clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, even Arad wouldn’t deny us a warm bed.”

Roe and I hesitated to give in, but at last we stepped inside.

The 100 Rings Inn was warm and bright, carved into a wide knot of the ancient wood. Lanterns hung in rings overhead, glowing like small fireflies. Long tables filled the main room, people eating, laughing, and just having fun. For a moment, it didn’t feel like the world was falling apart outside.

We took a table near the back. Full plates arrived quick, stew thick with root vegetables, warm bread, and mugs of something sweet that Pip inhaled too fast. Roe settled into her chair. Wint stretched like a worn-out ox finally unhitched from the cart. Allura hummed under her breath, eyes half-closed, letting the comfort of the room sink in.

Everyone relaxed, but I couldn’t. Rowan's parchment lay on the table in front of me. The words Caladhel, the Arcury, the mayor, the path west all crowding my thoughts as I stared at the ink until the lines blurred.

Then the visions hit with no warning—Arad groaning in pain, the sound shaking the air like distant thunder. The sky over Haustfyr dimming, golden light smothered by a gray, heavy storm. Trees bending under the weight of black tendrils, their leaves shriveling and falling in clumps. The land itself cracking open as dark roots spread across it like veins. The Eastern Grove, or what my mind imagined of it, swallowed by something hungry.

I blinked hard and gripped the table. The visions faded and the inn came back into focus. Once again, I heard laughter, footsteps, and the scrape of cutlery on plates.

Pip nudged me with his mug. “Hey. You alive over there? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Wint leaned forward concerned. “You good?”

I folded the parchment and slid it away. “I'm just tired.”

Allura watched me for a long second. “Rest tonight,” she said softly. “Tomorrow is another day.”

She was right. The room was warm, the food was good, and the drinks were strong, but the weight in my chest didn’t subside. Because while the others laughed and drank, my thoughts stayed fixed on Arad’s pain and the darkness waiting in the east. We left at first light.

---The Western Bridge---

We passed back through the Root Market before most stalls opened. A few early traders were setting up, lifting crates and hanging charms. The city inside the tree felt quieter in the dawn.

Past the ornate gate at the base of Haustrasill, the forest stretched wide in every direction. Haustfyr felt bigger out here, its scale impossible to understand, even from inside the World Tree. Caladhel wasn’t anywhere close. We had days ahead of us, maybe more, and the land between was restless.

We followed the main road west, passing old trail markers painted with fading Daenan scripts. The forest grew thicker the further we walked, as if the trees were trying to swallow us.

The first few days were quiet, until we reached the Inner Western Bridge. The stone stretched across about two miles of the Hollybraid River, its surface worn from time. But the damage up ahead wasn’t from age.

Both Pip and Roe halted, their noses sniffing frantically. “Something happened here,” Roe whispered.

It didn’t take long for the rest of us to notice the horrifying scene. Armor split open, clothing shredded, blood soaking into the cracks of the bridge. Parts of bodies, arms, legs, things too mangled to identify, scattered across the stone. The smell of death and decay clung to the air like a fog.

Wint pointed to a section of shattered stone. “Something hit the bridge hard.”

Scorch marks spread across the surface like lightning had struck repeatedly.

Pip picked up a piece of armor and swallowed. “Stonefoot clan, no doubt. They pick fights with everyone.”

Roe nodded. “And everything.”

Wint stepped in closer, his voice low. “What the hell happened here?”

We didn’t investigate further. Our priority was Caladhel and we needed to push on. We crossed the bridge in silence, covering our faces to hide us from the putrid smell.

Another few days passed. We made it as far west as we could, then headed due north for Caladhel.

---Eldergrove Refuge---

Eldergrove Refuge sat in a small clearing off the beaten path, a cluster of tiny cottages tucked into the surrounding foliage. Lanterns hung outside the doorways, but none were lit.

Wint frowned. “It’s too quiet. Something’s off.”

He was right. The courtyard was filled with bandits dressed in Stonefoot gear. At the center stood a broad-shouldered Cynoce with pitch black fur and spiked armor, Rupert Stonefoot. His second-in-command, Skivs, lingered beside him, a smaller Karnal but just as dangerous, spinning a dagger between his fingers.

The Refuge townspeople knelt nearby, bound and frightened.

Rupert grinned the moment he saw us. “Travelers! Perfect timing. We’re collecting donations.”

Wint lowered his voice. “I hate bandits.”

Roe glared. “We aren’t walking away from this.”

I nodded. “We take them head-on.”

We drew our weapons without another word, shifting into fighting stances.

Rupert’s grin widened. “Oh good. A fight.”

He raised his dagger. “Bring me them alive.”

Skivs cracked his neck. “No promises.”

The bandits charged fast, dozens of them. Daggers flashing, arrows loosed from behind cover. Wint swung his greataxe into the first wave, carving an arc that sent two bandits crashing to the ground. Pip and Roe vanished into the chaos, their movements quick and sharp as lightning, striking from angles impossible to track.

I summoned a Flamespit Totem, whipping its fire into the bandits closing on me. Allura lifted her lute, sending Sharp Notes slicing across the field and illusions spinning through the air to draw fire away.

Skivs barreled straight at us, reckless and eager, his boots tearing up dirt as he closed the distance. Rupert stayed farther back, barking orders and firing bolts from a hand crossbow, each shot whistling past with murderous intent.

Then suddenly, a dagger flashed.

Skivs slammed into Roe, faster than either of us expected. The hit knocked her back, her feet slipping in the dirt. Before she recovered, Skivs’s blade found her side. Roe gasped and collapsed, eyes wide and clutching the wound.

Pip saw it.

Time seemed to freeze around him. His breath caught, his eyes locked on Roe, and for a heartbeat he looked younger, frightened, like a kid watching the one person who’d always protected him finally fall.

"Roe!" His voice cracked, raw and desperate.

Then something inside him shifted. His fear vanished. His wild grin vanished. What replaced it was cold, controlled, and dangerous.

He moved with a speed I’d never seen from him, a precision I didn’t know he was capable of. Every strike was deliberate, every step calculated. His daggers found the vital points of several bandits as he weaved through the crowd, bodies dropping as he ran past.

He hurled himself at Skivs with his daggers fueled by panic and anger. Each blow was aimed to kill and there was no holding back. Skivs staggered, barely able to keep up, forced onto the defensive.

Bandits swarmed me from both sides. A blade grazed my arm, a club caught my ribs. Wint took a hit that dropped him to one knee. Allura’s illusions flickered as her concentration broke, wincing as an arrow clipped her leg and dropped her to the ground.

We were pushing our limits, but the bandits kept coming.

But inch by inch, strike by strike, we began to turn the tide. Pip drove Skivs back toward Rupert. Wint crushed the last of the front line. Allura filled the gaps with bursts of sound that cracked like splitting stone. And I healed the team, as much as I could.

Rupert shot at Pip, missing but allowing Skivs to get away. His face twisting with anger, he grabbed the metal trinket at his belt.

“Skivs! Fall back!”

Skivs looked panicked, blood running from cuts along his arms, stumbling toward his leader. Rupert activated the trinket and light exploded around them, blinding all of us in the area. When it faded, both were gone. The remaining bandits broke and ran, scattering into the trees in every direction.

We freed the civilians, but the adrenaline was still pulsing in our bodies. Not a second after the fight ended, Pip darted to Roe’s side, dropping to his knees and pressing his hands against the wound to slow the bleeding. Roe lay on the ground, pale and gripping her side as blood seeped between her fingers.

I knelt beside her and pressed a hand to the wound. Magic stirred hard under my palm, rushing to meet the wound as if it recognized her pain. I called for the River Welk Spirit. Moisture lifted from the air, swirling fast before snapping into shape, an elk of living water forming with a burst of cold mist. It stomped once, sending ripples across the ground, then lowered its antlers toward Roe. Light pulsed through the water as the magic surged out, flooding her wound with a sharp, cooling force. The torn flesh knit itself slowly, trembling with each breath she took until her shaking eased and her breathing steadied.

Her eyes fluttered open. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

Pip stayed at her side, trembling with the aftershock of fear and fury. “Don’t do that ever again,” he mumbled.

Roe tried to smirk. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”

The townspeople approached slowly, shaken but alive.

“Thank you,” one said. “They took over days ago. We thought we were done for.”

A woman clutched her child close. “Please…rest here as long as you need. We owe you that much.”

The villagers gathered food, blankets, and whatever comfort they could find in the wreckage of Eldergrove. We accepted their help. Roe needed time to rest, we all did. Night settled over the cottages, quiet and heavy, dimly lit by the campfire in the center of the village.

Eldergrove held us longer than any of us wanted, but we didn’t have a choice. Roe needed time, and the villagers needed help putting their home back together. The cottages were torn apart from the Stonefoot takeover, doors kicked in, windows smashed, and gardens ruined. Every corner of the place carried signs of fear.

Pip barely left Roe’s side. When he wasn’t sitting with her, he paced outside the cottage like a restless shadow, muttering to himself and glaring at anything that moved. Roe stayed propped up inside, pale but stubborn, insisting she’d walk the moment her body cooperated again.

Wint spent most of the days hauling beams back into place and repairing walls alongside the locals. His size helped, even if he complained about every board he lifted. Allura worked with the villagers to mend clothing, reinforce shelters, and calm shaken children with soft music. I stepped wherever I was needed, patching wounds, tending gardens, and summoning small spirits that mended broken rafters or cleared debris.

By the third day, Roe stood on her own, her breathing steady and her color returning. She winced when she straightened up, but she lifted her chin like nothing had happened.

“You sure you’re ready to leave?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m not letting Pip hover another day. I’ll go insane.”

Pip pretended not to hear, though he straightened in obvious relief.

The villagers gathered to thank us before we left, offering dried fruit, warm bread, and a few hand-carved charms meant for safe travel.

“You saved us,” a woman said, clutching her child’s shoulder. “Eldergrove stands because of you.”

Roe smiled faintly. “Keep it standing.”

We pushed north once more.

---The Golden Gourd Tavern---

The next several days passed in long stretches of forest road and rolling fields. By late afternoon, the smell of spiced cider drifted through the air, warm and sweet.

Pip sniffed the wind. “That’s food. Real food.”

Roe elbowed him gently. “Try not to sprint inside.” Pip smirked back but still had that concerned look in his eyes.

The Golden Gourd Tavern rose ahead, its enormous, dried gourd shell carved into a sturdy, rounded building. The natural ridges of its walls caught the sunset, glowing gold. Vines curled around lanterns that cast soft amber light across the entrance.

Inside, warmth hit like a soft blanket. Wooden furniture curved with the natural shape of the gourd. A spiraling staircase twisted up to a loft. A sunken hearth at the center crackled, surrounded by a large communal dining table. Booths sat tucked into alcoves, the air filled with scents of roasting meat and sweet cider.

Fay Tayberry, short and sharp-eyed with silver-streaked fur, looked us over from behind the counter. She held a weathered recipe book in one hand and didn’t smile until she was convinced we weren’t trouble.

“Well? Standing there won’t feed you,” she said, hands planting firmly on her hips.

Allura bowed politely. “We’d be grateful for anything warm.”

Fay sniffed. “Everyone is these days. Take a seat.”

May Tayberry bounced over with a tray, her golden-brown fur and bright eyes matching her energy. “Stew or loaf first? Or cider? Or—sorry, sometimes I talk too much. Sit! I’ll bring everything.”

Pip grinned. “I like her.”

We settled at a booth near the hearth. Stew arrived in carved gourd bowls, thick and steaming. The honey loaf came warm, its crust soft and sweet. Spiced cider smelled like cinnamon. For a moment, we forgot what we’ve been through over the last several days.

Other travelers filled the tavern. Mercenaries comparing scars, merchants telling half-true stories, adventurers laughing too loudly. The kind of crowd that made the Stonefoot bandits think twice about coming here.

Halfway through the meal, a soft, melodic whistle drifted through the room.
A tall Atha Daenan leaned against the hearth, golden-hued skin glowing in the firelight, white-blond hair falling perfectly over his shoulders. His clothes looked untouched by dust, even after a long journey. He played a small harmonica, each note smooth and warm.

May whispered, “That’s Lorin. He’s been here for days. Helps clean, plays songs…talks a lot.”

Fay shot her a look. “Oh, he talks too much?”

Lorin finished the tune and approached our table with a slow, elegant bow.

“You’re travelers,” he said, voice calm and pleasant. “Heading north, by any chance?”

Roe narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why?”

He smiled gently, placing a hand over his heart. “I seek an escort. A humble musician like myself isn’t suited for the road alone. I’m heading to Caladhel for…work.”

Wint raised an eyebrow. “What kind of work?”

Lorin gave a soft laugh. “Oh, you know, the usual commissions, meetings, favors owed and collected. The usual mess that piles up when you spend too long on the road.” His tone stayed even, giving nothing away. “But I’d rather not travel alone. It’s safer with company.”

Pip squinted at him. “You don’t look like you get your hands dirty much.”

Lorin lifted his harmonica with a small shrug. “That’s why I’m seeking people who do.”

Roe studied him, trying to read the spaces between his words. “And you’ll pay for the escort?”

“Fairly,” he said, offering a warm, practiced smile. “And I won’t slow you down. I promise that much.” He dropped a coin purse on the table, “Half now, half when we arrive?”

Nothing in his voice hinted at danger, nothing pushed too hard, and nothing felt out of place. Maybe that was what bothered me. Still, we were already headed to Caladhel, and having another person with us wouldn’t hurt.

We all glanced at each other and nodded. “You can come.”

Lorin bowed with quiet gratitude. “Thank you, truly. I won’t be a burden.”

We stayed the night at the tavern. The beds were soft, and the air was warm from the hearth. For the first time in a long time, I was able somewhat relax.

---North to Caladhel---

Lorin traveled lightly, moving with the calm confidence of someone who had long ago figured out who he was. He played quiet melodies as we walked, softly echoing between the trees. I’d occasionally catch Allura humming to the same tune.

The days north passed steadily. The trees marched with us until the city walls rose in the distance. Its stone walls tall and worn, banners fluttering in the sunlight.

Pip whistled. “Wow, Caladhel is huge.”

Wint cracked his knuckles. “That’s a lot of people to convince...”

Roe tightened her grip on her belt. “We just need to convince one.”

There Caladhel stood, waiting for us. The future hiding just under its surface, and so was our next step to whatever came next.

---Caladhel---

Caladhel came into view along the edge of Haustfyr, its buildings set into layers of stone and forest. Towers rose from the cliffs, their windows lit in the late light. The walls climbed high over the terraces, marked with old Daenan runes faded from decades of weather. Above the gate, the arch showed the inscription: “From Stone, Unity”.

Inside, the old shape of the capital was still clear. The city climbed in levels, bridges stretching between the terraces over the canals, far below. Courtyards that once held ceremonies now held busy markets. It felt like a city built on two layers: the Daenan bones beneath, and a melting pot of cultures laid on top.

Banners in multiple languages hung from balconies. Food stalls filled the air with spice and smoke. Cynoce blacksmiths hammered metal beside Fivelli traders, and Karnal stonecarvers sat outside the artisan quarter, working slabs of marble as if nothing outside the walls mattered.

It seemed somewhat normal on the outside, but the tension was impossible to ignore.

The Arcury patrolled in pairs through every major street, their armor marked with a diamond of four stars around a single tree. The city was safe, clean, and orderly. Caladhel worked hard to look untouched. But through the cracks were rationed shipments, tightened borders, and the hush that followed conversations about the corruption.

Before we reached City Hall, Lorin stopped walking. He gave us a soft smile and pressed a pouch of coin into my hand.

“The rest of the payment for getting me here safely,” he said. “I can handle the rest. Caladhel has always treated musicians well.” He touched Harmony, the small harmonica at his belt. “I’ll see you again. I’m sure of it.” He turned down a side street and disappeared into the crowd.

We continued to the central district, where the buildings shifted from mixed stone to alabaster walls lined with gardens and fountains. City Hall stood at the end of a broad plaza, a tall Daenan relic built from white stone streaked with blue-veined marble. Old script and newer inscriptions covered its face.

At the entrance, Sayer Veylan Arkivis waited for us. His layered green and gold robes brushed the marble floor as he bowed his head. “Welcome to Caladhel,” he said, voice calm and thoughtful. “I am Veylan, Sayer Advisory to the city. I’ll guide you from here.”

He led us inside, through tall corridors toward the mayor’s office.

Mayor Nokrom Eldemont stood behind a broad obsidian table. An older Karnal with a full white beard, sharp eyes behind dark spectacles, and navy-and-gold robes that seemed heavier than they should’ve been.

He didn’t welcome us. He measured us.

“State your purpose,” he said.

Roe stepped forward. “We bring word from Grand Sayer Maple.”

His eyes narrowed. “Another request for forces, I assume?”

“We didn’t come empty-handed,” I said.

I set Maple’s sealed parchment on the desk, along with Orwin’s Arcury token. Nokrom’s expression shifted immediately. He picked up the token first, turning it in his hand, then looked back at us. His posture eased slightly.

“This belongs only to an Arcury officer,” he said. “They do not hand these out. How did you come by it?”

“From Officer Orwin,” I said. “We found him wounded at the southern bridge. Whatever hit him had already torn through the region. He asked us to deliver it and help the Sayers secure the Arcury.”

Nokrom’s grip tightened. “Orwin is loyal. He wouldn’t abandon his post unless the threat was real.”

He broke the seal on Maple’s parchment and read quickly, his eyes scanning the lines more than once.

“These details…” he said. “Missing Sayers. Advancing corruption. Entire groves failing.”

Allura stepped forward. “Maple’s words don’t carry panic. They carry certainty.”

Nokrom let out a slow breath. “If this is accurate, the East is far worse than our reports claimed.”

He wasn’t convinced yet. But for the first time since we got here, he wasn’t fighting us.

Veylan nodded toward him. “Mayor, the Sayers don’t send warnings lightly.”

Nokrom adjusted his glasses, staring at the parchment again. “I need more than warnings. Tell me exactly what you’ve seen. Start from the beginning.”

So, we told him. Starting with the takeover at Greatfall, the disturbance in Austruun, Orwin barely holding on, the massacre on the western bridge, the massive Stonefoot presence throughout the region, and the corruption spreading faster than anything anyone had imagined.

Nokrom listened, really listened, while scanning different piles of paper on his desk. He began to connect what we said with the scattered reports his scouts had sent.

“I’ve denied multiple requests for aid,” he admitted. “Caladhel can only survive if Caladhel remains strong.”

Roe crossed her arms. “And has that worked for you?”

His mouth tightened. “That’s what has kept this city alive.”

“But not the rest of Haustfyr,” I said.

Nokrom’s jaw shifted. “Perhaps not.”

Just as his resolve started to soften, the floor shook. A faint tremor rolled through the room and voices shouted from the hall.

An Arcury officer burst in. “Sir! There’s been a security breach in the east wing!”

Nokrom straightened. “Seal off the doors! Hold every outsider until we understand what’s happening.” Then his eyes landed on us.

“You came with Sayer documents,” he said, voice hardening. “And now there’s an attack inside my hall?”

Wint stepped forward. “We didn’t do this.”

“Convenient timing,” Nokrom said. “Guards, remove them.”

We were shoved backward into the corridor. Guards surrounded Nokrom, moving him deeper into the building.

Veylan stayed close only long enough to whisper, “I know you’re innocent, I’ll stall them. Find out what’s happening.”

Then he stepped forward, blocking the guards long enough for us to run. The tremors grew stronger, and smoke drifted from the east wing. Interior doors stood open, papers scattered across the floors. The guards had been drawn away from their posts, so we followed the noise down a narrow corridor. Two officers lay on the floor, unconscious but breathing.

A suspicious figure stood ahead of us facing the heavy door to what we assumed was Nokrom’s protected chamber. A harmonica resting in his hand.

Allura’s managed a startled whisper. “Lorin…”

Lorin turned to us slowly, wearing the same gentle smile he’d always used, but this time with a twisted look in his eyes.

“I hoped you wouldn’t follow me,” he said.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Lorin looked back to the door. “Finishing what I came here for!” He pounded his fist on the door with a loud bang, “Nokrom recalled the Arcury and my village was left defenseless. The corruption took everything I loved. He doesn’t get to choose who lives and who dies!”

Allura stepped closer, with her hands stretched toward him. “Lorin, listen to yourself. Killing him won’t fix anything. Revenge isn’t going to change what happened.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t revenge. It’s balance.”

Roe’s voice cut sharp. “It’s murder.”

Lorin lifted Harmony. “This doesn’t involve you. You should leave while you still can.”

Wint reached for his axe. “Not happening.”

The hall went still.

Lorin struck first. Harmony’s music ripped through the air and a magical darkness drowned the hallway. Suddenly, a burst of color flared from Lorin, a bright arc of shifting rainbow light that swept across the corridor. It wrapped around us like ropes of shimmering thread, tightening until our limbs strained against it.

Lorin’s fingers danced over Harmony again, faster, sharper. A second song rose, and the air above us churned. A dark cloud formed under the ceiling, spinning frantically until a barrage of sharp, searing droplets showered us, each stinging like burning metal.

We pushed through it. Allura, barely able to move her arms, managed to dispel the rainbow bindings. We closed the distance fast. Wint swung hard, Pip and Roe closed in low, and Allura cast a sharp note to stagger him. But Lorin snapped his wrist and the hallway warped. An illusion appeared beside him, a perfect copy stepping forward with a hollow grin. Our attacks slipped through it or missed by inches, the illusion dancing with grace. Every strike that should have landed hit nothing, buying Lorin just enough space to keep us back.

Then, he grabbed the lute strapped to his back, swung it in a wide arc, and the heavy wooden frame cracked against Wint’s chest and Allura’s ribs in one brutal sweep. Both staggered back, breath punched from their lungs.

I called on the Shambling Hound, its roots breaking through the floor, managing to knock Lorin off balance. Roe managed to pin his arm to the floor before he could bring Harmony up again, then Pip kicked the harmonica from his grip. Wint and Allura slowly getting up to help hold him down.

Lorin finally stopped resisting, breathing hard. Some officers arrived moments later and pulled him to his feet. His now hopeless gaze fixed on Nokrom’s closed door as he’s pulled away.

After some time, we were brought back to Nokrom’s office. The mayor looked pale behind his desk, shaken but standing.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly.

Roe folded her arms. “We told you we weren’t behind it.”

Nokrom exhaled, long and worn. “I misjudged you. And I may have misjudged the state of Haustfyr.”

He looked again at Orwin’s token.

“Caladhel can’t turn its back any longer,” he said. “I’ll deploy the Arcury to support the Sayers.”

Veylan stepped beside us, letting out a sigh of relief. “This is great news! I’ll notify Maple of your success immediately.”

For the first time since we arrived, Caladhel felt less like a wall and more like a door opening. And even as relief settled over us, one quiet thought sat heavy in my mind. We hadn’t told Nokrom or Veylan that we were the ones who brought Lorin into the city. After the success of our mission, we weren’t foolish enough to admit that. Not today, not ever.