Chapter 23: into the forest / Prince Lucien: the Outpost

OLIVE

Together we moved into the forest.

Emma was looking around as if for a guard “I know I should’ve thought of this before, but…” she stumbled over a root “aren’t we technically trespassing?” she asked as I climbed over a fallen log. 

Sitting on top of it, I offered her my hand to help her up. “Don’t worry, this forest actually belongs to my family. We’re not trespassing.” 

She grabbed my wrist, and I helped pull her up. 

Her eyes widened as she climbed down the other side. “Your family owns this forest?” she said, awe in her voice. 

“YEP,” I said, puffing out my chest and beaming with pride. 

I mean, technically it belongs to King Vaeric and we’re just maintaining it, but I didn’t think I needed to share that tidbit. 

We continued walking, the trees thickening around us. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy in long, golden rays. Tiny floating seeds danced in the air like lazy snowflakes. The forest smelled like fresh moss, olive bark, and the faint smell of honey.

Every now and then, a Dandelionmouse drifted past, trailing its long fluffy tails that sparkled faintly in the sun. A Glowmantle snail clung to the bark of a nearby trunk, its shell pulsing with a low golden light. 

Every time Emma would stop and stare, and while it was really fun seeing her reactions it also meant we were moving at a snail’s pace. 

We kept the slow pace going as the trees whispered above us. “Where are we heading first?” Emma asked swatting at a drifting leaf. 

“We’re heading toward my tree Arbolive.” I told her jumping root from root “I want climb it again to see where the bubbles are now since the Aethrons probably moved.” 

“Your tree? You mean the one we climbed?” I slowed down my jumping as she was struggling to keep up “What makes it yours?” 

“I planted it myself.” 

Well... my dad helped. 

“But that tree has to be over a hundred years old!”

“don’t hang around farmers much huh?” I asked her.

“No, I spent most of my time in monasteries or church’s.” in a quieter voice she continued “I’ve never been in a forest before this one.”

And for the first time as far as my memories go, I slipped on a root and fell, hard.

“Are you okay?!?” Emma rushed to my side and extended her palms towards me “I can heal you just—”

“No!” I shouted and swatted her hands away. She looked at me with shock.

I calmed my voice “I’m fine, don’t waste your spell” and totally not for selfish reasons I gave her a hug to calm her down.

***

An awkward silence hung in the air, as we moved through the forest, I didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Emma spoke first. 

“How did your tree get so big then?”

“I grew it from a little sapling, she would fit in my hand, I mean not back then since I was so little myself but now it would have.” I cupped my hands in front of me to show her the size “then I would visit it every day and cast growth on it, well not every day as sometimes I would heal or care.” I clarified.

“Care?” Emma said baffled.

 “Yes, I would cast my spell to show her I cared about her.” I said a little defensively though my brother had stopped teasing me about this and even apologized, it still stung.

Finally, we reached her. Arbolive.

She was beautiful so tall you couldn’t see the top, taller than all the surrounding trees. her trunk was thick and sturdy, I ran straight to her and hugged her best I could. the bark warm and familiar beneath my fingers. I looked up at her and saw life all over her, from small insects to big ones, birds, rodents and oh look there’s a new beehive how fun. Her leaves shimmered a brilliant green as they danced in greeting.  

“I’ll climb up and see where they are,” I said, already hurrying up the trunk. I was a little more reckless than usual, okay, a lot more, but I wanted to impress her with my speed, and I needed to feel myself moving, instead of sitting, meditating like I spent all day as Lucarion doing.

I reached the top gasping for breath, I spotted the shimmering purple bubbles. They seemed to be in the same spot as last time, which I found quite odd. Since I read that Aethron were migratory. 

A soft pop, like a chestnut cracking, echoed overhead. Then another. One by one, leaf-shaped parachutes began drifting down through the canopy, each one held tightly by a small, green-furred creature with leaflike ears and fanned tails. My Kitesqueaks were floating down. 

One of them glided straight toward me, chittering in a strange rhythm, three chirps, pause, one chirp, pause, repeat. It circled above my head once, then glided down toward the next tree. 

I started to scrambled back down, but the Kitesqueaks started jumping on me, causing me to descend more carefully. 

“They’re still in the same area,” I told Emma as I reached the bottom, pointing in the direction we needed to go. “I know a safe path to get there.”

Emma nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Lead the way.” 

 “Do you know the name of the forest? I ask

“Yes, says Emma it’s Highbough. Is it called Highbough because the trees are so big?”

“No, it was called that because it belongs to the king, high as in upper nobility, the tall trees came after."

We moved through the underbrush, the forest growing denser with each step, the tree getting taller and taller though they still were dwarfed by Arbolive. The sun flickered through the leaves in irregular bursts, painting shifting patterns on the mossy ground. The air had that charged quietly, like the world was holding its breath. 

Emma stared as one of the leaf-gliding creatures drifted overhead, its paws clinging to a massive green leaf like it was a parachute. “What—what is that?” 

“Oh. That’s a Kitesqueak,” I said, like it was obvious. 

Emma blinked. “A what now?” 

“I named them that,” 

She gave me a look. 

“I named them that when I was little” I added quickly. “Since They squeak. And they kite.” 

“But—but what’s their real name?” she asked as I pushed a branch out of her way.  

“They’re part of the tree,” I explained. “My tree that is, I cast a spell on the tree so that it could defend itself and it Sort of uh... bloomed those.” 

“Bloomed? What like flowers” she asked “She tilted her head, frowning just a little. It was a weird expression, but one I liked.” 

“Yep!” I think I kinda like giving her short answers, as it makes her stare at me.  

Emma opened her mouth, then closed it again. “You’re telling me your tree grows these Kitesqueaks and they defend it somehow?” 

“Like guardians,” I added. “And sometimes nappers. They curl around the books like moss.” 

Another one floated past, chittering softly. 

Emma followed its arc with her eyes. “Are they their own creatures or part of the tree?” 

“Could be both,” I said with a shrug. 

We kept chatting about whatever creature we’d spot next. 

***

PRINCE LUCIEN

The forest thinned into windswept slopes where the trees clung stubbornly to pockets of soil, their roots exposed and twisted like knotted rope. The air grew thinner, colder, sharper. Every breath steamed in front of Lucien’s face as he guided Deborah along the narrow, uneven trail.

The exhaustion settled into them slowly, becoming a constant presence. Muscles stiffened. Tempers shortened. Every man and woman rode with their shoulders tense, watching the skies instead of the path. Even the horses had grown skittish, ears flicking nervously at every stray breeze.

The Sentinel Finch was the reason.

They had not seen it again, but its threat lingered. Its eyes could be anywhere, hidden in the dense needles of a single pine or circling far above the gray clouds.

Sir Fenric and Dame Rowena alternated their spells every few hours, weaving them together like threads in an invisible cloak. Fenric formed the fog that curled low around the riders, masking shapes and silhouettes. Rowena dulled the sound of hooves and creaking saddles until the entire company moved like a shadow across the mountainside.

Aldric also used his magic to give the horse’s energy, allowing them to run at full speed for longer.

The higher they climbed, the louder the winds grew. They carved through the exposed rock and battered the riders, flinging grit into their eyes. Even Doran, encased in metal, braced himself with each blast of cold air.

Ingrid’s hammer tapped rhythmically against her saddle. Matthias kept his bow unstrung but gripped tightly, his posture alert even when his horse stumbled. Aldric’s hounds stayed unnaturally quiet, heads low, sniffing constantly for what the human eye could not see.

Lucien rode near the front, close to Jerimiah and Callum. The path was too narrow for mistakes. One misplaced hoof could send horse and rider tumbling into the ravine below.

They rounded a bend, and the mountain gave way to forest again, Lucien felt unsettled as they moved deeper into the forest, but it was Matthias who brought attention to it.

“Are we shrinking?” muttered half to himself.

“No, the trees are simply getting bigger” Ingrid answered

And bigger they were, it seemed like every 10 meters they passed gave the trees an extra one in height.

They continued their way slower now, as Aldric had run out of magic to power the horses. Fenric and Rowena had also run out, though Rowena’s last cast was still in effect muting their steps, not even the large twigs underneath them made sound.

The trees ended abruptly, leaving a wide stretch stripped bare, the forest pushed back rather than thinning naturally. A few stumps still clung to the earth, their weathered rings marking where trunks had once stood. From this cleared ground, a flat terrace jutted out from the cliffside, shaped by deliberate hands. A wooden palisade ringed the stone shelf, its timbers taken from the forest was darkened by wind and age. A short watchtower leaned against the far wall, and a faded banner hung limp from its pole, showing the emblem of Calmanthe’s Third Mountain Regiment.

Callum raised a hand and the riders slowed. Matthias spotted motion on the tower first, followed by the thin wail of a horn call drifting down the slope.

“Someone is there,” Matthias said.

“Not many,” Ingrid murmured, noting the stillness of the walls. “This place looks starved of manpower.”

As they approached, two guards walked atop the rampart, their armor was worn, their cloaks patched, their faces drawn with fatigue. Relief washed over both at the sight of allies rather than monsters.

“Welcome, travelers,” one guard said, voice cracking from disuse. “Get inside.” He waved them in as the gates opened.

The company filed through the gate and entered the outpost.

Inside, the place felt hollow.

Buildings that should have housed dozens were silent.

Barracks stood half empty.

The training yard was abandoned, footprints blurred by old rain.

The smell of soup and woodsmoke drifted across the outpost as the garrison went about their duties.

The party was invited to lunch and gathered around a large campfire, sitting on cut logs arranged in a loose circle. Hanging over the flames was an enormous iron Hag’s cauldron, its rounded belly nearly as wide as the fire pit itself and its thick rim scarred by old heat and impact. Long chains held it aloft, each link heavy enough to require two hands to lift. The contents simmered steadily as they shared bowls and occasionally tossed in whatever ingredients they had on hand.

The garrison captain took a seat beside Jerrimiah. He was a tall man with a scar running across his brow, his armor plain but well maintained. A longsword hung at his hip, and his expression carried the steady calm of someone long accustomed to danger without the comfort of reinforcements.

“Your group came from Stillwater,” he said. “We were expecting no one, so your arrival is a welcome surprise.” He hesitated, then added, “You wouldn’t happen to be our relief, would you?”

Callum offered a respectful shake of the head. “We merely seek passage through the range.”

“You will have it,” the captain replied.

“Why is there such a small crew here?” Lucien asked annoyed that his studies focused so much on other nations and not enough on what was happening a mere day from his capital.

“I can show you if you like. the reason our garrison remains, even reduced as it is.”

He raised to his feet bowl in hand and gestured for them to follow.

They crossed the outpost yard and approached the far wall of the palisade. There, carved into the stone behind a reinforced grate, was a wide, dark cleft. A stale breath of cold air drifted from it, colder than the mountain wind.

The captain stopped before it.

“This,” he said quietly, “is the dungeon entrance. Once, this garrison numbered over sixty. When we starved the dungeon, the threat waned. Now only a skeleton crew is needed to ensure nothing wanders in.”

“But I didn’t know there was a dungeon here. The nearest one was supposed to be in the Highbough Forest,” Lucien said.

“This is the Highbough Forest,” the captain replied.

“I thought that was on the other side of the mountain?” Lucien said, his gaze drifting past the iron grate and into the dark beyond.

“The forest is so large it extends all the way across the mountain. Didn’t you notice the trees?”

“Yes, they kept growing,” Matthias muttered with a mouth full of soup.

Lucien did not respond.

The air spilling from the dungeon was colder than the mountain wind. It brushed against his skin and lingered, as if reluctant to leave. The darkness beyond the grate was not empty. It had depth. Distance. A suggestion of space waiting to be crossed.

A thought brushed the edge of his mind, a quiet pressure behind his eyes, unbidden.

I should see what’s inside.