The mountain was now behind them, and the ground had begun to soften. At first, the trees were sparse, but soon they multiplied until they formed an imposing forest. This was no ordinary forest. It was old. Ancient. As if time itself had taken root among its branches.

  The trunks were as wide as temple columns. The bark, rough and covered in lichen, seemed to have survived centuries of history. The canopies formed a natural vault that barely allowed light to pass. The air grew denser, more humid, and something in the atmosphere demanded respect.

  Hans walked in silence, chewing the last piece of road bread. He looked at the trees as one might tread on sacred ground. He wasn’t afraid, but he felt that strange discomfort reserved for places that seem alive.

  From a small rise, just before entering fully, he caught a glimpse of Avalon in the distance. Faint through the mist, its silhouette barely visible beyond the hills. The sight stirred something strange in him, like he had been there before… though he couldn’t remember when.

  Lysandra, a few steps ahead, also stopped. She looked at the horizon for a moment, then continued walking without a word.

  They walked in silence for a while. After crossing through tall ferns and twisted trees, Lysandra came to a halt. The path split. One continued east, wide and well-trodden. The other, barely visible, wound into the undergrowth toward a moss-covered hollow riddled with roots.

  “This is it,” she said, without turning.

  Hans raised an eyebrow.

  “This is what?”

  Lysandra glanced at him, then pointed to the narrow path.

  “The task. It’s in there.”

  Hans squinted.

  “And what kind of task brings you alone into a forest older than the continent?”

  “I’m going in alone. I won’t be long. If, when I return, you’re willing to help me transport it... I’ll reward you.”

  “That’s it? No warning? No creatures with fangs, or tentacles, or eyes glowing in the dark?”

  She gave a faint smile—barely a gesture.

  “Nothing you can’t ignore. But don’t stray from the clearing.”

  Hans sighed. He wanted answers. But he knew the game by now—she spoke just enough, he pretended not to care.

  “All right. I’ll help you. I suppose that’s why I came.”

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  Lysandra nodded once, turned, and disappeared among the trees. Hans watched until the forest swallowed her whole.

  And then, the woods fell silent.

  A dense, unnatural silence. No birds. No insects. No wind. Just a heavy stillness, as if something was holding its breath.

  Hans sat on a mossy rock. The air smelled of damp, of wood, of things too old to name. He closed his eyes. For a moment, it felt like the forest was breathing with him.

  And just as he began to relax... something changed.

  When he opened his eyes, he was no longer alone.

  Three figures stood a few meters away. One of them was in chains.

  The first was a massive orc, green-skinned, broad as an oak. He held a thick iron chain dragging behind him a tall, thin creature, its skin cracked like living stone. Its expressionless face looked carved. The third was a long-eared goblin with jittery eyes and a rusted knife in hand.

  Hans stood, hands raised.

  “Is that your friend?” he asked, nodding toward the chained one.

  The goblin chuckled.

  “No. He was lost. Said he wants to go home.”

  “And you plan to sell him?”

  “Of course. Living stone. Not something you see every day. Someone in Avalon will pay. If not... well, he can always be chopped up.”

  The stone being lifted its gaze. Its voice was slow and coarse.

  “I want... to go back.”

  Something turned in Hans’s gut. It wasn’t pity. It was that irritation you feel when something’s wrong and you can’t look away.

  “And what are you doing in this part of the woods?”

  “Chasing fortune,” the orc grunted. “Selling what we find.”

  “You look lost too,” added the goblin. “Careful. Some things aren’t worth much... until someone decides they are.”

  Hans didn’t reply. He just watched them leave.

  But something inside him didn’t move with them.

  He rose slowly.

  “Screw this,” he muttered.

  Then the forest reacted.

  A thick branch rose from the ground and coiled around the orc’s leg. The brute roared, stumbling.

  The goblin turned just in time to see Hans advancing, sword in hand.

  “Hey!” he shouted, drawing his knife.

  But a bunch of dry branches fell from above, blinding him.

  Hans didn’t hesitate. In one clean, direct motion, he drove the sword into the goblin’s throat. A wet sound escaped him before he collapsed.

  The orc tore the branch away and roared. He raised his axe, ready to charge—

  But the stone being, still in chains, pulled hard. The orc stumbled. Fell to one knee.

  Hans moved. Dodged a wild swing and plunged his blade into the orc’s side.

  The orc groaned, bleeding heavily. He dropped his weapon and collapsed, gasping.

  “Morvath... will reign... in darkness,” he rasped, before falling unconscious.

  Hans stepped back, trembling.

  He approached the orc, searched his belongings, and pulled out a ring of keys. He walked to the stone being and unlocked the shackles.

  “Why were you chained?” he asked.

  “I awoke recently. I must return home.”

  “Where is that?”

  The being didn’t answer. He simply placed a hand over his chest, closed his eyes, and whispered:

  Elarien thalos, ven’quira sylva,

  Nol’therien, vasha míra.

  Thalan’dor echira’nar,

  Velnasir luneth, aethil dar.

  “Spirit of the forest, awaken in peace,

  Hear the song, feel the soul.

  Ancient roots that sleep in peace,

  Awaken to the sun, return in peace.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If you ever need help,” said the being, “whisper those words. The forest will hear.”

  And with that, he vanished into the trees.

  Hans collapsed onto the rock. He looked at the dead goblin. The barely conscious orc.

  “Lysandra’s going to say I got into trouble again... and for once, she’ll be right.”

  He sighed.

  And waited.

  Now, the forest wasn’t just a mystery.

  It was an ally.