Chapter Sixteen: The Hum of Nature.

  Soft light bathed the forest as dawn arrived. Birdsong, sun-dappled leaves, and the scent of dew announced the arrival of the day—the boy had paused his flight, driven by necessity and a curiosity for knowledge. Silently, Selriph moved through the undergrowth, toward the sacred circle where Hagan said the Shera born would be, past the ridge.

  Small creatures scurried through the undergrowth–skittish and harmless, little lives rustling the ferns. Selriph pondered, unsure if it was prudent to remain in the woods for another day. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the Templars were pursuing him and closing in.

  His rational mind dismissed it as improbable. His magical signature was all but suppressed now, and any physical tracks were near impossible to follow. The only witnesses were with him at the lodge, where some of his belongings lay. Namely, his, or rather, Vick’s tome—at Hagan’s insistence. He would travel light as a sign of respect to the local Shera customs.

  The cogs of his thoughts muted the passage of time as he trekked. Before long, he stumbled upon a quiet area. There, several men and women dressed in Shera garb—the same as Hagan—were tending to the circle and the surrounding forest. Selriph’s vision focused on a tree to his right, garbled and blackened, the underbrush and foliage around it an unnatural soot-like shade of black. However, the damage showed no signs of fire.

  Selriph’s breath caught as a robed figure in deep green and earth tones suddenly came up from his left, a voice calm and soothing. “Welcome, young traveller,” she said, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of curiosity. The elder’s voice was clear and smooth, unlike others of her age. Usually marred with a rasp.

  “Hagan spoke well of you, said we should expect you, young Selriph.” She smiled warmly, gesturing towards the bird perched on the stone. “You may call me Gulica. He said you would listen to us, and to the forest itself. We welcome those who meet our ways not with judgment, but with open wonder. Only then can the voice of nature leave its mark upon you, as it did Hagan.”

  Strangely, the mention of Hagan’s introduction—the means of which eluded the boy—stirred no tension in him. The elder’s voice soothed him, muting any protest from his mind. “I am... honoured. I would love to learn more. I never had the chance in the city... references to native peoples outside Eldeitian culture are almost non-existent.”

  She gestured to a nearby fallen log, inviting Selriph to sit. As he did so, she settled beside him, speaking in a melodious manner. “It saddens us to hear of such silence in your texts. But you’re here now. That is a beginning.”

  The woman waved her hands near Selriph, her movements light and fluid, as though sifting through invisible silk.

  “Ah, I can feel it—even muted by that charm, you’re already attuned. Good. You should be able to feel its presence then.” The elder woman gestured with her hands in a series of waves, tracing the air with her outstretched palm. “This circle is not a place of meditation; it is a focus of natural energy.”

  Selriph’s gaze swept the glade. Vibrant flowers bloomed beneath the canopy; The foliage was a rich, deep green. The peace of the surroundings provided a blanket of comfort that nuzzled against his skin.

  “I know your kind tends toward urgency,” she said with a gentle chuckle. “So I won’t burden you with our tales. I’ll give you the heart of it, what you need. Come.” As the elder woman rose from the log, she stepped into the centre of the sacred circle.

  “Feel the energy here, Selriph,” Gulica said, her eyes closed. “This is unlike what you call arcane power; it’s gentler,” the woman’s voice came like soft velvet.

  Entering the Druidic circle, Selriph felt a palpable hum in the air. Faint carvings on the stones glowed softly, welcoming him. The air throbbed with life, a vibrant energy pulsing from earth to sky. He sensed the stones’ subtle power and the forest’s deep resonance. Stepping inside felt like entering a tranquil sanctuary, a comforting embrace.

  He nodded. “It’s... incredible.”

  “Good, you perceive it. The natural state of peace and balance,” she said, a satisfied smile touched her lips. “Now—focus. Let it flow through you, into you, and out again. Let the forest speak.”

  Selriph closed his eyes, concentrating. At first, he could only perceive the life signatures of the Shera people around him. The life energy of the flora—no… the very air around him was like wisps of smoke he could scarcely catch and see.

  “Life isn’t confined to the rhythm of a beating heart. It flows in the soil, the stone, the very air,” she whispered gently, like a lullaby.

  He steadied his mind and inhaled as he allowed his legs to give way to a seated posture. As he surrendered to the surrounding warmth, he could feel hundreds, thousands of tiny threads of warmth on his skin. Each one was weaving and intertwining around him.

  “Can you sense it?” Gulica asked, her voice steady and still.

  “I... I think so,” Selriph murmured.

  “Good. Now, ask for some of that energy. Allow it to flow into yourself; let it move into you. Then, let it flow outward again. The fabric of life,” she said calmly.

  Selriph honed his focus. The life energy responded, subtle at first — the strands still barely tangible in his mind, but grew stronger, thicker in his mind’s eye. He felt it — a well of energy, power around him, unlike anything he had felt before. The carvings around the circle hummed deeply and gently.

  “You’re beginning to tap into life’s true current,” Gulica said. “The raw, unshaped power that flows through and around us, through every living thing.”

  Clarity started to coalesce in Selriph’s mind, the fragmented thoughts drawing into a cohesive whole. This differed from drawing on his innate magical reserves; a boundless ocean compared to his limited, albeit substantial, well.

  Selriph felt a question rising in his throat. “It’s not like we can draw upon all the surrounding energy, right? There is an ebb, a push and a pull to this. You cannot just…rob the energy.”

  Gulica’s expression softened. She stepped forward and placed a weathered hand on his shoulder. “Very perceptive. Life does not tolerate greed. Harmony is its law. Rob, and you pervert it.”

  She gestures to the forest. “Think of it like a river, young one: It nourishes, replenishes. A cupful quenches your thirst—but drain it dry in greed, and the land dies.”

  Her voice lowers, her gentle inflection laced with warning. “It is the gravest wound one can deal the forest,” her voice trailed off.

  Selriph could sense what she meant. With his eyes still closed, he focused on his right. The patch of dark foliage and fauna. The only area of ‘drought’ in the surrounding area, robbed of its natural life energy.

  “Is that… what befell life over there?” he subtly signals by tilting his head to the right.

  She stepped back, her gaze met the blackened patch of flora. “Yes. The mark of those who would bleed the world dry. You see it. Very astute of you.”

  Selriph felt a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder. “Never follow that path.”

  Selriph nodded as his head returned to neutral. “I can feel it — the surrounding wrongness. You can only draw upon the ambient magic—energy — doing so with respect and restraint.”

  Gulica nodded. “That’s the way of it, Selriph. A balance of power, and a respect for the forces of life that sustain us all.” She paced thoughtfully, recalling something deep in her memory. “Think of it as wielding two blades. One is your mana, as you might call it—limited, but yours. The other is nature’s—vast, to draw upon with care.”

  Selriph’s eyes were still closed as he felt clarity bloom inside him from the words. He could feel it: two pools of energy. One surrounding him—that warm, soothing sensation. The tingle of tiny threads of energy he opened himself to. And within him, a reservoir of warmth, the life, and of arcane energy he was familiar with.

  “That… makes a lot of sense…” his voice light.

  Selriph remained still, absorbing the realisation that washed over him. With no thoughts in his head, no chatter, just the sensation of the energy within and without him.

  Gulica watched intently as Selriph’s body glowed with a soft green and blue hue, unbeknownst to the boy.

  “You are blessed with keen instincts, excellent,” Gulica said, warmth in her tone. “Let it flow through. Let the forest guide your breath.”

  As he responded to the elder’s instructions, his pulse synchronised with the gentle thrum of the clearing. The light around his body flickered with the soft rhythm of a distant pulse. He entered a deeper state of awareness, of stillness. The world around him faded from existence, and the bath of ambient energy accompanied the pure tranquillity.

  Gulica stepped away, her steps light on the earth. A proud smile crept across her face as she returned to the fallen log, watching him, her eyes filled with knowing.

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  Gulica placed a hand on his shoulder, breaking his concentration. Selriph drifted back to awareness, the faint glow around his body fading before he opened his eyes.

  The light from above shone in his eyes; his vision took a second to adjust. He noticed the elderly woman pacing in front of him as she walked over to the log and retrieved a small vial of glowing substance.

  She opened the palm of her right hand as she unsealed the vial, a small puddle of shimmering, green liquid pooling into the waiting palm. A soothing, earthy aroma wafted up—a concentrated mix of herbal and floral fragrances.

  The woman knelt beside him in a graceful descent. “This is an extract from a rare plant native to these woods,” she explained. “It will act as a conduit to attune to the healing energies of nature.” Her gaze landed on the tapestry of bandages on his shoulder and chest. “Feel its pulse,” Gulica said. “Let it move through you. Don’t command it. Invite it.”

  Selriph closed his eyes as he felt the cool, tingling sensation in his palm. The energy from the liquid resembled the brief sparks of healing magic he managed to briefly conjure. This, however, felt more whole, more harmonious.

  Gulica’s voice becomes softer, almost hypnotic. “Now, picture the energy flowing from the extract into your body. Imagine it spreading through your veins, feeding your body with energy, cleansing it. Bidding their wounds and ailments away with its healing energy.”

  Selriph visualised the energy coursing through him, a gentle warmth spreading from his fingertips, rising up his arm. A strong tingle formed as it passed his left shoulder, where the rat had raked with its fangs. His chest felt a tingle across the wounds he bore. He felt it; the liquid acted as a conduit; he carefully directed the energy in the air around to invigorate himself.

  It was gradual, not the immediate binding of skin he had expected from the tome’s descriptions. Regardless, as the energy gradually poured into him, his flesh slowly rebounded, wounds closing underneath the fabric of his clothes.

  As the last of the extract dissolved, Selriph opened his eyes as he unravelled his bandages. The wound on his shoulders and chest had all but vanished. The raw, angry marks have faded into a distant memory, leaving behind nothing but tender, pale, smooth new skin. He blinked, stunned, not just by the result, but by how... right it had felt.

  His mind flashed between paragraphs in the tome, and his memories of his time with the cleric in his former cage. Acts of healing others through magical means.

  If he could draw from the forest to heal himself... could he return that gift?

  Selriph turned his gaze toward the patch of scorched earth — the blackened roots, the brittle, ashen leaves. A dry void in the middle of so much life.

  He rose and took a hesitant step forward.

  “I wonder...” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Could I reverse it…? Not to take—but to give?”

  Gulica looked up from her wordless perch, her expression unreadable. She said nothing, waiting for the boy to continue.

  “I’ve struggled with the healing cantrip,” he continued, his voice low with admission. “I tried three times before I came here. Failed each one. But this… what you. What the forest showed me. It was different. A more complete whole. Not forced, not formulaic.” He turned to the remnants of the liquid in his palm. “If healing draws energy inwards… maybe I can guide mine outwards, return what I borrowed.”

  Gulica’s brow lifted. Showing interest, tinged with caution.

  “An intriguing idea,” Gulica said at last. “But dangerous.” Her voice bore an unexpected depth. “The extract you hold allows us to weave life in balance. But to imbue and channel your energy through it … It would be like trying to pass storm wind through delicate chimes. Your life energy is a concentrated storm within you, powerful. Without immense control far beyond your years, it could shatter more than just the chimes.”

  Selriph nodded, weighing her words. Still, he did not look away from the ruined earth.

  “I understand. But to leave without trying…” He glanced back at her. “That would feel like theft. I feel that even an attempt, any slight gesture, feels necessary. An act of gratitude for this.”

  Gulica studied him for a long, silent breath. Then she inclined her head as her jaw unhinged.

  “Very well,” she said. “But remember—this is no spell to be cast. It is an offering. Do not command, do not impose. Simply lay it out and let the forest take.” She poured the liquid once more into his palm.

  Selriph exhaled, steadying his breath as he knelt by the scarred soil. The liquid glistened in the late afternoon sun as it was cradled in his hands; He could feel its heat through his skin. He closed his eyes and looked inwards within himself. The well of warmth bubbled from within as he gently directed it to his palms, his own magical energy.

  He then let it gather there, a mass of verdant green energy in his palms, an offering. He lowered his hands onto the blackened earth.

  In his mind, he shaped the spell, not as an image of the rebinding of plant tissue or a forced conceiving of new life. But as something simpler.

  A gift of energy.

  A shimmer unfurled from his hands—subtle at first, a faint green glow permeating towards the earth below, curling around the dead stems and leaves. There, impossibly, sprouts emerged—minute and budding, as they pushed through the ruined earth.

  The blackened edge flora slowly lost its dark colour. Colour returned, not to the level of lushness around it, but taking on the faintest of green hues.

  Gulica stepped forward, and awe flickered across her otherwise composed features.

  “I have never seen such a confluence of the arcane and our ways,” she whispered. “For someone so young to understand the flow of energy so well…”

  Selriph lowered his hand, the energy dissipating from his hand. He felt faint fatigue, a result of the transference of energy.

  Despite the brief spell of dizziness, he felt a comforting warmth, not from having achieved something, but from a sense of rightness. Like a key sliding perfectly into a lock.

  “I hope this… gesture repays my debt. This boon, this lesson. It gave me more than healing. It gave me a new understanding.” His voice was soft, almost mirroring the soothing texture of Gulica’s tone.

  Gulica’s gaze lingered on the tender shoots rising through the scorched soil.

  “It was more than a gesture,” she said softly. “You let your energy mingle with the forest’s breath — not to command, but to nurture. In harmony — that is the soul of Shera’s path.”

  But her smile faded as if darkness fell over her. She crouched, her fingertips brushing against the earth beside the still-recovering patch.

  “These wounds…” she mumbled. “This wasn’t flame, time or drought. Something wrong carved this scar.”

  Selriph stepped closer, a subtle tension drawing into his shoulders. “I had a feeling it wasn’t natural. What is this…?”

  Gulica shook her head slowly. Her expression hardened, with a hint of sorrow on her face. “This was necrotic. Purposeful desecration.” Her voice thinned. “The shadow of a coven has settled upon these woods. I can feel their imprint on the soil. Their magic steals life, perverts it. Not only flesh, but the land itself.”

  She paused, gazing at the surrounding forest. “I have seen the creatures roaming; they force this perversion onto the dead, raising them. You in the civilised world have a term for this.”

  Selriph’s jaw clenched as the word bubbled in his mouth.

  “Necromancy...”

  Gulica nodded, her tone hushed.

  “Yes. This forest bears its wounds in silence, yet it very much suffers.” She rose to her full height, meeting his gaze. “And now, it remembers you—not as a plunderer. But as a humble visitor who opened themselves up. One who listened, one who gave back.”

  She reached out, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. The gesture conveyed both pride and gravity. Responsibility.

  “Come,” she said gently. “The stars will rise soon. You have done enough for the day. I am sure old Hagan will want to hear what you have learned.”

  Selriph turned, ushered by the kind elderly woman. “I don’t know how to thank you. I wish I could give back more, learn more. I cannot promise that I will return. I feel I could give back so much more, learn so much more.”

  Gulica placed a gentle hand over his heart, then let it fall. “You’ve already given, Selriph. More than you know. You left your mark here.”

  Selriph nodded, his throat tight with an unspoken thought. He turned toward the winding path, each step feeling heavier, weighted by the want to continue the profound experience he was about to leave.

  Behind him, Gulica’s voice carried through the still air, soft as wind through leaves.

  “Even if we never speak again... remember, the forest speaks, the energy of life will whisper in the air. Listen to it. And it will answer in turn. Do not forget.”

  As Selriph passed beneath the arching boughs, the hush of twilight descended. Shadows lengthened as he went back onto the trail from which he had come.

  Somewhere behind him, the smallest shoots of green pushed upward through once defiled soil.

  And where there had been rot, life began again.

  Selriph navigated the winding paths, crossing streams and rocky obstacles. He crossed over the ridge right before the last rays of light left the sky. Selriph eventually found himself at the familiar clearing where Hagan’s lodge waited.

  The lodge stood still in the clearing—picturesque, a rustic abode amidst nature. A far cry from the stonework Selriph had spent much of his life among.

  I can see why Hagan has no qualms about settling here. But … best I take my leave tomorrow. Staying any further is too risky.

  The temperature dipped as light made way for shadow. A hush fell over the woods, broken only by the sound of the chirping crickets and the scrunch of leaves beneath his feet.

  Yet Selriph felt something amiss. The lodge should have felt welcoming, a rustic beacon of hominess in the wilderness. He expected Emmett to greet him as he came back, despite their brief acquaintance.

  Perhaps that was a little too wishful. Either way, he could not put his finger on it. The interior of the lit room, with the lights dancing from the hearth out past the windows.

  And yet, something felt off.

  As Selriph approached the entrance, he noticed the complete absence of rustling in the trees and no wind from the forest. As if the surroundings held with bated breath.

  As he approached the porch, his heart began to thrum in his chest. The door was closed, but light glowed beneath its frame. His fingers stretched out to knock—

  Krrrrrrrreee

  The door creaked open, already unlocked at its hinges.

  As he entered, he saw Hagan above the fire. The light danced on his face. His posture was rigid, not the relaxed, earthy calm Selriph had grown accustomed to.

  In one hand, Hagan held a familiar, leather-bound tome — The Tome of Arcane Foundations. Which Selriph had left behind.

  His other hand grasped his sickle. Its polished surface reflected the dancing lights.

  Even with his back turned, Selriph recognised the signs of tension in the older man’s frame. Muscles flexed subtly around the tome and his sickle, his shoulder arched slightly, his breathing slow but heavy.

  This was no greeting; it was a confrontation.

  Hagan’s voice was low and cold, edged like a blade of frost.

  “Where did you get this tome?”