They continued their journey in the morning. Hector’s stomach had groaned with plaintive hunger. They ate dried jerky to which Hector tasted as the gamey savor of deer meat before renewing their travel. Shael led them using her bone spear as a walking stick. The spear's head was a straight serrated tooth of some monstrous creature Hector deemed he best not know.

The treacherous trek shifted to some semblance of safety in the form of netted vines now lashed to the sides of the broad branches. Whereas the branches before were sloping and burled with craters and knottings of wood, these were now akin to bridges, flattened and smoothed. If the branches were cut they would resemble half circled logs.

Soon more natives appeared in the distance wielding the same primitive spears as Shael. Their amber eyes flashed under the shade of the canopy, fixated upon the sight of a human.

Hector felt as if he were in eternal dusk before night passed to begin anew. The suns’ light dimmed past the endless roof of countless leaves that were each the size of his hand.

The trees he saw now billowed in form, swelling to large concave surfaced dwellings that miraculously melded with the tree’s trunk, supported by more bridging branches that connected with each other. Curved rectangular openings dotted the growths of the trees with smaller branches that twined together to form railings.

Sylven had their legs dangle carelessly out from these windows or basked in the light breeze that swept through the leafy canopy. Several of these bulbous dwellings grew on each tree to the side and its center; a larger sphere of wood joined by several smaller growths, all melded together.

The natives cleared a path for Shael, keeping a wary distance away, studying Hector as he studied them in turn. They were a people of barked greys, woody browns, and lush greens. Their clothing was similar to Highlander garb, sleeveless tanned leather tunics and breeches, though their feet were bare of any footwear.

Their hair regardless of sex was long and partly braided; different colors of black, browns and greens in unique combinations with their skin tones. Their elongated ears pointed out quizzically. Their brows sprouted outward, held aloft by their own accord and hawkish in appearance.

Wherein there was white in a human’s eyes theirs was a deep amber flecked by a darker golden color. Their eyes were absent of colored irises, akin to a cat’s pitch black slits except their shape were rounded closely to a human’s.

Aside from these characteristics they seemed no different to humans in shape and size though Hector noticed they were all lithe in body. It was a subtle difference in size but it appeared that on average the female sylven were taller than the males, albeit the males were broader and stockier. That did not discount the female sylven, who were fiercely lean in toned muscle and looked every part the savage warriors that mankind had long feared.

They regarded Hector strangely not with hostility but a solemn countenance, as if they pitied him.

"Why are they looking at me like that?" Hector asked Shael.

"They know of your ordeal, your kindred slain by your own kind. It is unheard of for our people, to kill your own kind."

"The one who made me unconscious, he gleaned my mind," Hector stated flatly.

"Yes."

"How did you know my father was killed by Queen Lyssa?"

"Because I saw it myself." Before Hector could ask further she said, "All will be explained when we reach the chieftain."

They trekked along the winding path of the branching bridges long into the afternoon. The scope of the village awed Hector. It was a part of the forest, the sylven living intertwined in harmony with the land. There was a simple beauty to it all, graceful in its functional form. Everything was used to great effect, nothing wasted or destroyed in its shaping.

While we seek to burn all this, Hector thought. For a cause built upon a lie. The lie of my father's death. What lengths did you go to Roth, to plot the events that would also lead to my demise? Hector did not know where to place his faith.

He had never felt so alone and helpless. His whole life upturned, saved by a race on which he had launched a genocidal campaign. Had his every action fallen into Roth’s plans, every step he had taken in the shadow of his father? He knew the answer, and wrestled with his self reflecting doubt.

They reached a tree that swelled at its centre, as if a sphere of wood was bubbling out from the tree’s trunk. Branches connected to each of its open doors, curtained off with its adjacent moss covers. Shael stopped before one such doorway and shook the overhanging string of seashells, clattering noisily.

A male sylvan stepped out. His face was mottled dark green and scarred by wrinkles with a permanently furrowed brow. Long flowing green hair greying with age grew down to a beard knotted with bone ornaments.

“Hello,” he said simply. His voice was soft as the rustle of leaves yet deep as the rumbling of earth. He held out his hand in greeting. “I am Naal, chieftain of the Elkin Tribe.”

Hector shook Naal’s hand.

“My name is Hector. You are accustomed to our ways.”

He smiled, a weary smile that spoke of more than Hector knew.

“There is much to discuss. Please, follow me.”

He leafed through the mossed entrance, followed by Hector, closely watched by Shael. More glowing mushrooms adorned the living walls. Contoured wood tables, chairs, and other furnishings separate from the tree dotted the room. They tread up a spiral staircase that ascended and descended to different levels. They entered the highest floor, an empty chamber that grew all the way to the top of the open roof, letting the suns’ light shine down upon them.

Shael removed her pack and weapons to lean against the enclosed cylindrical wall. An even older sylvan sat cross legged on the bare floor, the darkest brown of a wooden grain in tone, his white beard wisping down to his equally white robes.

He stood up and rasped, “Welcome, Hector of the line Riordan. I am Natu, Elder seer of the Elkin Tribe. Initiate Arvin has told me much about you. You have already met him in your first encounter with my kind. I can see you have many questions. If you lend me your hand, I may be able to give you some answers. Please, sit beside. I will channel Naal’s memory to you.”

So the natives are capable of the Voice, Hector thought, and wondered, Do they possess other Gifts? What other secrets do they hold?

The chieftain sat down beside the Elder seer and held one hand, his eyes closed. Seer Natu looked at Hector and beckoned him with an outstretched open palm. Hector tentatively sat down and reached for the Elder sylvan’s hand.

“Close your eyes,” the seer said, his own eyes closed. “It will strengthen the channeling.”

Hector did as he was bid, mentally steeling himself for what was to come.

He was standing on the forest floor just between the edge of the Green Pass and the sapling forest. The fresh earthy smell of just after a rain, washing life clean, filled his nose. The shadows of the great trees covered the ground in its shade, only for the suns’ bright rays to wander through and cast out the gloom. Shael stood beside, only her alone, supported by her spear.

He was looking at a tall man, his auburn hair tied to a ponytail, his beard closely trimmed. He wore a deep blue cape that covered his broad shoulders, polished steel armor gleaming beneath. A gold crown sat above his brow, raised to three points, the middle peaking above the rest. He met his stare, dark eyes studying him in regard. His father. King Alexander was accompanied by Roth and a dozen or so of Hearth’s Circle. Roth stood facing Shael, who stared unblinking in front of him.

“I am Naal, chieftain of the Elkin Tribe. We did not know if you would come.”

He held out his hand, to which his father paused before shaking it.

“I am Crown King Alexander of the Empire. How much do you know of our ways?” the King questioned.

“We know enough. It was not always so that our kind were at war. I hope we can see those times brought again.”

“As do I.” Roth’s face stiffened at the King’s reply.

“Mankind has lived in ignorance for too long,” his father continued. “I would see our people ushered in an age of peace.”

“I am heartened by your intentions, but we must face the way of things. It will take more than words to heal racial wounds and stigma millennia deep.”

“What would you ask of us?”

“Release our kindred you have taken and we may discuss a treaty.”

“You must understand that I had no part in raiding your lands,” the King said in earnest. “This was all done by one Kingdom.”

“I understand your kind do not stand united, despite your saying of being a ‘United Empire.’ You must bring the one who rules this Kingdom to heel. We would see this ruler answer for their transgressions. Each side must respect another’s land. We have long made peace that you have settled this world, and simply wish to live without fear of your people’s attacks.”

“What you ask for,” the King said. “Is justice recompensed for the loss of your kind?”

“Yes.”

“The ruler you speak of, she is Queen Lyssa of Raul. What you ask me to do would start a civil war. I can give you back your people, but I cannot negotiate a treaty with one of our own.”

“You cut off the head of a drakul, and there is no more fire. This Queen at the very least cannot rule. Peace will not be possible with those who seek war. You know this.”

His father’s face was grim. “You are brave to meet here and ask me to war with my own people.”

“Would you call me foolishly so? I come here with just one other of my kind, knowing you may end us at any notion you deem. What I seek is lasting peace between our peoples. This Queen, while she remains in power, makes it impossible to do so. She is a warmonger, having sowed discord among my people for nearly a century.”

“You presume much, chieftain Naal. But your judgement is not wrong in this matter. You’ll have your people freed. The Queen has long ignored my wishes to leave your lands in peace. I shall make sure she will respect this new Accord, but I cannot overthrow her rule. Her people will not stand by as they watch their ruler be taken.”

"I know I am in no power to dictate these terms, nor is it my place to understand your position. But do not mistake her to be in your thrall.”

“How shall I know where to meet again?”

“We will see you as you enter the forest, and with hope greet you as friend should you fulfill what you have promised. May you walk a bright path.”

His father nodded, bowing his head slightly in turn. “May we start a new chapter in history, one of peace.”

Hector awakened. The vision did not disorient him as Freia’s had, vivid in all five mortal senses.

“You made a treaty with my father, the day he died.”

Naal nodded solemnly, “There is more to tell. Shael will show you.”

Shael sat down to join them and held the Seer’s hand, holding out her other, to which Hector warily took.

He saw Naal facing her, as well as over a quarter of other sylven.

“Follow their King,” her chieftain ordered. “Make sure you are not seen, but close enough to hear. I wish to know if they shall honor our Accord.”

Shael’s vision bobbed down. “Erylda, Ziya, with me.”

Two lanky female sylvan stepped forward to follow her. The trees sped past as she dashed ahead, the air rushing against her face from her momentum. Despite her speed she and the other sylven were as quiet as their steady soft breath, not even stepping over the dry snap of a fallen branch.

She heard the King’s voice, faint and gradually becoming clearer as she ducked, skirting from tree to tree.

“No words, Roth? No argument on what is to be done with the natives of Orr?”

“You are the Crown King, my liege.”

There was silence then, save for the clunk and clank of armor scuffling against one another. She peered out from the tree, glimpsing the King and his entourage, a cloaked mass of darkened blue amidst the grey barked trees.

The King suddenly collapsed to one knee, panting as if a dagger of pain had pierced his side. His guard slowly encircled him, drawing out their blades. Roth looked down upon the King. A group of mages from the sky above descended, landing lightly onto the ground. A mage stepped beside Roth, unmistakably curved as a woman, her dark hooded face formed in her brilliant steel mask.

“So,” the King said with ragged breath. “I expected this treachery from Lyssa, but you Roth?”

Roth frowned. “Ultimately what shall be done to you is of your own decision. I begged you, old friend. But this must be ended before it even begins, for the good of all mankind.”

“You fools,” the King gasped. “What I do is to put an end to this cycle of war and death.”

“Enough talk,” Lyssa spoke, seemingly bored. “This is the greatest mage in the Empire, and you poisoned him?” Her mask turned to Roth. “Well, at the very least I’ll be the one to kill him.”

She raised her saber behind her head. The King raised his hand in turn and all of the mages flew back, their bodies slamming against nearby trees. He spread his arms out, one hand facing Lyssa. The eye slits of her mask glowed with golden light as she slowly pushed herself up, stalling with each step, closer and closer to the King. The other mages struggled even with the channeling of their power, pinned to the ground.

King Alexander roared and moved with blinding speed, drawing his own saber and striking the faltering Queen in a mighty downward slash. She managed to block the blow, sparks flying as the blades scraped past each other.

Her arm hung low, her guard broken by the fearsome force of his strength. Roth, still pinned to the ground, extended both hands to hold the King in place, just slowing him enough for the Queen to evade the next strike, barely stepping back in retreat from the wide sweep of his blade. King Alexander promptly kicked the Queen below her chest, sending her reeling backwards and falling down.

The King grimaced and coughed feebly. Roth steadily rose, along with the other Mageguard. The mages circled their King warily, feinting and gauging his slowing movements. He turned, his saber pointed round his betrayers. She could hear his words, said under his breath, so faint yet so deafening. “I’m sorry, Hector.”

Hunched down in a second of weakness, they descended upon him, eyes sparking with magelight. When it was over, the Queen and Roth gazed down at the King.

“Don’t behead him,” warned Roth. “We want it to look as if he were attacked by natives.”

“Crushed by an Orrkin club then?”

Roth turned away as Lyssa’s eyes glowed with power, stomping onto the King’s head with a sickening crunch of bone and burst of soft matter within. The vision was covered by a tree trunk as Shael hid behind the tree once more.

“I told you not to poison him.” Lyssa murmured, as if in threat.

“And would we have succeeded otherwise? Such hubris would have had us all killed,” Roth spoke harshly.

“Perhaps. But now we shall never know. There is the matter with his boy…”

“The Crown Prince is of no importance,” Roth dismissed her words. “He will listen to my council. There shall be no civil war within the Empire. What matters is that we stand together against the natives. Together, we may cleanse them from this world once and for all.”

Hector felt warm tears fall down his face, pearling onto the floor before it darkened the wood as it was absorbed. Shael looked as visibly stricken, the cords of her neck standing out in rigid anger. The seer covered his hands with the sleeves of his robe, his face in somber regard.

“Roth poisoned my father. And they killed him,” Hector said as if he had not seen what had transpired. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

“To take the path of revenge is to make yourself forever a prisoner,” the chieftain glanced knowingly at Shael. “Both our kind have been marred by its hold, the reasons for our actions blurred after so many millennia of war. I believe you have a part to play in ending its cycle, Hector. Just as your father wished it so.”