Chapter 12: Through Wild Branches, We Grow
The forest felt like it had no end.
For three days, they wandered—no roads, no signs, only towering trees that whispered in languages too old for memory. Thick trunks, mottled with moss and scars of age, loomed like ancient giants. Vines dangled like loose threads of an unfinished tapestry, swaying gently in the hush of wind. Every step sank into a floor of leaves, damp and fragrant. Birds cried warnings overhead, and small creatures skittered unseen beneath the brush.
The boy's tunic—once white—was now faded grey, the sleeves torn away to keep cool under the oppressive heat of day. Small cuts marked his forearms from thorns and sharp reeds. Bandages peeked from beneath the collar, sweat-stained and frayed. His trousers, black and once fitted, were now crusted with mud and forest sap. The leather boots he wore had nearly split at the heel. But he moved forward, jaw tight, eyes burning with quiet resolve.
Lina walked slightly ahead, her travel cloak drawn close against the chill of morning. The fur lining at the collar bristled with each gust of wind. Her twin braids had loosened—one half-undone, strands clinging to her face with sweat. A patched leather belt hugged her waist, and a simple hand-carved spear was slung across her back. She'd wrapped both hands in cloth to protect them from blisters and the sting of cold nights. Her boots, though recently patched, had already begun to fray.
They lived off scraps: dry bread, a handful of foraged berries, the occasional unlucky squirrel or bird caught by snare. They boiled water in a dented tin cup over fires made with flint and stubborn bark. Once, a raccoon stole their remaining jerky. Lina chased it with a stick, cursing, while the boy laughed, wheezing, hands on his knees.
But on the third day, the sky split open.
Rain poured like punishment. Thunder cracked above the canopy. The boy stumbled, slipping in the wet earth, hair plastered to his face. The forest turned to mud. Leaves became slippery veils. He fell forward with a grunt, catching himself on bleeding palms.
"There!" Lina pointed, voice raised over the downpour. "That tree—under the roots!"
A giant oak with roots like curled fingers had formed a shallow hollow. They crawled inside, soaking and shaking, pressed shoulder to shoulder. The bark was rough and cold, but it was shelter.
The boy exhaled, wiping water from his face. "So much for an epic journey."
Lina pulled her cloak tighter, scowling. "You dragged me into this mess."
"You could've stayed behind."
"You didn't give me a real choice."
Silence passed. Rain softened to a dull hiss against the leaves.
"…Thanks," Lina said.
He turned his head toward her. "For what?"
"For not leaving me behind."
The hush between them became comfortable. The forest breathed around them. Water dripped in rhythmic taps from the canopy. A squirrel darted past the hollow's entrance, too fast to catch.
"Do you think Elias is okay?" he asked after a while.
"He's probably asleep by the fire with a full belly," Lina said, smirking faintly. "Spoiled old man."
The boy chuckled. "When this is over, we'll return. I promise."
"Break that promise," Lina warned, "and I'll throw you off a cliff."
He laughed, tired but sincere. "Deal."
When the rain stopped, the sun bled through the trees in golden shafts, illuminating every drop like scattered diamonds. They resumed their journey with renewed steps. By nightfall, they had reached a clear brook, moonlight dancing across its ripples. They built a fire and boiled roots. The flames flickered against their worn clothes and tired faces.
The boy sat back, muscles sore, watching the fire with half-lidded eyes. Lina quietly rose and draped her half of the cloak over his shoulders before sitting again. He didn't open his eyes, but his hand gently tugged the edge closer.
She stared at the brook. The moon was full tonight. Its reflection shimmered beside her own. And next to hers—a second image. The boy's face, pale in the moonlight. But for a second, she saw something strange.
His reflection wasn't smiling. It was cracked, like glass held together by stubborn will. The eyes—her brother's eyes—looked empty.
She blinked, and it was gone.
"Big brother, huh," she whispered. "Guess I'm okay with that."
The Next Morning
The forest began to change. The trees grew taller still, older. Their roots wound over the ground like veins, forming stairs, ridges, and dips. Fog clung to the floor like breath. Birds no longer sang. Even the wind held its voice.
Then—they heard it.
Screams. Metal clashing. A child's cry.
They froze. Lina crouched, eyes narrowing. The boy raised a hand, guiding her quietly through the underbrush.
They parted a curtain of vines and saw it:
A clearing. A group of travelers—families, merchants, elders—under siege. Bandits in ragged armor and torn cloaks moved like jackals, blades gleaming. A cart blazed, smoke curling into the trees.
The boy stepped forward, cloak snapping behind him. Lina followed, fire already weaving through her fingers.
He turned to her, voice low. "No mercy?"
She didn't blink. "None."
They stepped into the clearing together.