Chapter 4 – A Familiar Face

The forest was alive with the whispers of the wind through the trees, the chirping of unseen creatures, and the distant rustle of leaves. Morning sunlight poured in soft, dappled beams through the canopy above, painting the forest floor in shades of gold and green. Despite the beauty, the siblings sat huddled together in uneasy silence. Their exhaustion was bone-deep, their spirits weighed down by grief and uncertainty.

Bastiel sat apart from the others, his scarred palms cradled in his lap. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, his mind churning with fragmented thoughts of their parents, the coven, and the teleportation spell that had saved them but at a cost none of them could yet fully understand. He didn't notice the slight movement in the trees until it was almost too late.

The crunch of leaves underfoot broke the quiet, snapping Bastiel out of his thoughts. His head shot up, and his body tensed. "Someone's coming," he said in a low, urgent tone.

The others froze. Draegon moved closer to Ayla, his protective instincts immediately kicking in, while Amara put herself in front of Orin, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows.

From the dense undergrowth, a figure emerged. His steps were calculated and deliberate, his form cloaked in a deep green that blended seamlessly with the forest around him. A hood obscured most of his face, but the way he carried himself spoke of confidence—and caution.

"Who are you?" Draegon demanded, his voice icy and firm. His stance was defensive, his fingers twitching slightly as though preparing to conjure a spell.

The figure stopped a few paces away and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I mean you no harm," he said calmly, his voice deep and steady.

Bastiel's eyes narrowed as he studied the man. There was something about him—something familiar. He took a step closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "I've seen you before," he murmured, more to himself than to the others.

The man slowly reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a weathered face framed by dark hair streaked with silver. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, softened as they met Bastiel's.

"Bastiel," the man said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's been a long time."

Bastiel's breath hitched, and he took another step forward. "Uncle Eryon?"

The name lingered in the air, heavy with disbelief and recognition.

Amara's gaze hardened as she stepped closer to her siblings, her body still tense. "How do we know he's telling the truth?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Eryon turned his gaze to her, understanding the skepticism in her eyes. Slowly, he rolled up the sleeve of his cloak to reveal a swirling tattoo of runes and sigils on his forearm. The markings pulsed faintly with a soft, golden light.

"This is the spell your mother gave me years ago," he explained, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "She knew something like this might happen one day. When the teleportation spell activated, it awakened this mark. It's how I found you."

The siblings exchanged uncertain glances, their wariness still palpable.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" Ayla asked, her voice trembling. Her green eyes bore into him, searching for answers.

Eryon's expression darkened with regret. "I tried," he said quietly. "But when the spell activated, it didn't lead me to you right away. I had to track the residual magic through the forest. By the time I got close, you were gone."

A silence fell over them, heavy with unspoken grief and questions.

"I know I've failed you," Eryon continued, his tone laced with guilt. "But I'm here now. And I swear to you, I'll do everything I can to protect you."

Draegon crossed his arms, his cold gaze unwavering. "You say you want to protect us, but how can we be sure you're not leading us into another trap?"

Eryon met his gaze evenly. "You're right to question me," he said. "But I'm not asking for your trust—not yet. I'm asking for a chance to help. There's a camp not far from here, a place where you'll be safe."

"What kind of camp?" Amara asked, her eyes narrowing.

Eryon's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's... complicated," he admitted. "It's a military base, of sorts. Soldiers of every kind—shifters, witches, wizards, and others—guard one of the gates to the Otherworld. It's one of a thousand gates scattered across the world, each one protected to maintain peace between realms."

The siblings exchanged wary glances, the weight of his words sinking in.

"But you won't stay there," Eryon added quickly. "Not right now. I have a place beyond the camp, a home where you can rest and recover."

The hesitation lingered in the air, but slowly, Bastiel nodded. "Lead the way," he said quietly.

Eryon turned and began walking, his movements confident but unhurried. The siblings followed, their footsteps cautious but growing steadier as they moved deeper into the forest.

As they approached the camp, the sounds of activity reached their ears—the rhythmic clang of metal, the hum of voices, and the occasional burst of magical energy. When they emerged from the trees, the sight before them was unlike anything they had imagined.

The camp sprawled across a wide clearing, a blend of medieval structures and advanced technology. Stone towers loomed over the grounds, their surfaces engraved with glowing runes. Soldiers moved with purpose, some clad in traditional armor, others in sleek, modern uniforms adorned with enchanted gadgets. Drones buzzed overhead, their movements precise and silent, while holographic maps flickered in the air, displaying tactical layouts.

In the center of the camp stood a massive gate, its surface a swirling vortex of energy. The air around it hummed with power, and the ancient runes carved into its frame seemed to pulse in time with its rhythm.

"That's the gate," Eryon said, his voice low. "It leads to the Otherworld. The soldiers here guard it to ensure nothing dangerous crosses over—or escapes."

The siblings stared in awe and trepidation, the sheer scale of the camp and its purpose overwhelming.

"But as I said," Eryon continued, turning to face them, "this isn't where you'll stay. Follow me."

He led them past the camp, down a winding path that opened into a small clearing. At its center stood a massive tree, its trunk so wide it seemed almost otherworldly. Its bark was etched with intricate patterns that glowed faintly in the twilight, and its branches stretched high into the sky, creating a canopy of shimmering leaves.

Eryon approached the tree and placed his hand against its surface. The runes on the bark lit up, and with a low rumble, a doorway appeared, seamlessly blending into the tree's structure.

"This is my home," he said, stepping aside to let them enter.

Inside, the space was warm and inviting. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes, jars of herbs, and an assortment of magical artifacts. A large, circular table sat at the center of the room, its surface covered with maps and blueprints. Above it, a holographic display flickered, showing the positions of nearby gates.

The siblings hesitated in the doorway, their eyes wide as they took in the strange blend of medieval charm and advanced technology.

"You'll be safe here," Eryon said gently. "There's food, beds, and everything you'll need to recover. Take as much time as you need."

Bastiel stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Eryon. "Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly.

Eryon met his gaze, his expression earnest. "Because you're my family," he said simply. "And because your parents would have done the same for me."

The weight of his words settled over them, and for the first time since the attack, the siblings felt a glimmer of hope—fragile, but real.

"You've been through more than anyone should ever have to endure," Eryon continued, his voice soft. "But you're not alone anymore. Not while I'm here."

Slowly, the siblings began to relax, the warmth of the treehouse and Eryon's presence offering a small measure of comfort. For the first time since their world had fallen apart, they allowed themselves to believe that maybe—just maybe—they could survive this.