chapter 42

Chapter 42: The Verdant Labyrinth

The Blackroot Forest had always been a place of legend—whispers of ancient spirits, forbidden druidic rites, and the remnants of a forgotten age. To the common folk, it was a cursed place, a graveyard of lost civilizations swallowed by nature's relentless reclamation. But to me, it was a sanctuary waiting to be reborn.

Toby Greenthorne—the identity I had forged in defiance of the academy's corruption—needed a stronghold, a hidden bastion where the Thorn Circle could grow beyond whispers and shadows. The city was too dangerous, too exposed. Here, deep within the Blackroot's embrace, I could lay the foundation of a true rebellion.

The journey to the forest's heart was treacherous. The air was thick with damp, the scent of loam and decay mingling with the distant calls of unseen creatures. Every step felt like an intrusion, as if the land itself was watching, waiting. My cloak of blight-green fabric billowed behind me, its thorned edges rustling against the undergrowth.

The mask—my plague doctor's visage entwined with living vines—felt almost fused to my skin now. The longer I wore it, the more it became a part of me, not just a disguise but a second soul, whispering in my mind like an ancient entity eager to shape the world anew.

After hours of navigating the dense labyrinth of twisted roots and gnarled trees, I finally found it.

A temple.

Or what remained of one.

The ruins loomed before me, half-swallowed by nature's reclamation. Crumbling stone pillars jutted from the earth like fractured bones, their surfaces wrapped in thick ivy and luminescent fungi that pulsed faintly in the gloom. The entrance was framed by a colossal tree whose bark had fused with the stone, as if it had grown from the very bones of the temple itself. The sight sent a shiver down my spine.

This place was old. Older than the academy. Older than the Eclipse Pact.

And yet, it was alive.

I stepped forward, feeling the pull of something ancient—something watching.

The moment my boot touched the moss-covered threshold, the ground trembled.

A low groan echoed through the ruins, like wood bending under immense weight. The vines coiled tighter around the pillars, and from the darkness of the temple's interior, something stirred.

Then, a voice.

"Who disturbs the Verdant Slumber?"

The voice was deep, resonant, carrying the weight of centuries.

I did not flinch. Instead, I removed my mask and lowered my hood, letting my silver hair catch the dim light. I placed a hand on the temple's weathered stone, feeling the pulse of ancient magic beneath my fingers.

"I am Toby Greenthorne," I said, letting the name roll off my tongue with quiet authority. "And I seek an alliance with the forest."

Silence.

Then, the earth shifted.

From within the temple, something vast began to emerge. Roots curled inward, parting like the fingers of a colossal hand, revealing a form that had slumbered for centuries.

A tree.

No—a guardian.

It stood at least twenty feet tall, its body a fusion of bark and humanoid form, its limbs gnarled yet powerful. Moss draped over its shoulders like a cloak, and fungi sprouted from its joints. Its eyes, hollow yet burning with emerald light, fixed upon me with the scrutiny of a being that had seen empires rise and fall.

"I am Silas," the guardian rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of ages. **"Last of the Verdant Keep