Chapter 21

In order for the convoy to make it to the orifice of the celestial forest. We have to depart the Shamburn region via the Glen Elven Pass, adjacent to the eastern village of Noyon.

Trekking through the orifice, my throat is as dry as desert dust. My lips split painfully from the relentless thirst that sears my throat. Every step sends waves of agony through my legs and limbs, screaming for a rest. The few of the Herems continue to ride horseback. I walk on foot, directing my stallion by his reins, the leather raw in my hand. Primus Kelan and Duce Merian lead from the front, and the squadron surrounds us.

"I thought the whole point of having the horse is to ride it," Vince says.

With my gaze fixed forward, I say, "He's just as tired as we are."

A humoured breath blows through his nostrils. "How caring you are. Considerate to even the animals." Something cynical in his compliment.

I glance at him askance. His face, marred by grime, his smile still manages to emit bright light. A smile worn so frequently that it has long lost the pretence of sincerity. Within that cosmic grin, as the cosmos itself, there lies a shadowy void.

"I have always been meaning to ask. What is that?"

"What is what?"

He makes a hand gesture to the back of his neck. Impulsively, I move the tail of my braid off my shoulder to it slinks right down my back, concealing the back of my back.

"A marking."

"Of allegiance?" he adds pensively. "The calligraphy and design of the tattoo elude my comprehension, as does the dialect, yet its origins unmistakably trace back to Armathis. I recognise the literary symbols."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Who are you beholden to?"

"Why the sudden interest, Herem Vince?"

Ever since the attack on the carriage. He has been glued to my side, assailing me with questions: what I like, my livelihood, my former habits, and who I share them with. For a fleeting time, I found his company uplifting, a respite from the arduousness of the Trials thus far. Yet, with each word he utters, my suspicions deepen, unveiling an agenda that was once obscured but now grows increasingly apparent.

"I assure you, my interest was never sudden," he says cryptically, bowing his head at me imperiously, "Hera." He drifts away and re-joins his entourage of four: Treyton, Dario, Zekei, and Tamani.

My gaze strays away, walking through an umber-brown, ancient forest. It reeks of age. Its woody incense is from eras of snapping branches crashing to the forest's floor, rotting silently. We venture deeper into the tangled depths of this primaeval forest. Oils of vaporous mist hold captive the shaggy heads of the towering trees. It seems the further we go, the taller they become. Sieves of mist curl its skeletal fingers around the bark. Its deadened sound haunts the glades. A dismal silence overhangs the hallowed ground where the trees dare not grow.

Nothing stirs, nothing shines, nothing sings.

A hollow echoing, like the hushed tones of the dead, entombs the woods.

Not very inviting, is it? I suppose that's the point.

"I must admit my astonishment that Herem Vince has at long last abandoned your side," Solaris says, sidling my flank.

How hypocritical of him since he's been my shadow from even before the Vasilias Imperii were initiated. I don't trust Solaris, but I do feel an unexplainable sense of ease around him. But my apprehension wisely keeps me distant from those I contend with.

"You yourself like to linger," I say outright.

I prefer to be frank in my approach, even if others are not.

And it seems Solaris is a bit taken aback by it.

"Well, I extended my hand of friendship to you, and I am one to honor my commitments."

Friends that compete for a single throne... that is an ending fraught with blood.

A fray of celestial light lances through the misty mesh, followed by a whole loom of light, filtering down in seams of gold that chase the shadows, banishing the gloom, spilling into spaces where the mist once prowled. The fluty piping of songbirds split the silence just as the forest becomes flooded with verdant brilliance. Butterflies twinkle between the shafts of lustrous-gold light. They twirl in the air, their wings whirling like little ripples of silk.

The glory of the forest is revealed in the birthstone-bright light. Almond-brown trees stand placidly, awash with a tender glow. The bark of the trees is encrusted with amber gems to their crusty exterior. The last blush of the dawn gives the leafy bower a green-gold complexion.

Deeper in, the verdancy yawns with great green brilliance, rich with colour and golden in nature. On the leafy horizon, walls of sturdy wood rise higher and higher. My head is as far back as my neck will allow.

We all approach, viewing the fortified gates of the nymph's citadel. Walls are sky-scraping and so great in length that it travels beyond sight. Promptly, the gigantic gates slowly open outwards. We tread through the threshold slowly, rendered specks by the enormity of what surrounds us. Before me stand gargantuan trees, each the size of towering buildings, if not larger. Their trunks, as wide as city streets, stretch upward with an ambition that defies the skies, daring to reach the very heavens. These colossal sentinels of nature are adorned with intricate and extravagant edifices woven seamlessly into their bark. Balconies, staircases, and bridges crafted from the same wood spiral and twist around the trunks, creating a harmonious blend of architecture and nature. Lush greenery and vibrant flowers cascade from the branches, adding splashes of color to the awe-inspiring scene. The trees' canopies form a vast, interconnected network high above, a living city suspended in the air, shimmers with an ethereal glow as sunlight filters through the leaves.

Everything inside of the citadel is immersed in organic opulence. I look up at the overarching vault of leaf and limb. The enchanted green illuminates the vast expanse, pulsing with sheer holiness. Most of the infrastructures are erected high up in the trees, huge and awe-invoking with terraces and balconies that belt their waists. An architecture that encapsulates decorative arts with asymmetrical forms, wing patterns, and flowers. The predominance of curves instead of straight lines, natural with rich ornaments. Manifesting the wild fantasies of a child.

There are highly detailed creations. Some with painted roofs, but most erections have domed glass ceilings bordered with gilded rims. And sterling silver etchings that twine over the glossy panels, like the meandering tree roots that rope round the structures like a veiny scarf. Flashes of prismatic light on the edge of the glass twinkle like the night stars. Making it seem like the entire structure is made of pure crystals.

The primary source materials are glass and wrought iron, leading to an authentic form of sculpture and architecture: the glass is crafted in diverse colours with vegetal garlands. The cast iron, easier to shape in very vivid and elaborate forms. The result is supple lines, elegant yet strong and ageless.

All the edifices above are interconnected by a network of narrow bridges that maze around, draped with foliage on the concealed railings. The sun beyond a-glint, God's luminous daystar casts everything below aglow. A green so lush, so bold. And not only is the magnificence visual, but it is visceral. The presence of magic ever-felt. This one is as old as time. The rising metallic smell perfumed with a scent of floras fills my chest like the air in my lungs. The upsurge of delicate energy that emulates a nature of being. The reverberation of one's spirit.

Before the Vulkra attacked, I felt their energy, their magic lashed with hostility. But the ambiance of the Terra is gentle, filling me from head to toe with supernatural serenity.

My gaze is so hypnotised by the wonders above, my neck craned so far back. I didn't even notice the horde of soldiers trooping towards us. Terra soldiers. The first ever seen, all of this, the first ever seen. The Terra are tree nymphs, so they are exactly as I pictured them. They are mortal-size, but no mortal like I am. Their skins are a deep green, a glimmer of the forest with emerald tattoos that appear like vines that whorl on their hands, necks, and the sides of their faces. Clad in uniforms woven from the very essence of the forest, their attire mimics the intricate patterns of leaves and vines. As they move, their uniforms rustle softly, like whispers of the wind through the trees.

They are weaponless but always armed with their earth-elementing. The geokinetic ability to manipulate earth and rock in its infinite forms by rearranging the electrons in atoms so that their structure changes. At least that was what I read. Their formation is precise, standing equidistant from each other, in the shape of an arrow's head. All of their silky, dark emerald hair, the same length, ending at their waists.

"Welcome to the Cistern Citadel of the Terra," the soldier at the tip of the arrow's head says. His tattoos are more complex. "If you will all come with me, Her Grandness, would like to welcome the candidates personally."

Similar to a flutter of wings, each soldier swivels around like a ripple effect. They all march ahead, and we follow. So, it seems with the dwellings, one's importance is ranked by where they live. At the feet of the stagnant giants, or high up along its torso and neck. There are many wooden cottages that flank our pathway, all decorated with flowers.

The sidelines teem with milling Terra folk, all glowing with euphoria. But their attention diverts to us as we stride by, backed by a strong military presence. The first time they have probably ever seen foreigners. And now here we arrive, bruised and filthy. Excited whispers ricochet all around us with an abundance of indiscreet finger-pointing.

The Terra soldiers steer us to a vacant pathway that leads down to an enormous tree with a large door hole cut inside of it like an oval-shaped archway. As one, the Terra soldiers split in half and move to stand rigid on the flanks. Expressions sombre, all except for the one who spoke that still stands in the centre.

He rotates to face us. "Only the candidates shall continue from here."

Primus Kelan advances, but Duce Merian flicks up a halting hand.

He reels himself to a halt.

"I think it would be reassuring to not only the Primus, but for I as well. If we are present with them during any royal or diplomatic assemblies. As per the High King's orders," Duce Merian says smoothly.

"We show deference to the High King, but the celestial forest is not part of his Dominion. This is the Regulus's domain. And you hold no power here and neither does your King."

Primus Kelan resumes his threatening advance and marches right up to him. They stand face to face. A ring of metal slices the air, Avangarde soldiers unsheathing their swords halfway, clutching the grip readily. The Terra soldiers at the flanks stand calm, hands balled at their sides, undaunted.

"This may be a self-determined domain. But do not forget I hold the might of the Avangard's First Legion. And there's a military bastion just north of the celestial forest. I can have your little fairy domain surrounded. Easily breaking through your walls, enchanted barriers and gates alike. Do not undermine the High King."

The Terra soldier furrows his heavy brows.

"Did the Primus just declare war on the Terra?"

"He did no such thing," Duce Merian says quickly. "And I believe we should not waste time further; we will remain here as you requested. As your honoured guests, we will show you no disrespect in your own home." He turns and gives the Primus a beseeching look because, technically, Primus Kelan holds all the authority bestowed by His Majesty.

Duce Merian is only an emissary. Primus Kelan hesitates for a millisecond. Convinced that it was unseen. He twists his shoulders and his gaze surveys us candidates, until those stygian eyes capture mine. A muscle feathers his firm jaw before ripping his gaze from mine. He lifts a hand and flutters two fingers downwards. Simultaneously, our guards slide their swords back into their scabbards with a loud clink.

"Very well," he allows, "But after I want to be apprised of her words. And let there be no more surprises, or secret encounters in the future."

"My guards will show you and your soldiers to your allocated quarters. Then you will reunite with the purebloods after. You needn't worry, Primus. Despite the High King's armies, Cistern is well-guarded and has never known defeat."

I glance down at the Primus Kelan's hands that clench and unclench incessantly, riddled with strange unease.

"Urke, nova les-um Aventgarde," he says and nods in the direction from where we came.

The Terra soldiers rotate rigidly, marching in the direction.

"They will lead you there, Primus," he says and looks back at them pointedly.

He turns and strides after them. On the way he glances at me and for the first time. I hold his gaze, where the depths of his eyes reveal a thousand unspoken words. He passes me and two-by-two our guards dilute from their formation to pursue their Commander. Every second that he's further from me. I can feel something in me wane, until I feel his absence as palpable as his presence.

Why do I feel so strongly toward a being I hardly know?

I wish I knew the answer.