Chapter Twenty-Three: Feyroot

They didn't linger long in the clearing. With Kieran awake and able to stand, they packed up their resting spot and returned to their trek along the nearby stream, the soothing sounds of rushing water a quiet reassurance in the morning light. The fog that had obscured everything the days before was gone.

They followed the stream's winding course through the underbrush, letting it guide them. The air smelled cleaner now, rich with the scent of pine and damp moss. Birds had begun to return to the canopy, their songs hesitantly filling the space once silenced by fear.

Eventually, the stream dipped into a narrow gulley choked with bramble, forcing them to climb a gentle rise to bypass the thickets. As they crested the hill, Maera paused and pulled out the map and started to look around. The others joined her, drawn to the vantage point the rise afforded.

From atop the hill, the view stretched far and wide—rolling woodlands opening into fields tinged with the gold of late morning sun. Wisps of cloud drifted lazily across the sky, and birds wheeled high above. Below, patches of mist still clung to the lower valleys, but the land ahead was bright and welcoming.

To the west, a ridge ran like a spine along the horizon, lined with ancient trees and craggy outcrops that caught the light. Maera called a halt and crouched beside it, pulling out the weatherworn map she'd prepared weeks ago in town. She traced the bends of the watercourse and contour lines, eyes narrowing as she aligned the landscape with the markings on the parchment. Maera studied the ridge line, then cross-referenced the line of the ridge with the stream they had been following on her map. Her finger traced both features as they converged near a familiar bend.

"This is it," she murmured. "The stream runs close to the Emberroad for a stretch, just here." She tapped a faded mark on the parchment. "We follow the stream until it curves, then shift west along the ridge. That should bring us back to the road."

She traced her fingers along a branching stream on the map, then pointed out toward the northern edge of the ridge where a break in the tree line suggested a passable route. "We've looped farther south than I thought."

"We're here," she said, tapping a spot just east of a faded ink line. "The fog drove us off the Emberroad. But if we angle west, follow the ridge here—" her finger skimmed the faint contour lines of sloping hills "—we can meet the road before sundown."

Thorne peered over her shoulder. "That close?"

She nodded. "Close enough. Let's move."

With Maera's directions in mind, they departed the clearing and resumed their journey. The group navigated a narrow deer path that wove between dense trees and patches of underbrush, following the stream's path as it curved gently westward. As they ascended a shallow incline, the forest began to thin, branches giving way to glimpses of blue sky.

 As they traveled, Kieran slowed his pace near the rear of the group. A subtle hum of mana brushing against the edge of his awareness caught his attention. He paused, glancing off the path in the direction he felt it, where a faint shimmer caught his eye. Barely perceptible, but there. Curious, he stepped off the trail, crouching beside a cluster of underbrush. Nestled in the roots of an old elm, a patch of unusual flora glowed softly, its wide leaves veined with mana-rich patterns.

"Maera," he called.

She joined him quickly, concern flickering in her eyes until she followed his gaze. "Feyroot," she murmured. "I've only seen sketches. Rare. Sensitive to ambient mana."

Ysolde approached, her breath catching. "It's beautiful."

"It's like it's... listening," Kieran said, frowning. The mana didn't just pulse—it responded, ever so slightly, to his presence. The leaves of the Feyroot quivered, not with the breeze, but as though acknowledging his attention. It felt aware, not with thought, but instinct—like the twitch of a bird sensing movement or a flame leaning toward kindling. He could feel it on the edge of his thoughts, a subtle pressure that made his skin prickle, as though the plant was waiting for something—perhaps a word, a breath, or a command he didn't know how to give.

"It might be," Maera replied. "We should mark this place. The magic here has changed everything. This patch—this is proof of that." As she spoke, she pulled out the parchment to make an indication on the map. 

Kieran nodded, though he remained still for a moment longer. Footsteps crunched softly behind him, and he turned to see Lena approaching with Nessa in tow, the little girl's eyes wide with curiosity.

"Is it useful?" Nessa asked, her voice small but eager as she looked at the glowing plant.

Maera glanced at Nessa, then at the Feyroot. "It is useful," she said. "It's called Feyroot. Rare, and sensitive to ambient mana. It doesn't just grow anywhere—it only takes root in areas with high mana density. That makes it valuable, especially to healers and alchemists. Its leaves can be brewed into tonics that calm overstressed mana channels, and its roots can be ground into powder used to stabilize enchantments or boost mana clarity during spellcasting."

Nessa's eyes widened further. "It's so pretty," she whispered, crouching closer but not touching it.

Maera gave a small smile. "And very powerful. But it needs to stay where it is. Plants like this are tied to the land around them. Moving them could kill them—or worse, break whatever balance is here."

The group lingered a few minutes longer, sharing in Nessa's wonder. Then, as the sun began to climb higher, they continued on their way.

The rest of the day passed without incident. The path ahead remained quiet, the forest peaceful now that the foul presence had lifted. As they walked, a sense of camaraderie began to blossom among them. Conversations emerged. Thorne trying to teach Nessa how to whistle, Maera, Lena, and the carriage driver quietly comparing travel notes and idle conversation; Ysolde helping Kieran recognize small shifts in ambient mana around them.

Laughter returned, cautiously at first, but real.

It didn't erase what had happened, but it softened the edges of the memory—like moss slowly growing over scorched stone.

From their place on the wooded trail, the group pressed on—Kieran walking between Thorne and Lena, the others close behind. Their steps were lighter now, conversation occasionally drifting among them as the oppressive silence of the past days gave way to something warmer. The forest, though still dense and ancient, no longer felt like it watched their every move. For the first time in days, the path ahead felt like it was leading somewhere

By late evening, Maera had guided them back near the Emberroad. They decided to set up camp off the trail and into a small clearing nestled just beyond a bend, tucked back in a thicket. It was sheltered on three sides by natural rises and bramble-thick trees. A perfect place to rest, hidden from the main path. The group worked diligently, laying out bedrolls, collecting kindling, and drawing water from the stream nearby.

As the fire crackled to life and the sky shifted toward twilight, a soft peace settled over them. They had made it back. Emberroad was within reach.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they camped not out of desperation—but because they chose to.