CHAPTER 7 — Where the Forest Listens
858 Words
The forest whispered around them, silent, numb, but watchful.
Ethan felt it in the way the air pressed against his skin, heavy and expectant, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath. The shadows had withdrawn, but they were not gone. He knew that now. The world of darkness was not only something that surrounded him—it had found him, marked him, and settled into his pulse.
The boy stood close at his side, fingers curled tightly into Ethan’s sleeve. His breathing was shallow, controlled, as if fear had long ago taught him how to stay quiet. Mara lingered a few steps behind them, eyes moving slowly across the forest, never resting in one place for too long.
“We shouldn’t stay here,” she said at last.
Her voice wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t afraid. That, more than anything, unsettled Ethan.
He turned to look at her. “You said that before.”
Mara nodded. “Because it’s still true.”
The boy shifted, glancing between them. “The forest listens when you linger,” he murmured. “It learns your shape.”
A chill crawled up Ethan’s spine. He didn’t ask how the boy knew. Some knowledge, he was learning, didn’t come from being told—it came from surviving long enough to understand.
They began moving again, deeper between the trees. The mist followed, curling low around their ankles, soft and deceptive. Every step felt louder than it should have been, every snapped twig an accusation. Ethan’s mark pulsed faintly beneath his sleeve, not painful, but insistent, like a warning he didn’t yet fully understand.
Mara moved with careful precision. She didn’t rush, but she never hesitated either. When the path narrowed, she knew which roots would give way and which would hold. When the air thickened, she slowed them before panic could set in.
Ethan noticed.
“You’ve done this before,” he said quietly, more observation than accusation.
Mara didn’t answer right away. She stopped near a cluster of twisted trees, listening. The forest creaked softly, as though shifting its weight.
“Not this path,” she said finally. “Not this moment. But forests like this?” Her eyes flicked briefly to the shadows stretching between the trunks. “Yes.”
The boy looked up at her, something like recognition flickering in his gaze. “You survived,” he said.
Mara met his eyes. “Barely.”
They continued on, the silence growing heavier with every step. Ethan wanted to ask questions—how she’d entered the forest, what she’d lost, why she knew so much—but something told him this wasn’t the time. The forest didn’t reward impatience.
A low sound rippled through the trees.
Ethan froze.
It wasn’t a growl. It wasn’t a scream. It was closer to a breath, deep and resonant, as though something vast had shifted in the dark.
The shadows stirred.
They stretched unnaturally long, sliding across the forest floor, inching closer. The boy’s grip tightened, his nails pressing into Ethan’s skin.
“Don’t react,” Mara said softly. “They want movement. Fear.”
Ethan forced himself to breathe. Slowly. Carefully.
The mark flared—warm, almost hot—but instead of pain, he felt direction. His body leaned subtly to the left, away from the thickest concentration of shadow.
“This way,” he whispered.
Mara’s brows knit together, but she didn’t question him. She followed, trusting instinct where logic failed.
The shadows paused.
Ethan felt it—an awareness, sharp and curious, brushing against his thoughts. Not hunger. Not rage.
Interest.
“They’re watching you,” the boy said, voice barely audible. “They don’t understand you yet.”
That frightened Ethan more than an attack would have.
They reached a narrow break between two ancient trees, their bark pale and scarred, branches twisting high above like clasped hands. The air shifted there—lighter, thinner. The shadows hesitated at the threshold, rippling in agitation but refusing to cross.
Mara exhaled slowly. “This is one of the edges.”
“Edges?” Ethan asked.
“Places where the forest thins,” she replied. “Where it hasn’t decided what it wants yet.”
The boy nodded. “They don’t like places that haven’t chosen a side.”
Ethan glanced back. The shadows lingered just beyond the trees, restless and unsatisfied.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The forest seemed to lean closer, listening.
“This isn’t over,” Ethan said quietly.
Mara’s expression softened, just slightly. “No. It’s beginning.”
The boy looked up at him then, eyes bright with something fragile and fierce. “The forest found you because you can change things,” he said. “Most people only survive. You…” He hesitated. “You’re different.”
Ethan swallowed. He didn’t feel different. He felt afraid. He felt small.
But he also felt something else—something steady, growing beneath the fear.
Resolve.
The mark pulsed again, slower now, as if approving.
Behind them, the shadows withdrew—but Ethan knew better than to believe they were retreating.
They were learning.
And so was he.
- Writer
