Bound by Mystic Roots

Chapter 10 Where the Roots Remember

The forest did not feel the way I had imagined it would.

There was no darkness.

No sudden cold.

Instead, it was warm — unbearably so — like stepping into the hollow of a great, ancient body that had been holding its breath for centuries. Light filtered through endless layers of leaves in shifting gold and green, dappling the ground in restless patterns. The air hummed softly, not with sound exactly, but with awareness: a low, living vibration that settled behind my ribs.

I was not dragged.

That frightened me more.

The roots loosened once I crossed the threshold, lowering me gently onto moss that glowed faintly beneath my palms — soft, warm, almost welcoming. When I tried to stand, the ground steadied itself beneath me, a subtle shift like a hand offering balance rather than restraint.

See? the forest seemed to murmur through the rustle of leaves. We are not cruel.

“Liar,” I whispered.

The word vanished into the canopy.

The path ahead unfurled on its own: roots sliding aside with a wet, organic sigh, branches arching upward in slow, graceful curves. I followed because I knew better than to pretend I had a choice — and because something deep in my chest ached with recognition.

I had been here before.

Not in body.

In blood.

Images pressed against my thoughts as I walked — quick, vivid flashes of women standing where I stood now: palms pressed to bark, eyes hollow with devotion or grief worn like a second skin. Some looked serene in a way that felt disturbingly empty. None were old.

“Continuity,” I breathed.

The forest did not deny it.

At the heart of the grove lay a clearing unlike the rest — wide, circular, ringed by towering balete trees whose aerial roots twisted together into something like a living throne. Vines draped from above, heavy with pale blossoms that pulsed slowly, like breathing lungs.

I stepped forward — and froze.

Kael was there.

Alive.

Unharmed.

Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled.

And then I saw her.

Dayang Isara stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on his arm — not possessive, not dramatic, but intimate in the quiet way of long familiarity. She leaned close, her head tilted toward him as if listening to something only he could say.

Something sharp lodged beneath my ribs.

They looked… right.

Not in love — but aligned.

As if the world had always expected them to stand together like that.

Kael turned.

His face drained of color when he saw me. “Tala.”

The forest shifted, pleased, leaves sighing overhead.

“You brought her,” I said quietly, my voice steadier than I felt.

Isara released his arm immediately and stepped back. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

A lie — or a half-truth.

“I see,” I said.

Kael took a step toward me, then stopped, as if unsure whether he was allowed. “You were taken. I followed. The forest— it let us pass.”

“Of course it did,” I replied. “It always likes an audience.”

The roots beneath us tightened subtly, a warning flex.

Isara drew herself up. “Tala, listen to me. Whatever you think you saw—”

“I saw what the forest wanted me to see,” I said softly. “That’s usually enough.”

Kael shook his head. “That’s not fair.”

I laughed quietly. “Neither is being married so I can disappear slowly.”

That silenced him.

The forest stirred again — impatient now.

Images bloomed around us, projected in living bark and light: a wedding beneath these same trees instead of sky. My hands clasped around Kael’s — not with love, but with inevitability. Then years passing in painful flashes: my smile fading, my voice thinning, my eyes going dull until I was no longer a woman, but a function — a conduit, bleeding quietly so the world outside could keep breathing.

I staggered back.

“No,” I whispered.

Isara’s breath hitched. “That’s not what it has to be.”

I turned on her sharply. “Then tell me what it is.”

She hesitated — and in that hesitation, I saw her tragedy clearly for the first time.

She had been raised for sacrifice too.

Just not this one.

“They taught me,” Isara said quietly, “that love is choosing the greater stability over the greater desire. That duty is staying when your heart wants to run.”

My chest tightened. “And are you staying?”

Her eyes flicked to Kael.

Then back to me.

“I already did,” she said.

The forest hummed — approval, sorrow, hunger all braided together.

Kael reached for me again, desperation cracking his composure. “Tala, please. Don’t believe this place. It twists truth into fear.”

“And yet,” I said, tears finally spilling, “it didn’t have to invent her.”

Silence fell, thick and suffocating.

Then the forest spoke — not in words, but in certainty that pressed against every sense.

One must remain.

One must anchor.

One must be given.

The roots surged upward, encircling the clearing in a slow, inexorable wall.

Isara stiffened. “Kael—”

The forest ignored her.

Its attention was fully on me now.

The blossoms above began to fall, brushing my skin like warm snow, each petal carrying the faint scent of decay and sweetness.

I felt it then — the pull, deep and aching — not command, but invitation.

A promise of rest.

Of belonging.

Of no more wanting.

Kael stepped between me and the roots. “You will not take her.”

The ground trembled.

Then choose, the forest pressed, the vibration rising through my bones. Her or the world you protect.

My breath came in shallow gasps.

“Kael,” I whispered. “Don’t.”

He turned to me, eyes blazing.

“I already did.”

He lifted his blade — the ceremonial one, etched with oaths older than both of us.

And drove it into the living root beneath his feet.

The forest screamed — a sound that tore through leaves and light and air, raw and ancient and wounded.