A Gathering Storm

The Hidden Grove

The rope bridges grew narrower the farther Zeal led her from the training grounds.

Soon the woven walkways that connected the busier platforms gave way to simpler paths—planks threaded with living vines, some barely wider than a fallen branch. The sounds of the town faded behind them, swallowed by the deeper voice of the forest.

Wren found herself listening to it.

Not just the wind, though there was plenty of that whispering through the canopy. There were softer sounds too: the creak of growing wood, the distant splash of unseen water, the murmur of insects and birds weaving through the branches.

The forest did not feel silent the way the swamp sometimes did.

It felt… awake.

Zeal moved ahead with effortless balance, rarely looking down as he crossed each bridge or stepped over the roots that pushed up through the walkways. He ducked beneath a low branch and glanced back at her.

“You’re doing well for someone who grew up in a stone tower.”

Wren steadied herself as the bridge swayed beneath her boots.

“I climbed the battlements often enough.”

“That’s not the same.”

“No,” she admitted, “but falling off them would have been just as unpleasant.”

Zeal snorted softly and continued walking.

The path curved around the trunk of a massive tree, spiralling downward for a short distance before opening into a small clearing suspended among the branches.

Wren slowed as she stepped onto the platform.

It was not like the rest of the town.

Here the forest had been allowed to grow almost freely. The platform itself was made from the interwoven limbs of several enormous trees, their bark smoothed only where people regularly walked.

Small structures had been grown rather than built.

Curved walls of living wood formed simple shelters, their roofs made from overlapping leaves thick enough to shed rain. Vines hung like curtains between them, heavy with pale green flowers that glowed faintly in the shaded light.

At the center of the grove lay a shallow pool fed by a thin ribbon of water trickling down a moss-covered trunk. The water ran clear over smooth stones before slipping away through the roots.

It smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves.

Wren stepped slowly onto the platform, turning in a slow circle.

“This is beautiful.”

Zeal shrugged.

“It’s quiet. That’s the important part.”

“No one else comes here?”

“Only a few of us.” He gestured loosely around them. “Sola sometimes. A handful of trackers. Healers when they need rare plants.”

He walked to the pool and crouched beside it, scooping water into his hands and drinking.

Wren followed more cautiously.

The water was cool when she dipped her fingers into it.

Clearer than anything she had seen in the swamp.

Zeal leaned back against the trunk of the nearest tree, watching her.

“So,” he said lightly, “tell me about the monsters.”

Wren looked up.

“The ones in your swamp,” he clarified. “You mentioned them.”

“They are not stories.”

“I assumed as much.”

She sat on the edge of the pool.

“They come from the deeper waters mostly. Things that were once animals… sometimes people.” She hesitated. “Things that were never meant to exist or were not meant ot get back up.”

Zeal studied her carefully.

“Undead.”

“Yes.”

“That’s Caesar’s influence.”

“Caesus,” Wren corrected automatically.

“The black dragon, not like the others,” Zeal said with a dismissive wave.

Wren frowned slightly.

“You speak of him very casually.”

“We don’t worship dragons here,” Zeal said. “Or fear them the way the your tower does.”

She tilted her head.

“Yet you have one out in the deep forest, how is that different?”

“Darkness and life change things in very different ways…” Zeal said.

There was a certainty in the way he said it.

Wren noticed.

“You mentioned Viridus before,” she said slowly. “The green dragon.”

Zeal nodded toward the surrounding trees.

“Everything here grows because of him.”

The leaves above them stirred in a passing breeze, sunlight flashing through the canopy.

“His magic runs through the forest,” Zeal continued. “Through the soil, the water, the roots of the trees.”

Wren thought of the way the air had felt when she first entered the city.

Alive.

Her shadows shifted faintly at the edges of her awareness.

Not threatened.

Simply… quieter.

“Your magic feels different from the Aers too,” Zeal said suddenly.

Wren looked up sharply.

“What do you mean?”

He tilted his head, studying her with those bright emerald eyes.

“Everyone carries a trace of their dragon. Magic leaves a scent.”

Her pulse quickened.

“And what does mine smell like?”

He shrugged.

“Hard to say. Like ashes maybe, but softer, colder.”

Wren forced a small smile.

“You weren’t wrong calling me Shadow girl.”

Zeal raised an eyebrow.

“Will you show me?.”

Before she could respond he pushed himself upright and stretched.

“Come on.”

He led her a little farther through the grove.

As they walked, Wren noticed small signs that people did indeed use the place regularly.

Bundles of drying herbs hung beneath the eaves of one shelter.

A carved bench had been placed beneath a cluster of lantern-like flowers.

Near the edge of the grove, a narrow ladder descended toward the forest floor far below.

Zeal stopped beside it.

“You asked about the forest people earlier,” he said.

“The ones with ears like yours?”

He smiled faintly.

“Observant.”

Wren folded her arms.

“Tell me something then, if you want to see my shadows.”

“That was mostly guessing.”

“Mostly?”

“Mostly.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it pass.

“So,” she said, “the ears.”

Zeal leaned against the trunk beside the ladder.

“Viridus’s magic doesn’t just grow trees,” he said. “It changes things.”

“How?”

“Slowly.”

He tapped one of his ears lightly.

“Some families have lived here for generations. Close to the forest. Close to the dragon’s influence.”

“And they change.”

“A little.”

He gestured toward his eyes.

“Better night sight. Sharper hearing. Faster reflexes.”

“Pointed ears.”

“Apparently.”

Wren studied him more carefully now.

It made sense.

He moved like part of the forest itself.

“Not everyone stays in the city,” Zeal added.

“Why not?”

His expression shifted slightly.

“Because the Capital doesn’t like things it doesn’t understand.”

That sounded familiar.

“There are others deeper in the forest,” he continued. “Communities where the dragon’s influence is stronger.”

“Stronger?”

“They’ve changed more.”

Wren leaned forward slightly.

“How?”

Zeal shrugged.

“Different eyes. Different senses. Some can feel the forest the way Aethers feel magic.”

“And the Capital allows this?”

“They don’t know about most of them.”

The answer was simple.

“They live beyond the reach of the Towers,” Zeal said. “Far enough that patrols don’t wander that deep.”

“And the light magic?” Wren asked quietly.

A flicker of something crossed Zeal’s face.

“Light magic doesn’t mix well with dragon-touched places.”

The statement hung between them.

Wren thought of the envoys from the Capital.

The white robes.

The rigid structure of their magic.

“Do they hide?” she asked.

“Some choose to.”

“And the others?”

Zeal smiled faintly.

“The forest hides them. Alright Shadow girl, you’re slow to trust, maybe that’s not a bad thing. I’ll show you something first.”

Zeal reached for one of the vines trailing down, a string of blooming flowers bright red and clear. One on the end had not fully opened and without breaking it from the branch he cupped it gently in his hand. A faint green glow emanated from his palm, the smell of fresh leaves and the flower grew and opened, its rich sweet scent reached her.

Zeal touched a finger to a nearby flower and shared the pollen to the one he grew. The petals fell away and a small fruit grew from its centre, from the size of berry to fill his palm, changing from green to yellow to ripe orange while she watched. He picked it from the tree and held it out to her in his open hand.

Wren saw another side to magic, not defence or destruction or turning back undead. A softness she could only imagine in her own darkness. But if it was possible here, maybe it was her imagination that need to expand.

She focused on the fruit, and let the shadows come to her, softly from the forest, like dark mist welling up around her and reached out for him.

Unlike the anger she had for Andra, or the fear when she pulled Drew back from harm. She let these shadows curl out like gentle fingers and lift the fruit. She could feel its weight and had to keep focused to lift it and bring it across the space between them, till it rested gently on her palm.

Zeal’s eyes were wider than her own, lips slightly parted. “That’s not something I’ve even heard of before… Shadow girl.”

Wren smiled, “Well this is certainly something I didn’t even imagine either.” Ahe took a bite of the fruit, it was sweet, like something like the northern plums they rarely saw in the south, not as tart and far bigger.

Zeal whistled low, “I hope that’s not all you can do, and you are definitely the most interesting person I’ve met this week.”

She laughed, “Only this week?” Suddenly the darkness of the Tower and all the death she had left behind seemed like a bad dream, something that happened to someone else. Maybe here she could breathe.

Wren looked out across the endless green canopy stretching beyond the city.

For the first time since leaving the Shadow Tower, the world felt wider than she had imagined.

More complicated.

Dragons shaping people.

Hidden communities beyond the reach of the Capital.

Ancient magic flowing quietly beneath the roots of trees.

Zeal pushed away from the trunk.

“This grove should keep us out of sight for a while… but now that seems a little dull.”

“And what would be more interesting then?”

“Do you think those riders are still following you?”

He paused, glancing back at her.

“Probably.”

“Let’s find out?”

Zeal’s expression turned playful.

“That’s if you can keep up?”

Wren scoffed, “Speed is hardly the best idea when sneaking around, the real question is how well can you hide?”

They set out along the paths again and kept their eyes on the forest below, winding out to the road that led back towards the Shadow Tower and perching in a tree with a clear view.

They sat in a comfortable silence, and slowly the sounds of birds and insects picked up again. Watching the road for any trouble. Wren had the uneasy feeling that the trouble might be closer than they knew. Drew had walked into the fray at the Forest Tower to see where things stood with the Capital and out here, she could be of no help to him.

Wren held her satchel closer, the familiar weight of the black book felt like a comfort and a threat, something she couldn’t dare look at here. She missed Emma and hoped Andra left her alone, she itched to set up the notebook and pen to ask if she was still safe, and to let her know she where she was, but it was impossible. If Zeal could sense her shadows, blood magic would be detectable as well, she could not afford to make herself an enemy.

High above them the leaves shifted again, whispering softly in the wind.

The forest was watching.

And somewhere far beyond the trees, the Shadow Tower was still under siege from the swamps and from within.