SIGILBORNE: The World Beyond

The Unfamiliar Sigil

The cave shook violently.

Dust poured from the ceiling, and the sound of grinding stone echoed through the passage. Eiran tightened his grip on Seren's arm, pulling her away from the wall as Arthur stumbled backward.

"Get away from the symbols!" Eiran shouted.

Arthur barely had time to retreat before another rumble thundered through the cave. A long crack had split the stone directly in front of him, spreading from the floor to the ceiling. For an instant, Eiran thought the entire wall was about to collapse.

Then the grinding changed.

The crack widened, and the stone began to move.

A section of the wall shifted inward with a deafening scrape, revealing a narrow gap behind it. Dust billowed into the passage as the hidden stone continued to withdraw. The shaking grew stronger for several seconds, forcing them to brace themselves against the walls.

Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, everything stopped.

Silence returned to the cave.

Arthur coughed, waving away the dust. "What in the world was that?"

Eiran stared at the opening. Beyond it lay another entrance, one that had been concealed behind the wall. Unlike the rough passage they had entered through, the stone beyond the opening was clean and smooth, almost untouched by the passage of time.

Seren peered around Arthur. "Was that door always there?"

"No," Eiran answered. "We would have noticed it."

Arthur looked down at the symbol he had touched, then quickly pulled his hand away from the wall as though it might bite him. "I'm not touching anything else."

"An excellent decision," Eiran said.

"I'm glad you approve."

Despite their unease, curiosity soon overcame their fear. The newly revealed entrance was wide enough for them to pass through, and the passage beyond seemed stable. Eiran raised the oil lamp, studying the stonework before cautiously stepping inside.

The room beyond was far larger than the first chamber.

Symbols covered the walls from floor to ceiling, arranged in orderly patterns that seemed to follow a deliberate design. Unlike the markings in the outer cave, these were sharp and clear, as though someone had preserved them with extraordinary care. There was no moss, no crumbling stone, and hardly any dust. Even the floor appeared smooth beneath their feet.

It felt less like a forgotten cavern and more like a place that had been sealed away from the world.

At the centre of the chamber stood a stone altar. Its surface was plain apart from a raised object shaped like a goblet, though its purpose was impossible to determine. It had no obvious handle, and its upper portion curved around a hollow centre. The material looked like the same stone as the altar itself.

But the object held something the rest of the chamber did not.

A symbol was engraved in its centre.

It was purple.

Not painted onto the surface, nor illuminated by the oil lamp. The colour seemed to exist within the symbol itself, vivid against the pale stone. Every other marking in the chamber was colourless, yet this single symbol stood out as though it had been deliberately placed there for someone to find.

Arthur noticed it first.

"Eiran," he said quietly. "Look at that."

Eiran followed his gaze. The moment his eyes settled on the purple symbol, the strange sensation he had felt when he first discovered the cave returned.

That same pull.

It was faint at first, little more than an awareness at the edge of his thoughts. But the longer he looked at the symbol, the stronger it became. He felt drawn toward the altar, not by fear or excitement, but by a quiet certainty he couldn't explain.

Arthur took a step back. "Whatever that thing is, let's leave it alone. The last symbol I touched nearly brought the cave down on our heads."

"I agree," Seren said, looking nervously toward the ceiling. "We should probably leave before something else happens."

Eiran heard them, but their voices seemed distant.

The pull was no longer coming from somewhere deeper in the cave. It was coming from the altar itself, from the purple symbol resting in the centre of the stone object.

He took a step forward.

"Eiran?" Arthur called.

Eiran didn't answer. He couldn't explain why, but approaching the altar felt as natural as taking another breath. The uncertainty that had troubled him moments earlier seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet conviction that he was supposed to be there.

He reached the altar and raised his hand.

"Wait," Arthur warned. "You saw what happened when I touched something."

Eiran paused for the briefest moment. He knew Arthur was right. Every reasonable thought told him to step away and examine the object from a distance.

But the feeling persisted.

He placed his palm against the purple symbol.

The world turned white.

There was no flash, no sound, no sensation of being pulled or pushed. One moment he stood inside the chamber, and the next, everything around him had vanished. The altar, the walls, the oil lamp, even his companions were gone.

He stood in a boundless white expanse.

There was no ground beneath his feet, yet he did not fall. There was no sky, no horizon, and no indication of distance. He could see nothing except the endless white surrounding him.

Eiran tried to move, but he couldn't tell whether he had taken a step.

Then he stopped trying.

Time lost its meaning. An instant passed, or perhaps an eternity. He felt nothing, yet somehow he was aware of everything. There was no pain, no warmth, no cold, and no sound. His thoughts seemed to stretch across the emptiness, becoming both impossibly clear and impossible to grasp.

He could not remember why he had come here.

He could not remember whether he had been moving.

For a moment, even the question of who he was seemed distant.

Then something appeared before him.

The purple symbol.

It floated in the white expanse, turning slowly without any visible support. Eiran stared at it, trying to understand its shape. It was the same mark he had seen on the altar, yet here it seemed more complete, its lines connected in a way he hadn't noticed before.

He reached toward it.

His fingers touched the symbol.

It dissolved into a stream of purple light and rushed into his palm.

The sensation lasted less than a heartbeat.

Then the white vanished.

"Eiran!"

His senses returned all at once. He stumbled backward, catching himself against the altar. The oil lamp was still burning, and the chamber remained unchanged, but Arthur and Seren were standing directly in front of him.

Arthur grabbed his shoulders. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

Eiran blinked several times. His head felt strangely light, and he struggled to understand why both of them looked so worried.

"What happened?"

"What happened?" Arthur repeated incredulously. "You tell us! You touched that thing, went completely still, and didn't respond to anything we said."

Seren's hands were clasped tightly in front of her. "We thought something had happened to you. You didn't move at all."

Eiran looked between them, trying to gather his thoughts. "How long was I standing there?"

"About five minutes," Arthur answered. "I tried shaking you, calling your name, everything. You just stood there staring at nothing."

Five minutes.

Eiran remembered the white expanse. He remembered the symbol floating before him and the strange sensation of touching it. Yet the experience had felt both instantaneous and endless, as though time had ceased to exist.

He looked down at his hand.

A symbol was engraved in the centre of his palm.

For a moment, he simply stared. The mark was unfamiliar, its shape unlike any of the five Sigils he had studied. It didn't resemble Pyra, Aqua, Terran, Aeris, or Voltis. Its lines formed a pattern he couldn't place, and there was no obvious indication of what element it represented.

He rubbed his thumb over it. The mark remained.

"Eiran?" Seren asked cautiously.

"I think I'm fine," he said, though he wasn't entirely certain. "I just... need a moment."

He had spent years studying the five Sigils, reading about their properties and trying to understand the principles behind them. He knew enough to explain how they worked to Arthur and even help Seren begin learning hers.

Yet the symbol on his palm was something else entirely.

It looked like a Sigil.

But it wasn't one he knew.

Arthur glanced at the altar. "Should we get out of here before that thing decides to do something else?"

"Wait." Eiran pulled a small notebook from the inner pocket of his trousers. He kept it for recording observations, sketches, and anything he thought might be useful later. "I need to copy these symbols."

"Now?" Arthur asked.

"If I leave without recording them, I might never find this place again."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then looked at the walls and seemed to reconsider. "Fine. But make it quick."

Eiran began copying the symbols surrounding the altar. He worked carefully, drawing each mark as accurately as he could and noting how they were arranged relative to one another. He didn't understand their meaning, but he hoped that studying them later might reveal a pattern.

Seren held the lamp steady while Arthur kept watch near the entrance.

For several minutes, nothing happened.

Then a sharp crack rang through the chamber.

Eiran looked up.

A thin fracture had appeared across the altar's surface. It spread through the stone goblet, splitting the purple symbol's former resting place. The object crumbled in on itself, breaking into fragments that scattered across the altar.

The chamber trembled.

"That's our signal to leave!" Arthur shouted.

The floor lurched beneath them, and stones fell from the ceiling. Eiran shoved his notebook into his pocket while Seren grabbed the lamp. They hurried toward the entrance as another violent tremor shook the chamber.

The passage seemed longer on the way back. Dust filled the air, and the grinding of shifting stone followed them through the hidden doorway. They reached the outer cave just as a section of the ceiling collapsed behind them.

Arthur urged the horse forward. Eiran grabbed the supplies, and Seren followed close behind. They rushed through the cave mouth into the forest, where the rain had finally weakened to a steady drizzle.

They had barely reached the carriage when a tremendous rumble sounded from behind them.

The cave entrance began to close.

Stone shifted across the opening, grinding against itself until the gap narrowed to a thin line. Within moments, the rocks settled into place, leaving only a rough stretch of cliffside beneath the trees.

The entrance was gone.

Arthur stared at the rock face, then turned toward the symbol he had touched earlier in the cave. He approached it cautiously and pressed his palm against the mark.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, pressing harder this time. The stone remained motionless.

"Of course," he muttered. "It works once, nearly kills us, and then refuses to work again."

"Perhaps it wasn't meant to be opened twice," Seren suggested.

"Or perhaps you shouldn't touch mysterious symbols in ancient caves," Eiran replied.

Arthur gave him a flat look. "You touched the purple one."

"I'm aware."

"And something happened to you."

"I'm also aware of that."

"Just making sure."

Despite the exchange, Eiran couldn't stop thinking about the mark on his palm. He glanced at it again, then opened his notebook to the pages he had filled with copied symbols. The strange script covered several sheets, but he had managed to record the markings closest to the altar before the chamber began to collapse.

He didn't know what the symbols meant, and he couldn't explain what had happened when he touched the purple one. For now, the notebook was the only evidence he had that the chamber had existed at all.

They returned to their campsite near the cave, unwilling to risk travelling through the forest in the dark. Arthur secured the horse and prepared the shelter while Eiran arranged the supplies. Seren helped gather dry branches from beneath the thickest trees, and together they managed to build a small fire despite the damp conditions.

Arthur had also noticed several mushrooms growing near the cave entrance earlier. After checking them carefully, he was confident they were an edible variety. They added a few to their meal, along with dried meat and the remaining bread.

The food was simple, but none of them complained. They were exhausted, and the thought of sleeping somewhere that wasn't shaking beneath their feet was enough to make the campsite feel comfortable.

Eiran sat near the fire with his notebook open on his knees. He studied the copied symbols, comparing their shapes and searching for any familiar pattern. Nothing made sense. Some appeared repeatedly, while others seemed to mark the beginning or end of a sequence, but he couldn't be certain.

Eventually, he closed the notebook.

His palm remained in front of him, the unfamiliar Sigil staring back at him.

It was almost absurd.

He had spent years studying the five known Sigils, hoping to understand them well enough to make sense of the world. He had learned their properties, their limitations, and the role Understanding played in using them.

And now he had received something that seemed to belong to none of them.

He didn't know what it did, how to use it, or whether it was even safe. The symbol offered no answers, and he had no one to ask.

For once, his curiosity had led him somewhere he couldn't immediately begin to understand.

The rain continued through the night. Eventually, Seren and Arthur fell asleep, leaving Eiran to stare at the fading fire until exhaustion finally overcame him.

By morning, the rain had stopped.

The forest was damp and quiet, its leaves heavy with water. Sunlight filtered through the branches, illuminating the muddy ground and the narrow tracks that had once guided them into the woods.

They packed their supplies and prepared to leave. Arthur took the reins while Eiran checked the map, trying to determine which direction would lead them back to the road.

It soon became clear that the forest was not going to make their departure easy.

They travelled for an hour, then another, following what seemed like promising paths between the trees. Each time they thought they had found the right direction, the terrain changed, or the trail disappeared beneath tangled roots and thick undergrowth.

After three hours, Arthur finally stopped the carriage.

"Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks we've passed that tree before."

Eiran looked at the enormous tree beside the path. Its trunk split into three thick branches near the base, and a patch of pale moss grew along one side.

"You're not," he admitted.

Seren glanced back the way they had come. "We should have reached the road by now."

They had followed the map, checked their bearings, and tried changing direction more than once. None of it had helped. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, and the familiar landmarks they expected to find were nowhere to be seen.

Eiran was about to suggest another route when Seren noticed a thin trail leading between two rows of trees.

"Look. Someone might have passed through there."

Arthur guided the horse toward it. The path was narrow, but it gradually opened into a small clearing. An old man sat beside a modest camp, a pot resting over a low fire and several books arranged neatly on a cloth beside him.

At first glance, he looked like an ordinary travelling scholar. His clothes were practical rather than fine, and his grey hair fell loosely around his face. A walking staff rested against a nearby tree, while a small pack lay beside his seat.

Yet something about him made all three hesitate.

It wasn't the oppressive feeling of standing before someone overwhelmingly powerful. There was no pressure in the air, no obvious threat, and nothing about his appearance suggested a warrior or noble.

Still, his presence was difficult to ignore.

He seemed entirely at ease in the forest, as though the trees and winding paths were no more troublesome to him than the streets of a familiar town. Even the quiet around his camp felt different, not forced or unnatural, but somehow settled around him.

The old man looked up from his book and smiled.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Three travellers and a horse. I was beginning to think the forest had decided I was poor company."

Arthur blinked, then returned the greeting. "Good morning, sir. We're sorry to disturb you."

"Disturb me? Not at all. I was only arguing with a particularly stubborn passage. I'm happy to have witnesses in case it accuses me of losing."

Eiran found himself smiling despite his exhaustion. "You seem to be travelling alone."

"Most books are terrible conversationalists," the old man replied. "I find that I have to do all the talking."

Seren gave a quiet laugh. The man's humour was unexpected, but it eased the tension that had followed them since the cave.

Arthur explained their situation. They had entered the forest during a heavy rainstorm, found shelter in a cave, and lost their way while trying to return to the road. He left out the more unusual details of what had happened inside, unsure whether he should trust a stranger with them.

The old man listened without interrupting. When Arthur finished, he closed his book and regarded them thoughtfully.

"So you entered the forest, took shelter from a storm, and then discovered that leaving was more difficult than arriving."

"That's about right," Arthur said.

The old man chuckled. "A familiar problem. People spend their lives searching for a way forward, only to find that the way back can be much harder."

Eiran tilted his head. "That sounds like a lesson rather than directions."

"Does it? Then perhaps I should charge you for it."

Arthur laughed, and even Eiran couldn't suppress a smile.

"Do you know the way out?" Seren asked.

"I do."

All three looked at him with renewed hope.

"Then could you show us?" Arthur asked. "We've been wandering for hours."

"Certainly." The old man leaned back beside his fire. "But I'm resting at the moment, and my knees have begun to complain about the amount of walking I've done recently. You'll have to wait until I've finished my tea."

Arthur stared at him. "You're joking."

"Of course. But if you rush an old man, he may decide to walk even more slowly."

The old man laughed at their expressions, apparently delighted with himself. Eiran suspected that the scholar was enjoying their predicament a little too much, but they had little choice except to wait. They secured the horse nearby and sat around the small camp while the stranger finished his tea.

As Eiran settled down, the old man's gaze drifted toward his hand.

"Now, that is interesting."

Eiran instinctively turned his palm inward. "What is?"

"The mark on your hand."

Arthur and Seren both looked at Eiran's palm. He had nearly forgotten about it during their struggle to escape the forest.

"You know what it is?" Eiran asked.

"Not quite," the old man replied. "But I've seen enough strange things in my life to know when something deserves a closer look. That symbol is certainly intriguing."

Eiran studied him, wondering how much he should reveal. The man seemed to be a scholar, and his curiosity felt genuine rather than greedy. After a moment, Eiran took out his notebook and showed him the copied symbols.

"I found these inside a cave. I don't understand them, but I thought someone with knowledge of old languages might recognize them."

The old man's expression changed subtly as he examined the pages. His humour remained, but his attention sharpened. He turned the notebook slightly, studying the shapes and the order in which they had been copied.

"Where did you find these?"

"On the walls of a chamber hidden inside the cave. The markings were unusually well preserved."

"Hm."

The old man traced one of the symbols with his finger without touching the page itself. "I can read a few of these. Not all of them, mind you. Whoever made this script was fond of leaving the reader with more questions than answers."

"What do they say?" Eiran asked.

"This one means something close to 'restrict.' The exact meaning depends on the surrounding symbols, but it suggests limiting something rather than simply stopping it."

He moved to another mark. "And this one can mean 'reduce' or 'lessen.' Again, context matters. Old languages rarely reward people who insist that a word can only mean one thing."

Eiran leaned closer, fascinated. "Restrict and reduce. Do you think they're instructions?"

"Possibly. Or descriptions of a principle. A symbol can be a word, an idea, or a command, depending on the system that uses it." The old man glanced at him. "You should be careful not to confuse understanding a word with understanding what it was meant to accomplish."

Eiran considered the distinction. It was exactly the kind of answer he appreciated, one that opened more questions instead of pretending to settle everything.

"Could they be related to the cave's mechanism?" he asked.

"They could be. But I would need to see the entire arrangement before making any claim. A handful of symbols copied from a wall rarely tells the whole story."

The old man returned the notebook. His gaze lingered briefly on Eiran's palm again, but he didn't press him for an explanation.

"Whatever you found in that cave, don't be afraid to follow your curiosity," he said. "A mind that refuses to question what it encounters will never discover anything new. Just remember that curiosity is not the same as recklessness."

Arthur gave Eiran a pointed look. "You should listen to that last part."

"I heard it."

"Good. I was worried the words might have gone over your head."

The old man laughed loudly enough to startle a nearby bird from the branches.

"Excellent! You two will get along wonderfully. One asks questions about everything, and the other makes sure he regrets asking them."

"I'm beginning to understand why you travel alone," Arthur muttered.

"An excellent observation. Perhaps you'll make a scholar yet."

After finishing his tea, the old man packed his books and belongings with surprising efficiency. He led them along a narrow trail that seemed no different from the countless paths they had already tried. Yet under his guidance, the forest gradually opened around them. The trees grew farther apart, the ground became more level, and the light ahead brightened.

Within less than an hour, they reached the road.

Arthur let out a relieved breath. "I thought we'd never see this again."

"You would have eventually," the old man said. "Though perhaps not from the direction you expected."

Eiran climbed into the carriage beside Seren while Arthur took the reins. Before the old man turned back toward the forest, Eiran thanked him for his help and for examining the symbols.

The scholar gave him a small, knowing smile.

"Keep your eyes open, young man. The world rarely gives answers in the order we want them. And when your mind tells you to look closer, don't be afraid to listen."

With that, he turned and walked back between the trees, his walking staff tapping lightly against the ground.

Arthur watched him disappear among the trunks before settling onto the driver's seat. Eiran and Seren sat inside the carriage, surrounded by their supplies and the faint smell of damp wood. For the first time since entering the forest, they were back on a proper road.

Arthur guided the horse forward.

They had travelled for perhaps twenty minutes when another carriage appeared in the distance. It belonged to a merchant, judging by the goods stacked beneath its canvas covering. The two vehicles slowed as they approached each other, and the merchant raised a hand to signal Arthur to stop.

"Morning," the merchant called.

"Morning," Arthur replied, keeping one hand on the reins.

The merchant looked past him toward the forest behind the carriage. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Did you come out of there?"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder. "The forest? Yes. We were travelling through yesterday when the rain became too heavy to continue. We found shelter, but we got turned around trying to leave this morning."

The merchant didn't answer immediately. He studied Arthur's face, as though trying to decide whether he was being serious.

"You said the rain became too heavy?"

"Heavy enough that I could barely see the road ahead of the horse."

A faint crease appeared between the merchant's brows. "That's strange."

Arthur waited for him to explain.

"There hasn't been any rain around here for days," the merchant continued. "I've been travelling this road since the beginning of the week. Clear skies the whole time."

Arthur gave a short, uncertain laugh. "Well, I can assure you we didn't imagine it. The water was running down the carriage, the road was covered in mud, and we were soaked by the time we found shelter."

From inside the carriage, Eiran and Seren exchanged a glance. Neither had forgotten the storm. Eiran could still remember the rain striking the roof, the water running through the trees, and the difficulty of seeing more than a few steps ahead.

The merchant scratched his jaw. "Then you were either caught in something unusual, or you experienced what people have been warning travellers about for years."

Arthur straightened slightly. "What do you mean?"

The merchant glanced toward the forest again. Its towering trees stood quietly beneath the morning sunlight, their branches barely moving in the breeze. From the road, it looked no different from any other stretch of woodland.

"There's no shortage of stories about that place," he said. "Some people claim they've seen things that weren't there. Others say they've heard voices calling them from deep between the trees. A few swear they walked beside the same stream for hours, only to discover they'd been going in circles."

Arthur frowned. "Hallucinations?"

"That's what some call them. Others believe the forest twists the roads around. You follow a path that should lead straight out, but somehow it bends back toward where you started. Landmarks change. Trails disappear. Sometimes people insist they've been walking for a few hours, only to discover that far more time has passed than they thought."

Inside the carriage, Seren drew her cloak closer around herself.

"Can people really lose their way that easily?" Arthur asked.

"People lose their way in ordinary forests, too. But this one has a reputation that goes back longer than I've been alive." The merchant paused, his expression growing more serious. "Some travellers enter and find the road again before nightfall. Others wander for days. There are stories of people who never make it out at all."

Arthur looked toward the forest. "Why would anyone travel through it, then?"

"Because the road goes through it, and most people don't have a better choice." The merchant shrugged, though his eyes remained on the trees. "Besides, not everyone believes the stories. Most dismiss them as exaggerations from people who got lost and were too embarrassed to admit it."

"That sounds reasonable," Arthur said.

"It does, doesn't it?" The merchant's expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced himself. "Until you meet someone who swears they watched the road change in front of them. Or someone who claims the forest showed them a village that wasn't there when they tried to return."

Arthur fell quiet for a moment. The stories sounded absurd, yet the last day had given him little reason to dismiss strange things simply because they seemed impossible.

"What do you think?" he asked at last.

The merchant let out a slow breath. "I think I prefer to keep to the road and leave that forest alone whenever I can."

A faint breeze passed between the two carriages. The leaves along the roadside rustled, and a few birds called from somewhere high among the branches.

Then the merchant gave Arthur a more appraising look.

"You said you found shelter inside the forest yesterday and came out this morning?"

"That's right."

"And you managed to find the road again without anyone from the nearby settlements coming to search for you?"

"We met an old scholar who showed us the way out."

The merchant's brows rose. "An old scholar?"

"Grey hair, walking staff, a lot of books. He was camping in a clearing."

The merchant considered that, then shook his head. "Can't say I've heard of him. But if he knew the way through that forest, you were fortunate to meet him."

Arthur glanced toward the carriage. "We certainly thought so."

"Then consider yourselves very lucky." The merchant lowered his voice, as if the warning deserved more than an ordinary speaking tone. "People have lost much more than a day's travel in those woods. Some have lost their companions. Some have never returned to their families. Whatever happened to you in there, don't take your escape lightly."

Arthur's expression sobered. "I won't."

The merchant gave him a final nod and gathered the reins of his own carriage. "Keep to the main road from here. And if you ever have to cross that forest again, try not to do it when the light is fading."

"I'll remember that. Thank you."

The merchant urged his horse onward. His carriage creaked as it rolled past, the stacked goods swaying gently beneath their canvas covering. Arthur watched him go until the vehicle had disappeared around a bend.

For a few moments, he remained seated outside their carriage, looking toward the forest.

Then he climbed down and opened the carriage door.

Eiran and Seren looked up at him.

"What did he say?" Seren asked, though she had heard most of the conversation.

Arthur stepped inside long enough to retrieve their map. "Apparently, that forest has been giving people trouble for generations. Some say it causes hallucinations, while others believe it twists the paths around until travellers can't find their way out."

Seren looked toward the trees visible through the carriage window. "And people disappear there?"

"That's what he said." Arthur unfolded the map across his knees. "He also said we're lucky to have escaped."

Eiran had been quiet throughout the conversation. He turned his palm upward, studying the unfamiliar mark that rested in its centre.

"Hallucinations," he murmured. "Twisted paths. People losing track of time."

Arthur looked at him. "You're thinking about the cave."

"I'm thinking about everything that happened after we entered the forest."

Seren lowered her gaze to the map. "The rain, the cave that we couldn't see until you felt something pulling you toward it, and the old man who somehow knew the way out."

"Not to mention the chamber," Arthur added. "Or the symbol that appeared in your hand."

Eiran closed his fingers over the mark. He had no explanation for any of it. The scholar had recognized a few symbols but offered no certainty about the rest. The merchant had spoken of strange experiences, yet his stories raised more questions than they answered.

Outside, the horse shifted impatiently, tugging lightly at the reins.

Arthur climbed back onto the driver's seat. "We should keep moving. We can think about it on the road."

Eiran nodded and settled beside Seren. The carriage began to roll again, carrying them away from the forest and toward the distant settlements marked on their map.

Through the window, Eiran watched the trees grow smaller behind them. In the morning sunlight, the forest looked ordinary. There was no sign of the storm, no visible trace of the cave, and nothing to suggest that the roads beneath its canopy might be anything other than dirt and stone.

Yet they had entered those woods to escape a storm that, according to the merchant, had never happened.

They had spent hours searching for a way out, only to meet a stranger who guided them through paths they had already failed to navigate.

And somewhere inside that forest, behind a wall that had closed itself before their eyes, lay a chamber filled with symbols older than anything Eiran had ever studied.

He looked down at his palm once more.

Whatever had happened in that forest, it had not ended when they reached the road.

For now, though, the forest remained behind them, silent beneath the sunlight, keeping its secrets to itself.