Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Mal's steps were silent on the mossy ground of the forest. The trees bent toward her as she passed.
Their branches swayed in reverence. Leaves brushed gently against her shoulders like silent bows.
Wildflowers bloomed brighter at her feet, petals unfurling to catch her gaze.
Vines curled upward in a slow, elegant dance, beckoning for her attention.
Creatures peeked from burrows and treetops, their eyes glinting with admiration.
She ignored them all.
Once, she might have felt comforted by the forest’s love for her, the way the green space pulsed with life at her presence. Once, she had welcomed it, accepted the crown it offered. Not a crown of gold, but of roots and leaves, of magic intertwined with responsibility.
That was before. Before the weight of expectation had crushed her spirit. Before the world took too much from her.
She was not a Guardian, like her mother before her, and her mother before her on back since the first Folkind punched through the earth to breathe the air.
She was not a queen, nor a protector. She was tired.
Tired of the forest's love, tired of the responsibility that came with it. She had lost her mother to duty. Lost Phillip to fate. What was left of her heart wasn’t enough to give to anything or anyone, not even the land that still whispered her name with every breeze.
The path to the edge of the forest wound through ancient trees, their gnarled roots tangled like old hands clutching secrets. Mal didn't need a clear path. She knew the way without looking. Her feet stepped one in front of the other out of habit.
At last, she reached the clearing where the ring of sacred trees stood.
They were towering oaks, older than kingdoms, their branches wide enough to touch the sky.
Here, at the border between the human world and the forest’s ancient heart, she had met Phillip countless times.
As children, when they built forts of sticks and leaves.
As teenagers, when their laughter echoed through the glade.
And later, as lovers, when the silence between them was filled with weighted sighs and unspoken promises.
Mal's gaze was fixed on the stump near the end of the tree ring.
The roots beneath it, once mighty and sprawling, now lay dormant, entwined with the labyrinth of the earth.
It had not been cut down. No axe had severed its life.
One day the tree had pulled up its roots, coalesced its branches into strong arms, and formed its leaves into a head.
That tree had left its immortality and formed itself into a man because it had fallen in love with the last Guardian.
"Hello, Father."
Her fingers brushed the rough bark, her claw-tipped nails tracing the grooves of what was left.
The stump stood like a sentinel, a reminder of what had been given up for love.
Once, her father had stood among these trees, his roots deep in the earth, his branches reaching for the heavens.
He had been as eternal as the forest itself, a being of endless wisdom and strength.
That had changed the day Morwyn stepped over his roots and his heart had tripped.
Eredan had loved her mother, a fae who had stolen his heart with her laughter and her fierce devotion to the forest. Together, they had lived as Guardians of the forest. But love had its cost. His life, once endless, had been shortened.
He had withered after a few hundred years, his body returning to the soil he had once nurtured.
Morwyn had nearly followed him into the earth.
Her grief had been a shadow that lingered, a weight that threatened to pull her down.
But she had stayed, teaching Mal everything she needed to know to become the next Guardian.
Only when her task was complete had she joined her love in the soil, their roots entwined for eternity.
Mal's hand drifted over the bark, tracing the smooth lines where two names had been carved.
The letters shimmered faintly with magic.
She remembered the day they had made those marks, the way Phillip had asked her father for permission, his voice soft and reverent.
The bark had accepted their love, parting willingly to cradle the letters they carved—an eternal symbol of their union.
She felt Phillip’s presence, distant but tangible, like the warmth of a sunbeam hidden by a cloudy day.
He was gone. But here, in this place, he was still with her.
A part of her longed to stay, to sink into the memories and pretend that the world beyond the glade did not exist. Just as she let her eyes drift closed, the smell of something foul met her nostrils.
The sound of a crash shattered the quiet.
In the distance, trees toppled like dominoes, their trunks splintering with sickening cracks.
Massive metal machines rumbled through the forest, their gears grinding and engines roaring, belching smoke into the air.
The acrid tang of iron assaulted Mal’s senses.
The bitter scent clawed at her nose. The ground trembled beneath her feet as ancient trees fell one by one, their leaves scattering like lost souls, fleeing the destruction wrought upon their sanctuary.
She shot to her feet. Adrenaline surged through her veins.
The forest that had nurtured her, that still whispered her name, was being torn apart—its roots ripped from the earth, its magic bleeding into the soil.
The forest's cries resonated in her chest. This wasn’t just an attack on the trees or the land—it was a desecration of everything her parents had fought to protect.
A low growl built in her throat. The roots beneath her feet quivered in response, awaiting her command.
The machines bulldozed forward, crushing everything in their path with merciless efficiency. Mal sprinted toward the destruction, her boots pounding against the forest floor. Vines and branches shifted out of her way, eager to aid her, sensing the fire that had reignited in her soul.
"Stop!" she shouted. Her voice was swallowed by the roar of the machines.
The forest's pain, its desperation, felt as if it were her own. The ache in her chest sharpened into resolve, and for the first time in years, she let herself feel the weight of responsibility. But as she neared the edge of the clearing, the acrid tang of iron grew stronger, stinging her senses.
She stopped short, her breath hitching. The machines were coated in it—thick, gleaming layers of iron on their gears and blades, designed to repel magic like hers.
The material was a venomous hum, even from a distance, a barrier that made her magic flicker and falter like a flame against a strong wind.
She was fae, but the forest was earth. Millions of years ago, the flora had grown around the metal ores deep in Evermore’s core. It would do the same today.
With a flick of her wrist, she called on the roots beneath the ground, commanding them to rise.
They shot from the earth like serpents, thick and twisting, wrapping around the wheels of the bulldozers, halting their advance.
The machines groaned and sputtered, gears grinding uselessly as the forest fought back.
Mal planted herself in front of the fallen trees, her breath ragged, her magic thrumming through every nerve. She stood at the edge of the forest she had once abandoned, facing the destruction head-on.
She had lost too much already. She would not lose another inch.
The scent of smoke stung her nose. The char of bark turned her stomach. The vibrations of the machines rumbled as the earth swallowed them, sinking the behemoths into the ground.
The men shouted in confusion, scrambling out of the vehicles before they were eaten, too.
Their swords hissed free from their scabbards, steel gleaming in the fading light.
They fanned out, surrounding Mal. Mal rolled her eyes at the display.
And then she rolled her head around her neck, letting loose the tendons and tension that had been building up for years.
The men lunged, blades flashing. Mal moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, her body twisting as she sidestepped the first strike.
She caught the man’s wrist mid-swing, twisting it until the sword clattered to the ground.
With a quick flick of her hand, a vine shot up and coiled around his legs, dragging him backward into the underbrush.
Another soldier charged, sword raised high. Mal met him head-on, her horns lowering in defense. The curved tips caught his armor with a metallic scrape, throwing him off balance. She shoved him backward with her shoulder, and he stumbled, landing hard on his back.
She spread her arms, and the forest responded. Branches reached out like arms. Roots snaked along the ground. Vines lashed toward the soldiers, dragging them down one by one.
The last man standing gritted his teeth, fear flickering in his eyes. He gripped his sword with shaking hands but didn’t swing. “We—we were under orders.”
Mal stepped closer, her green eyes glowing bright with malice. “Whose orders?”
He swallowed hard, stumbling over his words. To Mal, it sounded like a jumble of names, muffled and meaningless—until one name rang clear.
“Aurora.”