The day dragged on as Liorin led them deeper into the forest. His tiny legs were surprisingly agile. Gael, Maeve, Cara, Fergal, and his five goons trailed behind. The mist was dense, the ground was damp underfoot, and the constant, ghostly howls in the distance didn't help with the feeling of suffocation, but it would've been much worse without Liorin here.

The trees in the Fogspire Forest weren't anything like the ones in the city. These were twisted and cursed, ancient and thick-skinned, and damn if Gael hadn't heard of plenty of lost children getting impaled by the living roots and found hanging near the outskirts of the forest—but since they started following Liorin, the forest hadn't attacked them. Not once. Roots should be swarming around them, stabbing at their ankles and trying to pull them into the earth, but they weren't.

Instead, they were allowed to pass deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.

How strange.

Is it the necklace?

As the sun hung directly overhead, all of them stopped to set up camp for lunch. Fergal's goons found a small clearing where they could start a fire, and Liorin, though he didn't understand their words too well, immediately scampered off in search of something to toss into the fire.

"I come back, food!" he said, before any of them could tell him they already came prepared with fresh ingredients.

Gael watched the boy's retreating figure with a wary eye. He wasn't sure if it was the forest's influence or just a hunch, but something about Liorin felt... wrong. Too eager, too quick to lead them through. And yet, Gael couldn't find a reason not to follow him for now.

Not yet.

Cara started pulling out their pre-packed ingredients from her satchel, setting up the camp alongside Fergal and his goons as Maeve surveyed the area. For his part, Gael didn't waste any time either. He dumped his own satchel onto the ground, yanked out the pot, and scraped together a quick bone and meat stew while Cara got the fire going.

By the time the broth was bubbling and boiling, Liorin returned with a handful of strange roots, berries, and vegetables. That gnarly wooden mask of his hid his expression, but even Gael could tell he was disappointed they didn't stop him before he went off looking for ingredients he must've thought they didn't have.

In all fairness, he was the one who'd just ran off before any of them could say anything, so it really was his own fault… but Gael wasn't about to say that now. Maeve and Cara were both doting on the boy, thanking him for the ingredients as they tossed the plants into the pot, so Gael would rather not fight with the girls.

"Thank you, Liorin," Maeve said, patting the boy's messy hair as she squinted at one of the long, thorny roots in her hand. "And this is…"

"Thorn Death Plant!"

"And this is…"

"Bloodglass Plant!"

Fergal and his goons shuddered every time Maeve asked the boy about the sort of ingredients he was bringing to the pot, but Gael had to admit, the ingredients sounded right up his alley.

Equal parts funny, equal parts dangerous. What better ingredients can you possibly ask for?

After a while, though, Cara kicked dirt into the fire, and the aroma of fresh stew and herbs convinced everyone else to at least give the pot a try. Producing an entire set of bowls and forks and spoons from her satchel, Maeve started scooping up portions for Fergal, his goons, Cara, and then Liorin. Gael made a point to scowl at her as he received his bowl last.

"I'm your dearest husband," he muttered.

"Hush, dearest husband," she muttered back.

And while the rest of them practically inhaled their stew—they were all Bharnish who ate quick and cleaned up quick, after all—Liorin hesitated. He looked at the steaming hot bowl of strange meats and vegetables in his hands as if he hadn't harvested a solid quarter of the ingredients inside, but Gael could understand the anxiety.

In fact, there's a small, small chance that city food will fuck up his digestive system.

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How's he gonna deal with it?

Gonna run?

The boy looked between the food, Maeve's expectant face, and the rest of their quiet gazes—and then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he pushed his wooden mask slightly off to the side and dug in with his bare hands.

Gael grinned, watching the boy munch on the stew, his lips curling up after the first taste. The boy had no idea how to act, but he was clearly enjoying the meal. Maeve's smile was soft as she offered him more, and the boy eagerly held out his bowl, asking for seconds with a bright, innocent look in his smile.

"Good!" he said. "Best! Ever! How… cook?"

Maeve looked at Gael for an answer, and of course, he already had one prepared. "I'm just the best cook in all of Bharncair," he said casually, pulling out a little bag of blue powder and waving it in the boy's face as he did. "Want me to make your bowl taste even better? Take it. Introduce it to your people. I swear on the Saint's good name that you'll all be in the heavens after—"

Cara clicked her tongue and snatched his bag while Maeve yanked him back towards the other side of the camp, putting distance between him and the boy.

It was probably better that way. If Gael got any closer, he might just grab the kid and shake him upside down, demanding to know where he'd heard about the 'Brain Destroyer'.

I've never told anyone the recipe for my signature flavoring powder, so what the hell was he talking about back there?

How does he know about the 'Brain Destroyer'?

… After a good few seconds of watching Liorin wolf down his stew, though, Gael decided not to press him right now.

None of them had to.

With the rest of the pot cleaned out practically by Liorin himself—the halfling boy could eat like a ghoul, that much was clear—he rubbed his stomach and gave all of them a satisfied little grunt. Then, as if he had all the energy in the world now, he leapt to his feet.

"Close," he said, the word almost floating out of his mouth in a sing-song fashion. "We're close."

And the boy dashed off into the trees with the same energy he'd arrived with, forcing all of them to pack up and follow quickly.

Days passed by like a slow, grinding march as Liorin led them deeper into the Fogspire Forest. Every few hours, they'd stop, set up camp, and cook for the boy, who took a ravenous interest in every meal. His excitement over simple city food was almost childlike. He'd cling to Maeve's side every mealtime to ask about their strange ingredients, though it was always Gael who did most of the cooking. At nights, they took turns sleeping around their campfires. Whenever it was Gael's turn to keep watch, he found himself listening to the distant howls that constantly reverberated through the mist. He simply couldn't help but notice the Myrmurs—and he couldn't help but wonder just why it was, that ever since he linked up with Maeve, it was like the Myrmurs he'd never encountered before all started converging around him.

… He had a small, small hunch, but he kept it to himself.

At long last, the fourth day came. Though they hadn't encountered a single aero-resonating stone, Gael had harvested enough herbs to make fifty symbiote elixir batches on the spot, and now they came upon a gargantuan wall of vines.

It was like a living barricade, thick and tangled and covered in strange, twisting patterns that seemed to shimmer in misty sunlight. It stretched far in both directions, disappearing into the fog and shadows beyond. There was no way around it, as far as Gael could tell, so all of them simply stopped in their tracks as they gazed up at the top of the wall.

While Liorin trudged forward alone, Gael ran a hand through his hair and scratched his head. It really didn't make sense. For a forest supposedly right in the center of Blightmarch—a ward the average Bharnish could cross from the southernmost end to the northernmost end in a single day—it'd taken them four whole days just to reach the center of the forest. Gael was sure about it now: the forest really was a changing labyrinth, and without Liorin, they would've been hopelessly lost or dead a long time ago. The latter was more probable.

I guess we're lucky we found a… guide?

Gael's nerves tingled as Liorin stopped right before the massive wall of vines. The boy raised his hand at the thorny walls and spoke something into an odd, unrecognizable tongue—and the forest groaned as if responding to him.

All of their eyes widened in awe. The vines Liorin was touching directly began to shift, shimmering and warping, while their colors twisted and bled into an oily, rainbow metallic sheen. It was wholly unnatural, but like a pile of gold to a gutter rat who'd never seen bronze, it was simply impossible to look anywhere else.

The metallic vines were beautiful.

It was downright addictive to stare at.

And before anyone could say anything, the vines parted like the gates of a castle, revealing a vast clearing beyond.

The trees they'd seen so far were already big enough, but these ones in front of them were like nothing Gael had ever seen before. They were gargantuan pines with trunks so wide and crowns so tall that they vanished into the foggy canopy above, disappearing into the sky like one of those snowcapped mountains he'd heard of outside the city. All in total, there were ten of them growing in a clump, and he could just tell they were pines that'd watched the rise and fall of centuries.

"The Mournspire Pines," Cara breathed. "They really are real, huh? We've gotta be the first bunch of humans to see them in a few decades."

The rest of them were still staring in shock and awe, trying to process the sheer size of the pines, but Gael had already gotten over them. Instead, he was staring at the boy who'd opened the wall of vines like it was nothing. The vines may be losing their pretty metallic sheen now that Liorin wasn't touching them and controlling them directly, but there was no doubt about it: that was a Swarmblood Art he'd just used, which meant the boy had a Symbiotic System.

Liorin whirled around to face them, his wooden mask gleaming faintly.

"Home!" he chirped, pointing straight at the Mournspire Pines. "Follow, follow!"

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