Bird’s chirping trilled faintly in the distance. Something felt more welcoming this time, as if the Wilds liked my decision to return.
Dragonflies skimmed the air above a stream that cut through the undergrowth, their wings flashing like shards of emerald glass.
The ground was alive with growth since the previous day. Ferns uncurled like slow, sleepy dancers, tiny white flowers bloomed in clusters so thick they looked like fallen stars, and here and there, those tricky red mushrooms glowed softly, pulsing in a rhythm that seemed almost deliberate.
I gave those a wide berth.
No tricks today.
My hand brushed against the bark of a birch tree, its white surface smooth beneath my fingertips. The forest felt alive under my touch, aware of me, perhaps even expectant…possibly proud?
I let my breath slow, eyes closing as I opened myself to the hush.
And then…
Maeve.
The voice curled through the trees, low and unmistakable, wrapping around me like silk and smoke.
My eyes snapped wide, and my heart slammed into my ribs.
It hadn’t been an illusion. I felt it in my bones. This wasn’t some spore-born magic.
It was him.
I turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees, the moss, the shadows between trunks. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. But the sound lingered, vibrating through me.
Maeve.
Softer this time.
My knees nearly buckled. I clutched the birch to steady myself.
My fingers dug into the smooth bark. The voice wasn’t just a sound. It was a sensation, a cry for help, or a tether.
The forest blurred at the edges of my vision as my pulse thundered. I forced myself to focus on what was real.
I stared at the beauty that surrounded me, and the details that tethered me here.
The Wilds glimmered with color and life. Moss stretched like velvet carpets, thick and lush.
No tricks.
Leaves overhead swayed with the faintest breath of wind, casting shifting patterns of green and shadow across the ground.
It was beautiful. And it was dangerous.
But nothing in that beauty explained the voice.
I swallowed hard, pressing my free hand to my chest.
“I hear you,” I whispered into the hush.
No answer. Only silence.
Yet the certainty bloomed in me all the same, undeniable. This wasn’t spores. This wasn’t madness.
This was him.
