The walls are stone and thick root, fused tightly. As we go deeper, the roots glow with faint green, like the ambient light from the fortress but more organic. The floor underfoot is warm and soft. It gives just enough to make every step quiet.
We reach a central chamber. There’s a table carved from a slab of hardwood, and seats in various sizes. The ceiling curves high overhead, where thick root systems twist together and disappear into darkness.
He gestures for me to sit. I choose one of the chairs that’s my size.
He stands over me for a minute, then finally says, “No one can see you here.” His voice is low. “Not even Jarrett.”
I look at him, trying to gauge if that’s a boast or a warning.
He circles the chamber once, checks each of the grown archways, then returns and crouches in front of me. The posture is more animal than usual—balanced on the balls of his feet, arms loose, but every muscle tensed and ready.
“You seem a little different here,” I say carefully.
“I am. I think it will be the same for you. We will ease you into it,” Rythar says.
“This place is outside anyone’s reach,” he says, voice still quiet. “I improved it after the Council first tried to isolate you.” He looks down. “And it took time for me to realize that I should allow you to use your gift from the Stone. I told you before that I would stop the Council. I will not risk you, but I will let you help. If you are careful. And you listen to me.”
“Why here?” I say. “What’s here that’s not in the fortress?”
“Privacy,” he says. “And safety. But mostly privacy. I’ve been working on perfecting it. I couldn’t tell you about it in the fortress. Not without risking Jarrett knowing.”
I glance around. The place doesn’t look like it’s been used. No personal effects, no books, no tools, just the raw architecture and the pulse of the roots.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s the catch?”
He grins, and it’s a genuine smile, the kind that makes you forget you’re supposed to be afraid. “You think there is always a catch.”
“There usually is,” I say. “Especially on Xytheos.”
He leans in. The heat from his body is a wall. “There isn’t a catch for us. Only for anyone else. The High Lord’s spies are everywhere. Even in my fortress. But here, the roots scramble his senses. He cannot track you. He cannot listen. I’m not certain what will happen once you communicate with Sophia from here. Or any other. It’s still a risk. He may see that side of the connection. But he won’t reach you.”
He stands, offering me a hand. I take it, more curious than cautious.
He leads me to a wooden wall. The grain runs in spirals I've never seen in any natural wood. He presses his hand to it, and the wall softens, then parts, revealing a set of stairs carved into the earth. The air beyond is warmer, denser. It hums with the energy of the jungle.
We descend.
The staircase winds in a tight spiral. After a dozen steps, the temperature jumps. Sweat beads at my temples. At the bottom, the world opens up.
The chamber is massive. Bigger than any room I’ve seen in the fortress, bigger than the hangars where they land the air skiffs. The ceiling is a tangle of roots. At the center, a pool of water glows blue, ringed by a web of tendrils. The floor is stone, but veined through with the same roots as above. The scent is wet, green, and minty, with a charge like static.
“This is the nexus of the Green Reach,” Rythar says. “Everything in the biome flows through here.”
I step closer to the pool. The surface is perfectly still, but when I look in, the reflection is blurry.
“What’s it for?” I say.
He shrugs as if the answer should be obvious. “This is the heart of the Green Reach. My heart, Elena. Only the biome lord may enter. In a thousand years, no other foot has touched this floor.”
The roots around the pool shift. They lean toward me the way a plant leans toward light.
Rythar watches the roots carefully. “They should only do that for the biome lord,” he says quietly.
I look at him.
Rythar looks back, eyes intense. He says, "If you wish, you can come and go without me. I will show you how."
I stare at him. After all the bolted doors and posting guards, he is handing me freedom. "Why?" I ask.
