Page 74 of The City Of Fractured Memory

“We have been expecting you for a very long time.”

I blink, my hands trembling at my sides. “You…you’ve been expecting me?” I whisper aloud, my voice small.

The Orrathyn steps closer, lowering its head until its golden eyes are level with mine. “The forest remembers its own,” it murmurs into my mind. “You have come home to us at last.”

I gape, speechless. Until now, there was still a stubborn part of me stamping its foot, refusing to believe the madness of all that Stryx confessed to me, but with the Orrathyn now confirming it, the reality of my situation starts to dawn on me fully, and it’s a terrifying prospect. But before I can say any words to that effect, the creature turns from us and heads towards the huge interwoven trees, clearly intending for us to follow.

Stryx gives me an encouraging nod and I force my feet to move, shock settling deep into my bones. I crane my neck as we approach the entrance into the first tree, its canopy easily over a hundred feet high, its branches curving up into the mists of the Veil above. The huge roots part down the middle, creating a frame around the hollowed out entrance into the trunk. I brush my fingers gently along the nearest root, so enormous its diameter must be many meters wide.

As we cross the threshold, the air shimmers inside with a soft, golden luminescence, like a thousand captured stars are tangled in the branches above our heads, each step I take glowing faintly under my boots. The interior is vast, cavernous. A staircase ahead winds upward through the heartwood, carved directly into one of the trunks. Shelves line the inner walls, endless rows of books and scrolls slotted into the bark, their spines gleaming amber in the gentle light of hanging lanterns. The branches lace together in intricate weaves that form bridges, walkways, and homes suspended in the light.

Echofae in various creature and humanoid forms prowl the space, surrounding us in a cacophony of sound, the trilling of bird shifters filling the air, the growls of the Kaelvara Lion shifters rumbling through the crowds. The amount of Echofae in here is truly staggering. I’ve become acquainted with several species through drawings in books or interacting with slaves in the central quarter, but I never realised quite how many there were. The most stunning creatures I’ve ever seen, defying all imagination, go about their business around us—small black cats, their fur interwoven with blue, luminescent strands, and larger cats that look more like panthers prowl, also sharing the unique blue light throughout their thick coats. Slender Echofae with silvered skin and eyes like molten gold peer curiously from behind vines and platforms. A flying shifter, resembling a half-bird, half-lizard with feathered wings so pearlescent they seem to glow of their own accord, soars past us, the breeze made by its wings catching my hair from inside my hood.

All around us, beings of every imaginable kind pause in their tasks to stare at me.

It’s only then that I realise…I don’t need to hide my hair.

Not here.

I tentatively remove my hood and tilt my head back, dizzy from the sheer scale of it all. The canopy arches so far overhead it feels like standing beneath a living sky, a twilight world of whispering leaves and memory. At the top of the staircases wind hundreds of holes in the trunks, doors intricately carved into the wood, leading to what I assume are the homes of the Echofae.

“This…” I breathe, barely able to find my voice. “This is impossible. I truly came from here? Why don’t I remember any of it?”

Beside me, Stryx gives me a sad smile. “I don’t know. But hopefully we will soon find out.”

I press a hand to another root as we pass, the bark smooth and warm beneath my touch, thrumming faintly with old magic. I think I finally understand what Stryx meant when she said everything here is connected. Like the pull I feel to Riven, touching the tree tugs at something deep in my chest, something begging to be set free. I feel it stir inside me, a pull in my blood that responds to the deep hum beneath my palm.

I try to accept that Stryx was right about me after all, but still something primal in me protests, making me wonder if I truly do belong here or not. I guess I’ve spent so long fighting for acceptance amongst the mortals, I can’t allow myself to hope I can achieve it here just yet.

The air starts to fill with soft, lilting whispers.

“The One? She’s here?”

“It can’t be…”

“The lost one returns…”

I feel the weight of their attention pressing against my chest, my heart hammering loud enough that I grow paranoid they can all hear it. I instinctively reach for Stryx, her presence steadying me, though even in her home, Stryx looks uneasy beneath so many watchful eyes.

Then, the crowd parts.

The Echofae that surround us dip their heads in respect as a woman steps through them—tall, radiant, her hair a cascade of liquid silver that seems to shimmer with its own inner light. Her skin bears the faint glow of starlight, her features eerily similar to Stryx’s, but softer, wiser, as though she’s seen centuries unfold. The forest quiets as she approaches, her movements graceful and deliberate.

“Welcome home,” she says, her voice carrying through the air like music, yet with an undercurrent of power that makes the leaves tremble. Her gaze lingers on me, warm yet unreadable. “We have awaited this day for longer than you can imagine.”

I open my mouth, but once again no sound comes. The woman merely smiles at my graceless gawping, extending a hand toward the glowing pathways that spiral deeper into the living city, gesturing for us to walk beside her.

Stryx steps forward and takes the woman’s hand with a warm smile, reaching back her other hand to take mine. “Octavia, this is Esmarie, High Shaman of Lunoreth, and my Mother.”

Thirty-Three

The Echofae settlement hums excitedly as we make our way through the crowds. Esmarie leads us up a winding staircase, across branches woven into bridges and walkways through the trees. Lanterns made from blossoms of living light sway gently in the boughs above, casting soft gold and blue light over the mossy platforms. Stryx walks beside me, her expression unusually solemn, her posture proud, but anxious.

We follow Esmarie through an intricately carved arched door that leads to a huge, dimly lit room, the space created by a cocoon of hundreds of branches plaited together with a large fire pit positioned in the centre. Around it, a circle of Echofae awaits us—elders or shamans, I presume from their advanced years, their various humanoid forms adorned with markings of gold and indigo that pulse faintly with magic.

We come to an uncertain stop and one among them rises, a woman draped in layers of silken moss and silver-threaded cloth. Like Stryx and Esmarie, her hair is pale as moonlight, though hers is braided with beads that glow like fallen stars. Her eyes are impossibly deep, like staring into the reflection of the night sky upon still water. I feel my knees threaten to buckle under the weight of the woman’s gaze.

Stryx bows low. “Mother,” she murmurs.