Boom.

  The cabin walls shook. The rotting planks creaked and shifted in place, and thin cracks spread across the barrier that shielded them.

  A blue flare slipped between the trees and rose toward the sky. For a brief moment, the hidden cabin was exposed. Birds scattered in alarm.

  Inside, the young woman twisted in pain.

  She gathered the bedsheet in her fist and gripped it tightly. Sweat ran from her hairline, and her breathing came in uneven bursts. To keep from screaming, she pressed a small wooden stick between her teeth.

  When her fingers locked painfully into the fabric, the healer beside her gently pulled the sheet away and took her hand.

  “Just a little longer,” she whispered. “Almost there.”

  A tall man paced across the room. His curses were low and restrained; his hands kept clenching at his sides. After a moment, he stopped and looked at his wife.

  Her face was soaked with sweat. The white sheet was crumpled between her fingers.

  A heavy feeling settled in his chest.

  In a few moments, he would become a father.

  But for now, there was nothing he could do except wait.

  His jaw tightened. He made a silent promise to himself: no matter what happened, he would protect her.

  Boom.

  Another blast shook the cabin. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, and the crack in the barrier widened.

  “They’re close,” he said, turning to her.

  She held his gaze. There was no panic in her eyes.

  Another contraction seized her. Her body tensed, and the wooden stick slipped from her mouth and fell to the floor. Her scream filled the small space.

  The healer’s voice mixed with the groaning timber.

  Then a different sound rose.

  Thin and trembling.

  The baby cried.

  The man stood still for a moment.

  Then he moved to her side. He bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead. His hand found hers and held it firmly.

  The healer wrapped the baby carefully and placed the bundle in the mother’s arms.

  She lowered her head and breathed in the child’s scent—warm, new, unfamiliar. Her fingers were still trembling, but when she touched the baby’s cheek, the tremor slowly eased.

  For a brief moment, the noise inside the cabin seemed distant.

  The explosions outside, the cracking wood, the murmurs beyond the barrier—everything faded.

  There was only her breathing, and the baby’s.

  The door burst open, and cold air rushed inside.

  A man stood in the doorway. His gray armor was stained with blood, and his breath came unevenly. The tip of his sword scraped against the wooden floor as he stepped forward.

  “Taren,” the father said quietly.

  Taren dropped to one knee, leaning on his blade.

  “They’re very close,” he said. “We have to take her now.”

  The mother looked at the baby one last time. She pressed her lips to the child’s forehead and then turned to the healer.

  “It’s time,” she said calmly.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The healer handed her a small piece of paper and a pen. She laid the baby on the bed, wrote a few words, folded the note, and slipped it into the swaddling cloth.

  Then she lifted the baby again and held her out to Taren.

  “Take her to the Mother Root,” the mother said.

  Taren nodded. He raised his hands and carefully gathered the swaddled bundle into his arms.

  He noticed too late that blood from his armor had stained the white fabric. He frowned and tried to wipe the mark away with his hand.

  The red stain remained.

  For a moment, he looked at the baby.

  Then he tightened his hold and walked to the door.

  He paused at the threshold, then stepped outside.

  As the door closed behind him, a cry rose from within the cabin.

  ---

  Darkness had settled deep into the forest. The trunks blurred into one another, and the path was nearly gone.

  Taren kept moving. He did not stop. Branches struck his face and scraped across his shoulders. His foot caught several times on roots pushing up through the earth. The wounds the healer had closed began to ache again. He ignored it. He tightened his hold on the baby.

  The deeper he went, the denser the roots became. They rose from beneath the soil as if to block his way.

  Then the air shifted.

  The silence thickened.

  Suddenly his throat tightened, as though an unseen hand had reached inside and closed around it. He tried to breathe, but the air reached his chest and stalled there. His lungs expanded, his ribs lifted, yet the coolness that should have filled him never arrived.

  The sounds around him began to recede. The murmur of the forest dulled. The outlines of the trees blurred. It felt as if the world had stepped back.

  By the time he realized he was on his knees, control had already slipped away. His mouth hung open; his chest rose and fell in shallow panic. His free hand went to the straps of his armor, fingers tugging desperately as if he could force space open for air. With his other arm he pulled the baby closer—instinctively, protectively.

  His eyes burned. His vision narrowed. The light shrank until the world became a tightening circle.

  A tear slipped down his cheek and fell onto the swaddling cloth.

  The baby stirred. A small hand searched blindly and touched Taren’s face.

  Tiny fingers moved against his skin.

  Through the haze, Taren’s gaze lowered. The baby was looking at him; the corner of her mouth curved faintly.

  The pressure crushing his chest eased.

  He tried to breathe again.

  This time the air entered.

  Slowly.

  His chest expanded. A sharp burn spread through him, then after a few breaths, the burn softened into cool relief.

  The sounds of the forest returned. The wind moving through branches. Leaves brushing against one another. Everything settling back into place.

  The trembling in his knees faded. His grip on the bundle steadied.

  Taren looked at the baby.

  The faintest movement touched the corner of his mouth.

  Then he lifted his head—and stopped.

  In the center of the forest stood a massive tree. Its trunk was so wide that several people holding hands would not have encircled it. But what made it heavy was not its size—it was the scars it carried.

  Its bark was split and torn. Deep gouges pierced through the trunk, the surface blackened and cracked like coal. It looked as though something had struck the same place for years, each blow leaving its mark.

  A faint scent of ash lingered in the air.

  Roots from every direction of the forest crawled beneath the soil and converged at its base. Thin, thick, twisted—they all led here.

  Taren glanced at the roots that had tripped him along the way.

  He knew.

  This was the Mother Root.

  Slowly, he knelt before the tree and lifted the baby closer to the trunk.

  Nothing happened.

  The baby shifted restlessly. Her small hand brushed against the hard, scorched bark.

  The wind stopped.

  The branches that had been trembling moments before fell still. Pale leaves froze in place. The forest held its breath.

  The cracks in the tree’s trunk began to glow faintly. It started as a thin line of light, then spread through the fractures. The blackened surface lit from within.

  Beneath the baby’s hand, the hardened bark softened. The charred texture yielded. From beneath it, a warm golden glow seeped through.

  The light grew. It spilled from the cracks, wrapped around the trunk, and then slowly reached the child. The glow was not blinding. It was warm. Steady.

  A bitter smile touched Taren’s face.

  “Live,” he whispered.

  The warmth from the tree held the baby for one last moment.

  Then it withdrew.

  Silence followed.

  The bark sealed slowly. The cracks darkened. The coal-black surface hardened again.

  The light was gone.

  The tree stood wounded and dark once more.

  The wind returned. Branches stirred. The leaves that had stood frozen moments ago began to rustle again.

  Taren did not move for a while.

  Then he looked at his hands. His palms were empty. His fingers closed and opened once.

  From an inner pocket of his armor, he took out a small vial. The bluish liquid inside caught the moonlight with a dull sheen.

  He pulled the cork free with his teeth and spat it aside.

  He drank the vial in a single swallow.

  The empty glass slipped from his hand and vanished before it touched the ground.

  The expression on Taren’s face faded.

  He rose to his feet.

  Before him stood only an old tree.

  He ran his hand over the bark. It was hard. Cold.

  His brows drew together slightly.

  The distant sounds of battle reached him on the wind.

  He turned his back.

  And walked.

  ---

  Dark clouds had swallowed the sky, and a suffocating humidity hung in the air. She was gathering as much dry wood as she could before the rain began.

  A cry rose from between the trees.

  The woman stopped. Listened.

  It was a baby.

  Alone. In the forest.

  She moved toward the sound. At the base of an old tree, she found an infant wrapped in swaddling cloth. Dark red stains marked the fabric.

  She knelt and checked the baby’s body.

  Unharmed.

  As she lifted the child, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the ground. It must have fallen from the swaddling; the same dark stain marked its edge.

  She unfolded it.

  There was only one word.

  ?lyara.