Tavik and Bran lingered beneath the cathedral of trees, their gaze fixed upward as Oren and Nix ascended through shafts of dappled gold into the canopy's dreaming light above them. The gentle hum of the forest wrapped around the brothers, a living tapestry of leaf and shadow, pulse and whisper. The platform rose higher, until they could no longer see Nix and Oren among the branches and knots of sunlight, leaving Tavik and Bran rooted on the mossy earth, guardians of the ancient forest floor.

  Silence settled, lush and deep as velvet. Birdsong trilled in the far distance. Ferns trembled with the passage of invisible creatures. Bran shifted beside Tavik, his boots sinking into the thick moss, and with a smile that broke like light, he nudged his brother.

  "Thanks for staying with me, Tav," Bran said, voice soft and edged with mischief. "You always have to be the hero, don't you?"

  Tavik snorted, arms crossed. "I wanted to stay on the ground too. Besides, someone has to keep you in one piece." Tavik playfully reached out to nudge Bran with his elbow.

  Bran grinned, ducking away from Tavik's elbow. "So, let's explore!"

  A breeze danced overhead, stirring the broad leaves. Tavik's eyes flickered with reluctant warmth. "We need to stay close, Bran. The forest's thick with things that aren't just moss and roots."

  Bran rolled his eyes, laughter bubbling up. "You sound like Oren!" He made to dart ahead, but Tavik caught his sleeve.

  "I mean it," Tavik said, serious now. "Stay close. We promised Oren."

  Bran relented, casting a wistful glance at a distant patch of star-shaped herbs. "As you wish."

  Side by side, the brothers wandered a short distance, the undergrowth thick beneath their boots, humming with the energy of unseen life. Tavik's awareness stretched, keeping track of their position relative to where Oren and Nix had ascended. Bran crouched to examine a tuft of blue-veined moss, murmuring the MirMarnian names he'd learned from studying with Yilda, whilst Tavik kept watch, hand never far from his blade.

  Bran rose and surveyed their portion of the forest, delighting in this rare freedom to truly explore each intricate detail of the magical woodland. His inquisitive gaze settled on a creeping groundcover, its delicate, iridescent leaves glinting temptingly. Tavik recognised these as Sholvine, mildly venomous, a detail gleaned from his familiarity with woodland flora. He reached out, steadying Bran with a firm hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

  Bran protested, indignant. "But I read about Sholvine in Yilda's books, Tav! They're only dangerous if you pick the leaves."

  "Find something safer to examine. We don’t have anti-venom," Tavik replied, steering Bran physically away from the Sholvine into safer territory.

  Bran sighed, but turned his attention elsewhere. There, nestled beside a spirited Eldertree sapling, he spotted a cluster of cup-shaped Emlora blooms, flowers he'd only glimpsed before as illustrations in books. With an audible gasp, Bran tugged Tavik along. "Look, Tav! Can you believe it? I read that these little blossoms collect moonlight inside their petals, holding it like pools of water. It's incredible!"

  Dropping to his knees, Bran carefully parted the Emlora's delicate petals, revealing a silvery pool of moonlight resting within, like a hidden pearl. His attention wholly absorbed, he failed to notice the Drimthorn growing dangerously close, notorious for its defensive thorns in sticky sap. Before he realised, its dark blue fluid smeared over the back of his hand, causing a sharp numbness that had him yanking his hand back and glaring at the offending plant. He stood abruptly, examining the affected area, irritated with himself for being stung.

  Tavik reached over to extricate the vine-like sap thorns from Bran's hand and flung them back at the Drimthorn. "Emlora, Drimthorn. Always grow together. Bran, you know this!”

  Bran, rubbing the back of his hand, looked slightly confused. "I was distracted by the moonlight pools, trying to see them up close."

  "This is why Oren worries," Tavik remarked, exasperation creeping into his voice. "Leaving you on your own."

  Bran, sensing the onset of an argument, changed the subject quickly. "Didn’t know you were so good with plant knowledge, Tav."

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  Tavik, eager to move past the moment, pulled Bran towards another part of the forest. "I know more than you realise, little brother."

  With every step, the forest seemed to unveil a world more enchanted than the last, layers of marvel unfurling beneath their feet. Tavik, ever vigilant, kept them within earshot of where Oren and Nix had last been seen, though he couldn't shake the impression that the woodland was growing ever denser, its magic more intricate with every passing moment.

  Tavik's attention sharpened when he had to abruptly haul Bran away from a patch of broad, velvety Murnleaf, leaves notorious for sending any careless soul into days of dreamless slumber at the slightest disturbance. "Fancy a nap in a hedge?" Tavik muttered, restraining his irritation.

  Bran, eyes unfocused, mumbled a distracted apology. He rubbed the back of his hand again, the numbness still present, and seemed adrift in a way Tavik couldn't quite place. Before Tavik could say more, Bran tugged him towards another specimen: the Orvella. The lichen spiralled along the bark in patterns so intricate they resembled a script no one had ever deciphered. Bran stared, visibly caught up in something beyond what Tavik could see.

  "I can read it, Tav," he breathed, voice trembling with awe. "The words are clear."

  Tavik squinted at the lichen, trying and failing to see what Bran claimed. "I can’t see anything. You alright? Acting a bit strange, Bran."

  "You're starting to sound like Oren," Bran shot back, rolling his eyes, but the edge of uncertainty in his voice didn't go unnoticed. Tavik, exasperated, gave his brother a gentle shove. "Someone has to have a level head when you’re exploring!" he retorted, not unkindly, though worry flickered in his eyes.

  Tavik studied Bran and hesitated, then pressed, "So, don’t keep it secret, what does the lichen say?"

  Bran's gaze remained fixed on the delicate spirals. "It's telling me to listen, for voices," he said quietly, almost as though he feared Tavik might think him mad.

  Unease crept into Tavik's expression, but he held his tongue, trailing Bran further into the trees, the silence thickening around them with each step.

  They stumbled upon a towering presence: an ancient tree, its bark mottled with silvery lichen and roots pulsing with an inner glow, threads of light weaving through the earth like veins of living magic. Bran's breath hitched and, as he pressed his hand to the roots, a shimmer ran up his arm, the faintest whisper slipping through the forest's hush.

  "Did you hear that?" Bran whispered, wide-eyed, turning to his brother. "I can hear a little voice!"

  Tavik frowned, standing beside Bran, straining to hear something. "Can't hear anything." Curiosity getting the better of him despite his growing unease.

  Bran looked up at Tavik. "There, like a little bell. I'm sure it's a little voice asking me a question."

  Bran dropped to his belly, the moss cool and yielding beneath his cheek, a tapestry of emerald and blue-veined green. His breath slowed as he pressed closer, peering into the luminous tangle of roots where shadows tangled with threads of light. He shut his eyes, straining for the bell-bright voice, listening as if the hush itself might speak his name.

  "Bran, enough of this. Get up," Tavik's tone sharpened, edged with the gravel of command, mixed with growing urgency. He hovered above, fists clenched and jaw set, gaze darting between his brother's still form and the silent forest. "Oren told us to stay out of trouble. You specifically."

  But Bran barely heard him, caught in the echo of that silvery chime, the voice spinning just out of reach, luring and gentle. "Just a bit longer, Tavik," he murmured, as if the earth itself might answer. "I can hear a little voice talking to me, I'm certain of it."

  Through the tether, something shifted. A spike of anxiety, sharp and sudden, flooded through Tavik's chest. Not his own. Nix's, carrying the weight of something witnessed from above, something Tavik couldn't see. His pulse quickened, the double burden of his own fear and this borrowed panic making his hands shake.

  "Get up, Bran! You’re not listening. This isn't safe." Tavik's words grew rough, the warmth draining from his eyes, replaced with something close to fear. He reached down to Bran, intending to pull him up. "Oren said to stay out of trouble, and you're about to get in trouble."

  "It's all right, Tav," Bran whispered, his eyes wide and shining with wonder. The bell sounded again, clearer now, a bright thread tugging him forward. "I'm just listening to a little voice. Nothing's going to happen. Stop worrying."

  "Bran! This feels dangerous..."

  But the words never finished. Tavik was reaching down to haul Bran to his feet when all of a sudden, his younger brother just vanished completely. It was fast and instant.

  "Bran!" Tavik's cry split the silence, desperate and raw. He dropped to his knees where his brother had lain, palms pressed to the moss as if he might summon him back by will alone. "Bran!"

  The forest held its breath. Then, trembling with dread, Tavik felt a strange prickling sensation and then he vanished too.

  Bran blinked, heart fluttering in his chest, as the mossy earth dissolved beneath him. He landed softly, bathed in radiant light, the air humming with chiming resonance. Shadows melted into colour, and before him, a semicircle of towering, luminous figures awaited. Their forms shimmered, veils of silver and pale emerald, limbs slender as saplings, eyes vast and gentle, reflecting the swirl of refracted light that danced across the ground. Overhead arched branches of sapphire and crystal, all rooted in the colossal trunk of the huge Eldertree, at the heart of a city spun from brilliance and crackling magic.

  One stepped forward, light rippling through his outline like water over polished stones. "Welcome, Bran," he intoned, his voice clear as the bell that had first beckoned Bran. "I am Teo, leader of the Talanooks. You stand now in the City of Lights, deep beneath the mother Eldertree, where the wind sings and the roots remember. We are elf friends, and would invite you to stay and visit our city, if you will."