Hector awoke to find several squatting sylven staring at him, their amber eyes the color of tree sap, rounded irises gleaming pitch black. The light of dawn shined down the forest canopy, outlining their forms with the suns’ white yellowed glow. He jerked up, reaching for his leather knife sheath to find it empty.

The sylvan that he first saw spoke, sharp and lilting in her native tongue. The one who stood closest to him was different from the others, his skin a lighter pallid green, dressed in white vestments. The native held his hands out, “Peace. We mean you no harm.” His voice was light in cadence, musical even.

“You must come with me,” the female sylvan who had attacked him moved closer, to which he stepped back into the tree alcove. Hector looked down behind him to see a great spiral staircase reaching from the tree’s base to where he now stood, mesmerizing in its turning pattern, no one smoothed step the same in shape.

“You must come with me,” the sylvan repeated with more force. “Your father was not killed by our hands.”

“What do you know of my father?”

“All will be explained,” the sylvan in white intervened. “Please, you must follow Shael. She will ensure your safety.”

The female sylvan, Shael, snarled in her own language. His benefactor replied in kind, a brief exchange of short flowing words incomprehensible to Hector. Their back and forth argument ended with Shael growling, “Follow me. I will not ask again, human.”

Hector walked past the line of natives that stared back at him and found himself atop a branch as wide as a tall man’s height several hundred feet above the distant ground. The wind blew through the canopy, weakened to a faint breeze. He looked queasily down, his legs wobbling under him.

“I- I can’t.”

Shael barked with laughter, lilting in her language to which the other sylven (save for the one who wore white) laughed alongside.

“Do not worry, Shael will guide you,” he promised Hector.

“I will not hold your hand,” Shael said in her melodic accent. “Deeper into the forest below is rife with danger that you would better not know. Now come, before I drag you out.”

Hector took a hesitant step and another, eyes determinedly locked onto Shael. She was tall, as tall as Queen Lyssa. Her dark green braided hair fell past her olive green shoulders. She, like the other sylven, wore brown leather armor; leaving her defined upper arms bare, the rest of her limbs covered by vambraces and boots along form fitting moccasin pants.

Her amber eyes gazed back; despite their golden color they were closely human in both their shape and expressiveness, which looked upon him with open contempt. Tapered brows arched in a frustrated V above a long bridged nose below frowning darker green lips. She strode forward and pulled Hector by his grey tunic, out onto the open branch.

“You will not die human. Not by my hand. Now follow me.”

She let go and turned to walk ahead, leaving Hector to follow as fast as he dared without looking down. Farther and farther they went, until he lost sight of the other sylven, blocked by the great trees.

“Wait,” he called out to her, who merely answered, “I am going slowly. I know you are not yet blessed by your gods.”

“You know of our gods?”

“I know enough. Move faster.”

The cries of unknown animals grew louder as they delved deeper into the forest, filling their silence. The sylvan moved with a light airy grace, each step assured and effortless, as if she was not walking atop such perilous heights. Hector stumbled and hugged the massive branch, fearful of his fall. The native said impatiently, “Lose the cloak, it will only slow you down.”

“No!” Hector cried out, louder than he’d liked. “This cloak… was given to me by a friend.” And I shall honor his memory, Hector vowed silently to himself.

The sylvan shrugged and walked briskly on, Hector struggling to follow her steadily increasing stride. He felt his body succumb to the exhaustion previously held up by all his nerves.

“I must rest,” he said breathlessly.

“No rest. We must journey until nightfall. You rest now and we journey at night.”

Hector grimaced. The dim stray shafts of light made it hard enough as it was to see where he was going; one wrong step from a certain end off the lichen covered wood. It must have been noon, for the suns’ shone brighter; the leafy canopy dappled in its light. The sylvan continued her relentless pace until Hector shouted, "Stop! If you go any faster I'm bound to kill myself falling off these heights. Shael!" Her name was unfamiliar to utter, strange in its pronounciation, Sha-ell.

Shael turned, "You have not died yet, human." She said the last word as if it were a grave insult.

"My name is Hector. Thank you for saving me,” He reached out his hand in greeting, to which the native stared at him, bemused.

“We do not usually allow touch between our kind unless they are kindred or our mates.”

Hector hesitantly lowered his hand.

“Where are you taking me, Shael?”

“To my chieftain. He wishes to have words with you. We move, now.”

So they trekked (albeit at a more manageable pace) atop the living bridges. Even then it was a struggle to not trip over a burled branch or slip off a patch of moss, yet he carried on for fear that Shael with her ever growing impatience would leave him to his fate. What sort of a land is this? Hector thought. Alien in origin, possessed of danger and shrouded in mystery: the untamed part of Orr. And here I now walk, mere feet away from death, following a native who would no doubt rather see my end.

The daylight receded, animal sounds of unknown origin scattered throughout the forest started with nocturnal earnest. Deep warbling and croaks echoed to the chirrups and buzzes past the stray whispers of leaves in the wind.

“We must stop,” Hector panted, wincing at the pain to his right side. “I can go no further.”

Shael halted leaning on a tree trunk, standing still. Hector waited, a moment passed. She stirred, “There is shelter not far. We rest there. Come.”

By not far Hector later learned she meant the better part of an hour, to which he faced the treacherous and strange terrain step by staggering step. They reached a tree that was covered in moss, which Shael walked past and vanished into its verdant housing. Hector followed, sweeping past the moss covers and looking round in wonder.

The alcove was big enough to house a dozen people if they lay down in a circle. He looked up at the night sky, brimming with an infinity of stars that shimmered their otherworldly brilliance. Large capped mushrooms festooned upon the walls glowed a cool yellow of which Shael covered with a curtain of moss, muffling their luminosity.

She produced a patch of moss from her shouldered pack no bigger than the palm of her hand and placed it gently on the smooth wood floor. Then she sang. Hector watched, entranced by the odd action. It was a haunting harmonious melody, rising and falling with her language:

Dreiath vinn

Mun allo

Oni kronn lei mun allo

Dreiath vinn

Mun allo

Ravshi sult ang reiath koh

Dreiath vinn

Mun allo

Sith ilt mar men toa ro

She repeated the verse, and Hector noticed the green patch grew rapidly, spreading to form a roughly shapen sheet of moss. She paused, and the animals called out in mourning to the loss of her voice.

“What were you singing of?”

Her back faced him as she unshouldered her pack and pulled down her boots.

“It is a song,” she replied bluntly.

She lay down and draped the moss blanket around her, her back still facing him.

“If you think you can reach for my weapons I will have no choice but to kill you. I promise you I would make it quick, in my honor.”

With that said she was still, and soon the moss covering fell and rose with her breath. Hector stared at the open sky, studying the constellations and shapes that formed with each new interpretation. He then remembered Lyssa’s words: I will leave your body in this forest, unrecognizable only for the crown you wear, just like I left your father.

He curled one hand into a fist. Thoughts raced in his head, coming to darker and darker conclusions. Wolves at our door father, acting as a harmless spider and faithful follower? He wondered how all of this would end. Will I die in this forest, my line forever forgotten from history; the Empire destined for anarchy, in an endless cycle of chaos? Tired and worn, he surrendered to the night’s call, falling into a deep and dark slumber.