Dawn broke gently over Glowfen Glade, not as a shout of light but as a soft loosening of the dark. Mist hauled itself off the lake in slow veils, and the water below the boardwalks traded the moon's silver for the sun's first pale gold. Ropes creaked; dew slid down the ribs of great roots; somewhere a night-bird gave its last thin call before the day claimed the canopy.

Ash breathed in the cold, resin-sweet air and let it settle deep in his lungs as he looked back at the Glade. The world was still asleep, still quiet, save for Rhavri, the only one awake, standing outside the main hall to bid them farewell with a steady gaze. In that quiet, Ash felt the shape of his decision harden into something clean.

Tholn came to his side without ceremony.

"Here we go," he said, "before the sun climbs."

Ash nodded, "Let's go."

They set off along the main span, trekking along smoothed roots. The Glade thinned into lower growth. Between the trees, the light climbed and the mist slowly began to peel away in ribbons, revealing the long travel towards the centre of Verkath Hollow, the place of council and memory.

The path wound gradually downward, slick with dew, as the forest thickened into arches of root and bark that curved overhead like the ribs of an ancient beast. At first the journey felt hushed, but as the ground widened the air shifted; light poured in fractured shafts through hanging moss, unveiling the slow transition toward the heart of Verkath Hollow. Mist loosened from the arches and drifted aside, until before them the Hollow unfurled broader, a lattice of platforms and bridges woven into the living wood.

At the centre, houses rose thickly from root and trunk, glowing with the muted brilliance of fungal light. The streets were alive with movement, bridges trembling faintly beneath steady footfalls, voices overlapping in a low, constant thrum. Ash felt the weight of it sink into him—so much more vibrant than Glowfen Glade, a place thrumming with its own pulse, a reminder that life could be fierce without being loud. He caught himself marveling: this was a city that breathed.

They passed through streets brimming with Murkfen Kin. Reed‑thin figures moved with spidery grace; bark‑skinned elders leaned at thresholds with their heavy, knowing gazes. Horned shapes loomed tall in the half‑light, eyeless ones listened with uncanny stillness, and others drifted with faint trails of mist unraveling from their limbs. Squat, scaled bodies worked silently, while younglings darted like sparks between leaf‑woven alcoves, whispering and pointing as the strangers walked by.

Step by step, they were absorbed into this living maze, the bustle narrowing into a quiet reverence the deeper they went.

At last their path delivered them to a dwelling grown into the roots themselves, set apart with brighter threads of glowing vine twined along its bark.

Symbols carved into the wood glimmered softly, marking it with authority and memory. The dwelling rose like a sanctum grown from the root-heart itself, its walls laced with brighter veins of aether-light, its form bearing the quiet dignity of a shrine.

To Ash it felt less like a home and more like a living monument, a place where decisions bent the course of generations.

Here, before the house of Elyrra, they came to a halt.

Tholn stopped, his voice informing, "Ah! Here we are."

Ash tilted his head, "This is Elyrra's house?"

"Yup!" Tholn replied, flashing a smile as he walked forward and knocked on the door.

The door opened with a slow creak, the glow of vines spilling across the threshold. Elyrra emerged, wearing the night's remains—a crown of luminous vines still holding a suggestion of starlight. In her staff a vein of crystal pulsed with a heartbeat the Hollow itself seemed to recognize.

Her gaze found Tholn first, steady and direct. A faint curve of intrigue touched her lips as she greeted him.

"Welcome, Tholn," she said, her voice calm and even, offering a simple greeting without expectation or surprise.

She greeted Ash with the same calm, her eyes weighing him, "Welcome Ash."

She stepped aside and motioned them in.

Inside, Elyrra's house carried the warmth of a humble cottage. The walls curved from living roots, shaped into alcoves that held simple clay vessels and woven baskets. Shelves of bark cradled neatly arranged herbs, while strands of glowing moss hung overhead like gentle lanterns.

A small hearth of smooth stone smoldered near the far wall, its faint warmth blending with the earthy scent of drying herbs. The floor was soft with layered moss and reed mats, and low stools and a root‑woven table made the room feel both practical and welcoming. It was not the grandeur of a shrine, but the intimacy of a home where duty and rest quietly coexisted.

"Come," she said, guiding them toward a broad couch woven of roots and moss within her dwelling.

When they had taken their seats, she remained standing a moment, her staff glowing faintly, before speaking.

"You move too soon," she said at last. The words were neither a scold nor welcome.

"Rest is a tool. You do not forge a blade by refusing the quench."

Then, with slow grace, she lowered herself onto her own seat opposite them.

Ash bowed his head a fraction, "Yes but it doesn't change what waits."

Elyrra's expression altered by degrees, curiosity edging out reproach, "Then say what waits. You left this Hollow last as a patient under vigil. You return asking… what?"

"We don't ask exactly…" Ash spoke a little sheepishly, "It's more like urgent news…"

Ash turned his gaze toward Tholn, and Tholn gave a steady nod before speaking.

"It began when two of the hunters from Glowfen Glade returned," Tholn said, his voice even, "One badly injured, the other barely clinging to life. A beast followed them back, but Ash dealt with it before it could do further harm."

He paused, the weight of the memory pressing between them, "Later, when Salken regained consciousness, he spoke of what he had seen. Beetles—larger than any he had known…."

Tholn's tone deepened as he explained further. He mentioned that Salken had not simply spoken of beetles; he had described their numbers—too many for a passing swarm, the multiple entrances to their tunnels, and the signs that pointed to a structured hive. Worst of all, he did not forget to mention the fact that the beetles were collecting bodies, dragging them underground—not to feed a nest, but to feed something greater.

Elyrra's expression shifted as he spoke, the calm in her face giving way to lines of worry. Her eyes narrowed as the details mounted, concern cutting deeper with each revelation until her silence weighed heavy in the room.

Taking a deep breath, her expression softening, her voice carrying quiet regret. "My heart goes to the hunters. And how about the other one? How fares he?"

Tholn lowered his head slightly, "He has not woken yet. My sister has managed to calm down his condition but his breathing remains shallow. I fear that the injuries that he sustained would cause him to have him stay in the Glade for a while or even have to even drop out of the hunters party."

His tone carried something more—a glimmer of respect and approval, as if Druven's courage had earned a place in him. He suddenly moved forward as he took a knee and bowed, "I ask for your aid, Lady Elyrra."

Elyrra inclined her head, staying silent for a few seconds before the light of her staff brightened a fraction, "Then he shall have it. Since he is able to get your concern, I will send my best medic to tend to him. Rest assured, Tholn. He will recover without any lasting injuries."

She straightened, her gaze firm once more, "And for the situation with the Carrion beetles—we need to investigate immediately. I will dispatch a scouting party to confirm your hunter's report and track the nest. From there, we will decide our course."

Her words hung in the quiet cottage, carrying both gravity and reassurance, as the three of them sat with the weight of what lay ahead.

Ash then cut in, his voice steady but edged with resolve, "About that, I was hoping to request something."

Elyrra's eyes shifted toward him, "What is it?"

"I want to ask you to change the location of my trial," Ash said, "Let it be there—in the Nesting Grounds."

Elyrra blinked, bewilderment flickering across her face, "What?! The party will leave today as soon as I head to the council room and have them gathered. You are still injured, you will only be dead wei-."

"I am almost fully healed," Ash countered, "By the time the scouting party is ready, I will be whole enough to fight."

Elyrra's eyes widened, shock and disbelief flashing across her face at his boldness. For a moment she simply stared, as if uncertain she had heard him correctly.

Sensing her doubt, Tholn's voice followed, calm but firm, "Lady Elyrra, he speaks the truth. His wounds are nearly closed, and his strength has returned."

Elyrra frowned, the weight of the request pulling lines of worry across her face, she grasped her forehead in pain, "You do not know the danger of what you are asking here, Ash. There are far too many variables here than in your original trial."

"Milady, he will not be alone," Tholn assured her before a cheerful smile appeared on his face, "And, we'll also have Yvren in the party. With him, Ash's safety and the mission's success will be as secure as it can be."

Elyrra's silence stretched as she considered this.

Her staff trembled faintly in her grip, and for a moment she shook her head.

"This is madness," she whispered, more to herself than to them, "I cannot in good conscience send you there so soon. The risk outweighs the gain."

Her gaze hardened as she looked at Ash, "You ask me to gamble with more than your life—you ask me to gamble with the faith of my people."

The glow of her staff dimmed, then brightened as if reflecting her thoughts. Even as she spoke, her mind reeled with the memory of others lost. Her disbelief and worry pressed into every word.

'This isn't good…' Ash thought to himself as he realised that Elyrra was moving towards not allowing him at all. He needed to do something.

Ash leaned forward slowly. The silence stretched, heavy, before he spoke at last, his voice lower, tighter, "Lady Elyrra…"

"I promised the children back at the Glade…" he paused, the memory of their faces flickering behind his eyes, "…that they would be safe."

His gaze lifted, sharp, carrying the weight of that vow, "I told them no beast tide would ever reach them again."

The words hung in the air, trembling with the pressure of his conviction.

Elyrra remained silent, her brows furrowed as if in deep thought.

He drew a deeper breath, his voice firm despite the quiver in it, "I want to go there and make certain of it… that those beetles are not a threat…"

His jaw clenched for a moment, "I don't want my words to mean nothing."

Tholn's eyes lingered on Ash, and pride welled quietly in him.

Elyrra fell into deep thought, her grip on the staff tightening as her mind turned over Ash's words.

'He has accepted the destiny the ancestors had left for him?'

The question rang in her like a bell, unsettling yet undeniable.

At last she nodded slowly.

"I pray I do not regret this," she murmured, still uneasy, "Very well. If this is the path you choose, let it be so. The Nesting Grounds shall be your trial."

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