Evendor's gaze returned to Jacob, and though no visible force accompanied the gesture, it was enough to send a quiet shiver crawling down Jacob's spine, a lingering echo of the controlled fury he had just witnessed.

For all the elf's earlier loudness and wit, it was this version, cold-faced, quiet-voiced, and impossibly still that left the deeper impression, one that Jacob suspected he would not forget easily.

"I don't suppose," Evendor said, his voice no longer heated but still tinged with something sharp beneath the surface, "you can pretend that didn't just happen. Still think of me as that simple, cheerful elf who laughs too loud and talks too much?"

He paused to study Jacob's expression, and whatever he saw there prompted a sigh, not frustrated exactly, but faintly disappointed. "Ah well. I did want to make a good first impression. Really, I did."

"I think you nailed it," Henry interjected with a casual laugh, clearly unfazed by the tension in the room. "Strong, decisive, a touch dramatic honestly, everything you'd want in a leader."

Evendor gave a slight shrug, more amused than appreciative, and rose to his feet. "Melera," he said, already turning, "take him to the root. And Dravil…" he hesitated, but only for a second, "do whatever you want. I really don't care."

He didn't bother with the theatrics of a leap this time; he simply vanished, not so much with a flash as with the subtle disturbance of mana in the air, like a ripple in still water barely perceptible unless you were looking for it.

"Well," Henry said, turning to Jacob with a smile that was far too pleased for the moment, "that was easier than expected, wasn't it?"

Jacob frowned and didn't bother to hide his irritation. "Why did we come here?" he asked, already knowing there must have been a simpler path, one less likely to end with him being burned alive by furious elves.

Henry stood and strolled over to Melera, who remained stone-faced and radiating barely restrained anger. "Why? Because this is the best place possible," he said lightly. "Only the best for my dear little brother."

Melera rose as well, her expression unchanged, though the heat of her irritation seemed to thicken the air around her. Her voice, when she spoke, was tight and cold. "Come closer," she said without looking at Jacob. "I need you near me for the teleportation."

Jacob approached with caution, stepping into range as Henry chuckled behind him, still perfectly at ease in the face of her glowering mood.

"Do you hate your brother?" Melera snapped suddenly, directing the question toward Henry without turning.

Henry blinked, seemingly surprised. "Hate him? No, of course not. Why would you even—?"

"Because you're laughing," she said flatly, "while he walks willingly toward death. It made me wonder."

As her words settled in the air, the ground beneath them shimmered, and with no further warning, a dense and intricate teleportation rune flared to life beneath their feet. Jacob glanced down instinctively, drawn in despite himself, the pattern was so complex, so far beyond anything he could decipher, that he found himself admiring it even before they vanished.

And then they were elsewhere.

No spinning, no lurching of the stomach, no sense of acceleration just a moment of nothingness followed by the abrupt, soundless arrival in a place that could not have been more different from the room they'd left.

Jacob stood in front of a massive pair of double doors, forged from metal that glinted with a dull sheen in the ambient light. The doors were covered with elaborate engravings, trees with sprawling branches and roots that twisted down until they touched the ground, the artistry so fine it looked as though the metal itself had grown into that shape rather than been worked by any craftsman's hand.

And behind those doors, Jacob knew, was the root of the World Tree.

Melera turned to Jacob, and though the sharpness in her expression had softened, there was no warmth in her gaze only a muted reverence and something that looked very much like reluctant concern.

"Let me say this plainly," she began, her voice quieter now but still charged with meaning. "Dravil and I, whether or not it makes any sense to you, we're the ones trying to help you."

Jacob studied her face, half-expecting her to stop there, but she didn't.

"The World Tree, our true one, not the imitations seeded throughout the lands was soaked in elven blood during the war. And even this replica, a lesser branch grown from its seed, carries memory and resentment. It holds a grudge deeper than anything the rest of us feel," she said, and for the first time, Jacob noticed how her eyes seemed to avoid the door, as though even looking at it stirred something uneasy.

She paused for a breath, then added, "If you walk in there, you won't come out. The tree will kill you, not out of cruelty or malice, but out of old memory and instinct. You think Evendor allowed you in to spite us, and you're not wrong, but more than that, he let you in because he wants you dead."

Jacob blinked, his composure shifting, the beginnings of doubt coiling in his chest. "Why?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain. "Why would he want me dead?"

"Because he hates humans," she replied, almost spitting the words, though not at Jacob himself. "Because it would please him to see one more fall, especially at the hands of something as ancient and righteous as the World Tree. Business with your brother or not, it wouldn't stop him from taking that chance."

Her jaw clenched briefly, and she gestured vaguely in the direction Evendor had gone. "You think he's decent. You think he's just sharp-tongued and theatrical. But you saw how he spoke to us, and believe me, that was restrained. I've never seen him lose control like that. His temper is usually buried deep, locked down. Do you know what made it snap?"

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She stepped closer to the large double doors and placed both hands on them, as if grounding herself. "You. Just your presence. Being in the same room as a human is what soured his mood and made him reckless. That's how deep it goes for him."

She glanced back over her shoulder, her tone almost tired. "So. Do you still want to enter?"

For a moment, Jacob didn't answer. A growing weight pressed against his chest, and as he turned slowly away from the doors, his thoughts were already racing.

There was a difference between difficult and suicidal, and this felt firmly in the latter category. Whatever Henry had hoped to accomplish, it couldn't possibly justify the risk. The odds of survival were slim, so slim they barely seemed worth thinking about.

'I'm not going in there. To hell with whatever Henry thinks this is. It's insane.'

He had already taken two steps away when Henry's hand caught his shoulder and spun him around to face him. Jacob staggered slightly, his eyes narrowing in silent protest.

"Hey," Henry said, his voice calm, too calm, "I told you, you won't die. You can trust me. You do trust me, right?"

From the side, Melera gave a dry, humourless laugh. "So he really does want you dead. What did you do to offend him? Steal his favourite sword? Insult his cooking?"

Jacob ignored her. He stared directly at Henry, trying to read whatever lay behind the easy smile, the relaxed posture, the confidence that hadn't faltered even once since they'd arrived.

He had a choice to make. Either trust Henry, against all logic and warning or walk away now, and leave with his life.

The answer was clear.

"I appreciate the effort," Jacob said finally, his voice steady but resolute, "but I'm not going. The risk is too high."

Henry let out a long breath, shoulders relaxing in a way that suggested he had already accepted Jacob's decision. "Doesn't really matter," he said, shrugging faintly. "We'll go somewhere else. There are other options."

Jacob turned, or at least he tried to. The moment he made the decision to leave, something shifted. It was as if his body no longer belonged to him, his legs refused to move, his arms hung motionless at his sides, and even the muscles in his neck locked in place. Whatever was holding him, it wasn't just him Henry was frozen too, standing rigid beside him, his jaw clenched in frustration.

A voice, calm but unmistakably edged, cut through the air. "What exactly do you take Elvheim for?"

Evendor stepped forward, his pace slow and unhurried, but the expression on his face made Jacob's skin crawl. That earlier mask of civility had completely vanished, replaced by a wide grin that seemed too broad to be natural, a grin that might have belonged on a man moments away from violence. "You think you can walk into our domain, make demands, then leave when it suits you?"

He stopped just in front of them, looking directly at Jacob now. "You will go to the roots, Jacob Skydrid. We had an agreement, you don't get to back out now."

"Evendor," Henry growled, his voice low but hard. "You know as well as I do that Jacob isn't going to die in there. You know. So why force it like this? He can return when he's ready."

For a second, Jacob felt a flicker of hope as Henry shifted forward, as if he were about to break the invisible hold and lead them both away. But then Evendor raised a single brow and spoke again, his voice lighter, almost amused.

"So you're going to let him go, Henry? After everything? After you dragged him here, after all that planning?" He tilted his head, his grin narrowing into something sharper. "You said he was ready. You said the time was right."

Henry hesitated, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, then closing again. Finally, he turned to look at Jacob and gave a small, apologetic smile. "I guess this could work," he murmured, his tone uncertain. "But I still think it should be on his own terms."

"You're indecisive," Evendor replied immediately, and without invitation, threw an arm around Henry's shoulder. The gesture might have seemed friendly to a casual onlooker, but the pressure behind it made Henry wince slightly.

"You were the one who recommended him. You said he had potential, said this was worth preparing for. And now you want to stall?" He leaned in closer. "What better opportunity could we possibly wait for? The timing couldn't be more perfect."

Henry didn't respond. The silence stretched long enough to feel accusatory.

"We agreed to give it a few more years," he finally muttered, barely audible.

Evendor stepped back and looked past Henry, locking eyes with Jacob. His smile faded into something colder, less theatrical, more calculated. "Fine. Let me be clear, then."

He took a breath, then said, in a tone that was completely devoid of performance:

"If you don't go to the roots of the World Tree right now, Jacob Skydrid, I'll kill your brother. I'll do it here, and I'll do it slowly, in the most agonizing manner I can manage. And when I'm done, I'll drag you to the roots myself."

Jacob shivered instinctively and turned to Henry, looking for something, reassurance maybe, or some last-minute signal that this was all just a test, some bluff he could still walk away from, but Henry's face had gone pale, drained of its usual brightness, and the ever-present smile that so often hovered on his lips was nowhere to be found. His expression was tight, and for once he looked older than he was.

"Hey," Henry said softly, his voice thin, barely above a whisper. "Can't you just go in? I… I'm really not good with torture."

Jacob stared at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending. "Wh… what kind of business are you even doing?" The words stumbled out, caught between confusion and rising panic.

It seemed like everything, this place, Evendor's threats, even the reason he'd been dragged here was somehow tied to that mysterious business Henry had so casually spoken about before, and yet now it felt like something far larger, far darker, something Henry had never truly explained.

But Henry didn't answer. He met Jacob's gaze for a moment, then quickly looked away, his silence louder than anything he might have said. It was Evendor who spoke instead, his tone clipped and impatient.

"I don't have all day. Are you going in or not?"

Jacob turned back toward Henry, desperation bleeding into his voice. "If I die, if I die in there…"

"You won't," Henry interrupted, more firmly this time. His eyes finally met Jacob's again, and though he smiled, it wasn't the careless, lopsided grin Jacob had grown used to it was quieter, steadier, almost convincing. "Trust me."

Jacob didn't reply. He simply nodded once, more to himself than anyone else, and then drew in a long, uneven breath as he turned toward the looming doors. His heart was thudding now, a dull and constant beat in his chest, and each step forward felt heavier than the last.

"Open it," Evendor said, and the command carried easily through the still air.

Melera, silent until now, stepped forward and placed both hands on the metal. The twin doors groaned as they began to part, ancient hinges protesting the motion with a sound like stone scraping against stone. Dust rose from the floor in faint spirals, catching the dim light and momentarily veiling what lay beyond.

When the dust settled, there was only darkness, a thick, ink-like void stretching out before him, the kind of darkness that seemed to drink in sound and thought alike. Jacob couldn't see the floor, the walls, or even a hint of what waited inside. It was as if the very concept of light had been swallowed whole.

And yet he moved forward.

His legs were unsteady, each footstep uncertain, but he didn't stop. Something inside him, something deeper than fear or logic told him that there was no turning back, not anymore. So he crossed the threshold, and the moment both feet touched the stone floor beyond, the doors behind him slammed shut with a thunderous finality that echoed through the corridor like the end of a verdict.

He was alone now.

Inside the roots of the World Tree.

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