The path north tunneled through a forest of giant, primordial trees. They stood in the emerald twilight, their copper-hued trunks wider than Trenn’s old bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth.

  Their journey settled into a three-part rhythm. First, the frictionless glide of Skate, its spherical body serving as the wheel for their makeshift stretcher. The imperceptible weight of Bomber, a statue of broken stillness on its bed of ferns. Finally, the steady protest of Trenn’s mismatched armor, a rhythmic creak that kept time with his steps.

  Every few minutes, the war would find him again. He’d shift his grip on the stretcher, close his eyes, and focus on the inert weight of the amulet at his chest. A familiar pressure would build behind his eyes, and with a practiced release of will, his perspective would unmoor.

  His senses soared, painting the forest ahead in moon-pale detail. His hearing followed, catching the secret chitter of a squirrel, the whisper of wind through the high canopy. No Goblins. Not for a mile. The check took three heartbeats. He returned his senses to his body with a faint, buzzing echo in his skull

  During one check, his attention drifted to the tethers, the luminous threads of his influence. The bond with Skate was an unwavering cord of sun-warm gold, simple and solid. The connection to Bomber was a fragile thread of shimmering silver, pulsing with a faint, pained rhythm.

  His gaze followed the tether to Mara. It wasn't a simple thread, like the other two, but a complex braid of light, woven from strands of respect, frustration, and the fierce loyalty of shared battle. It was the sturdiest of them all.

  As he watched it shimmer, he noticed something else—a second tether, anchored not to him, but to Mara.

  It was a stream.

  An ancient viridian light flowed from the core of her being, plunging deep within the forest.

  “What are you staring at?”

  Mara’s mix of teasing and genuine discomfort pulled Trenn out of his trance.

  “Sorry,” Trenn mumbled, shaking his head to clear the spectral afterimage. “The amulet. It lets me see the connections between things. Between us.” He met her questioning gaze. “You have two. One with me, and a second, immense tether. It anchors you to the forest.”

  She stayed silent, her gaze sliding away from him to the ancient, impassive trees. She walked ahead, the soft crunch of her boots on the fallen leaves the loudest sound for a dozen paces.

  “Guardians can’t leave the Mana Forest they are bound to,” she said finally, her voice flat, matter-of-fact. “Not for long.”

  Trenn stopped walking. The stretcher handles dug into his palms as the forward momentum came to a halt. The path to the mainland, the Anurys Mirror, the impossible hope of saving his parents—the entire map of his future suddenly redrew itself, and on it, he was alone.

  “When I leave…” he began, the words catching in his throat, thick with a sudden dread.

  “I can’t follow,” she finished for him, her back turned. “We are born in the forest. We die in the forest.”

  The silence that followed was deep and heavy. The words weighed on Trenn. He stared at her back, at the rigid line of her shoulders, and a hollowing dread spread through his chest.

  The future he hadn't even realized he'd been painting in his mind—a future of shared journeys, of watching each other's backs in strange, new lands—crumbled into dust. The confidence he had painstakingly built over weeks of fighting and surviving was a lie, a thin veneer over the terrified student who had first stumbled onto that alien beach.

  He had survived because of her. Without her, he was a man, lost in an impossibly vast and hostile place. The ancient trees were no longer majestic; they were the bars of her cage.

  Panic gripped his throat. He had to fix this. There had to be a way.

  "What if I cut it?" he said, the words raw with a desperate, dawning conviction. “Your tether to the forest. What if I could sever it? I know I can cut the ties that are connected to me. Like the ones binding me to Skate, or Bomber, or you.” He took a step forward, the stretcher forgotten, his voice ringing with the impossible idea.

  “Maybe I can learn to cut the tether that binds you to this place.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Mara’s body flinched, a spasm so violent it was as if he’d struck her.

  She whirled to face him, her amber eyes blown wide with a tempest of emotions—shock, a flicker of raw terror, and beneath it all, a fragile, terrifying glimmer of hope that she immediately hated herself for feeling.

  “You could… cut it?” she whispered, the words a choked, disbelieving gasp.

  “Your connection to the forest is a spell. Why not? The main difference is, I’m not the one who cast it,” Trenn reasoned, his own mind racing. “It’s a connection. Maybe it can be disconnected.”

  She shook her head, a slow, mournful gesture as her gaze drifted past him, unfocusing. "You don’t understand what you’re offering," she said, her voice a troubled murmur.

  “Being a Guardian isn’t a job. It’s what I am. This bond you see?" Her clawed hand gestured vaguely at the ancient trees that surrounded them.

  "It’s my strength. My purpose. It's the hum of every leaf, the memory in every root. It’s my family."

  Her gaze darted around the clearing, searching for a distraction, and locked onto a cluster of small, dark, bell-shaped flowers at the base of a gnarled root. She jabbed a clawed finger toward them.

  "Nightshade Bell," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Key ingredient for the smoke bombs. Get your alchemy book. I’ll show you how to harvest them."

  Trenn nodded, but habit compelled him to perform his routine scan of the path first. He focused on the amulet, letting his clairvoyant sense drift upward through the canopy.

  High above them, three Gnomes rode on the backs of giant, buzzing bees, their translucent wings a blur of motion. The riders were perched in intricate leather saddles, holding muskets of polished wood and gleaming brass, complete with clockwork firing mechanisms.

  “Mara,” he said, his voice quiet with astonishment. “We’ve got company,” Trenn said, as he returned his focus to his immediate surroundings.

  “I saw Gnomes,” Trenn said, his voice filled with a quiet disbelief. “Armed with muskets. Riding giant bees.”

  Mara continued snipping the Nightshade Bells, her claw a precise blade. “Yes. I expected a welcoming party.”

  He got to his feet. “They have aerial troops with firearms, and they are afraid of Goblins?”

  “For every one Gnome, there are twenty Goblins,” she said, finally looking up from her work. “Before we intervened, the Goblins were attacking their caravans regularly. They would bring down Bee Riders by throwing rocks at them," she shook her head. "And if that was not enough, the Hobgoblins wanted to use the stolen resources to buy steel from the Orcs. Bows. Armor. They were turning a nuisance into an army.”

  The buzzing grew from a distant drone to a determined roar, a sound like a fleet of propeller planes descending upon their small clearing. The air began to thrum, a low-frequency vibration he could feel in the soles of his boots. The distant buzzing deepened. It evolved from a simple drone into a powerful, resonant buzz that vibrated through the air.

  Three shapes broke through the canopy, momentarily eclipsing the sun. Trenn’s head tilted back to see the bees. They were the size of donkeys, their bodies a stunning pattern of black and gold stripes.

  Perched in intricate leather saddles were three tiny riders. Three feet tall, if that.

  They wore chainmail under immaculate black and gold uniforms. Their muskets were marvels of craftsmanship. The stocks were polished copper-wood, inlaid with brass filigree. Instead of a flintlock firing mechanism, they used a complex arrangement of interlocking gears, springs, and clockwork triggers that clicked and whirred softly even at rest.

  One by one, the aerial mounts landed, their six spindly, articulated legs absorbing the impact with a dancer's grace. The riders dismounted.

  Their commander stepped forward. Her dark hair was pulled into two tight pigtails that stood straight out from the sides of her head like diagonal antennae. Her face was beaming. She stopped before Mara, her gaze sweeping from the Guardian to Trenn, and gave a sharp, formal bow.

  “Welcome, Heroes!” she declared, her voice a booming alto that resonated with impressive force for her small frame. “We are here to escort you to the regent of the Hive, Lady Yradone. I am Captain Kae.”

  The word ‘Heroes’ made Trenn shift uncomfortably. He was a survivor, a killer, a man in a ridiculous set of armor. The title was a borrowed coat that was several sizes too large.

  Before he could speak, one of the male Gnomes—a man whose bushy, grey eyebrows had a life of their own—approached Bomber. His gaze turned to Skate, who was doing its best impression of an inanimate rock. The Gnome’s face soured, his impressive mustache twitching with disapproval.

  “You keep dangerous pets,” he said, his voice a low baritone rumble. “A Rock Slime and a Giant Moth. Those are monsters, heroes. Make sure they don’t cause trouble in the Hive.”

  “They’re not pets,” Trenn said, his voice firm, the awkwardness of a moment ago replaced by a protective instinct. “They’re teammates.” He gestured with his chin toward Bomber. “And we’re here to get one of them patched up.”

  The grumpy Gnome’s eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Captain Kae placed a calming hand on her subordinate’s arm. “Corporal, stand down,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her gaze on Trenn was direct and reassuring. “Your friends are welcome in the Hive. All of them. Our veterinarians are the finest flying insect specialists you'll find.”

  She gestured toward the largest of the waiting bees, which buzzed placidly, cleaning one of its forelegs with a surprising delicacy. “We can secure your wounded comrade on Hilda, here," she said, her eyes flicking from Trenn to Mara. "I’m afraid the rest of you will have to walk. You are both too heavy for a bee-mount."

  With a series of crisp hand signals from the captain, the two male Gnomes moved forward. They lifted Bomber’s stretcher with surprising strength and began securing it to the back of the giant bee, using a series of specialized leather straps and brass buckles.

  Do you think Trenn should try to sever that bond if he can?

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