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The group paused at the top, where the view descended gently into a wide clearing like nothing Wren had ever seen. A small valley surrounded by trees. At its center, a shining pool. Buildings circled the pool, paths crisscrossing beneath the trees. At the west sat a small lake, shimmering in the early light.

The nearest trees were strung with rope bridges crafted from living vines, connected to wooden platforms. Lookout towers. A few of the Gladeans stood above, whistling the birdcall in greeting as the twins led the group beneath them. The call spread until it grew too dim to distinguish from the sounds of the forest.

A human in brown woven clothing grinned from the top, waving excitedly. “Get Leora! They’re here!”

Figures dashed along rope bridges and scrambled down ladders. So many faces—human, elf, faun, halfling, and others Wren didn’t recognize—beamed at them, waving and whistling greetings as they passed beneath the trees. The closer they got, the more she could see. Structures appeared: homes, a schoolhouse where children tumbled out in laughter, workshops buzzing with quiet craft.

The buildings were natural, blending into the forest as if they’d grown from the earth itself. Vines and roots curled upward into stairs and walls. Leafy branches converged into roofs. Gossamer petals wove together, forming curtains. Other windows were lattices of living branches, leaves filtering sunlight into soft green rays. Every dwelling lived and breathed like the forest around them.

“This is…” Orzen began, but the words slipped away before they formed. “It’s incredible.” Wren caught his eye. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Biggest understatement ever,” Jessa breathed, clutching Calen’s hand as if she needed something solid to believe any of this was real.

Sylvi slowed at the edge of the clearing. At its center, the shimmering pool glistened—so clear it might have been glass. A stone pillar rose from the middle. Vines trailed the sides and at the top, they curved, cradling a massive glowing seed the green of new shoots. Its aura pulsed, each beat leeching the verdant color from it. Threads of black ebbed and flowed along the surface like staggered breaths.

Even here, corruption strained to break through.

A crowd gathered around the pool, nervous excitement rippling through them. There were dozens of them, more than Wren realized there’d be in a place as remote as this.

“The Spirit Weaver—”

“—Velhya’s visions—”

“Poor dears—”

“Momma…look,” Tommick gasped behind Wren. He pointed toward the far-off schoolhouse, barely visible from where they stood.

Several children ran forward, climbing trees for a better view. One girl, skin tanned like she spent every day in the sun, climbed onto a roughened stump covered in mushrooms. Her bright linens swayed in the breeze. The stump suddenly shuddered beneath her feet and she giggled. Knots blinked open within the bark, revealing pale brown, orb-like eyes.

“Miiirraaa,” the stump grumbled, its voice the creaking of branches in the wind. But the creature settled when Mira patted the bark beneath her feet.

“Thank you, Elder Mossback,” she mumbled, then shaded her eyes and waved eagerly at Tommick. “You made it!”

Cheers rose around them, and Wren’s heart swelled with it.

They had. Somehow. It was real. They were safe.

As if on cue, Watcher dove from a branch. He cawed once as he caught the breeze and skimmed low over the clearing before vanishing into the crowd.

A giant of a man lumbered forward, short dark ringlets bouncing around his face with each step. His skin was the deep, sunbaked shade of toasted bread. He was larger than any man she’d ever seen—several heads taller than Orzen and built like a mountain.

He beamed as he strode up, tucking a rolling pin so thick it could’ve doubled as a club into the pocket of a flour-stained apron. The broad sweep of his arms revealed a swirling brickwork pattern inked around one bicep—an armband tattoo shaped like a stylized oven of interlocking stone and flame.

“New friends!”

His voice boomed, rich and cordial, hands spreading wide like he meant to scoop the entire group into a hug. He probably could have. Wren imagined it’d feel like being swallowed by a firm, oven-warmed pillow. But he stopped short, squinting at their bedraggled state.

“Oh, dear…” His expression crumpled. “You look like soggy scones. This won’t do.” He turned immediately, bellowing, “Leora! I’m starting the ovens! We need bread right away!”

Off he went, muttering urgently to himself about pastries and pies, speeding off like a man on a sacred mission.

“He’s right,” Sylvi crooned. “You’re as dreary as hungry mossums.”

“No fear,” Fennik said evenly. “Wendall’s bread heals better than any magic.”

Calen blinked between them like he wasn’t sure if he should feel comforted or insulted. Jessa’s fingers twitched like she desperately wanted to pull out her notebook and sketch everything in sight. Garin grunted and tapped his staff, a low whistle slipping out when it sensed the people waiting around them.

“More here than I thought,” he muttered. “Going to need more than bread.”