Eldan’s Notes: #1

The forest was quiet in a way that didn’t feel like peace. It was a pause, a breath held in the shadowed lungs of Phyto, the dense world I called home. The kind of silence that creeps in when even the creatures of the undergrowth sense an ill-timed misstep could send everything tumbling into chaos. Somewhere behind me, Bralen shifted, his boots rustling against the leaves, impatient as ever. I shot him a glare that he didn’t notice. His gaze was fixed on the river just ahead, his face twisted with the kind of hunger I had only seen in the desperate or the damned.

The sun had fallen completely behind the canopy, leaving only the faint, bioluminescent glow of the flora to cast a ghostly light over our surroundings. Phyto wasn’t like the stories of other worlds I’d heard about, where dusk meant stillness. Here, the life that roared and shrieked in daylight merely softened, trading its vibrant song for a whispered rhythm, as if the forest itself were telling secrets to those willing to listen. I’d been taught that Phyto had a soul of its own, that it breathed in time with us, its pulse bound to ours. And maybe it did. But tonight, that pulse felt faint.

I pulled my cloak closer, trying to shut out the creeping chill that pressed in from the dark. Above, the canopy was woven so tightly that it blocked even the faintest hint of starlight, our footsteps muffled by moss and fallen leaves.

Ahead of me, Aldric moved with practiced stealth, his form barely visible as he slipped between the shadows. He paused at the edge of the trees, his gaze fixed on the river up ahead, where the water ran black and still beneath the moon. I crept up beside him, the cool, damp air thickening as I took in the sight across the water—the keep.

Rising from the far bank, the keep loomed like a living creature, formed from the twisted wood of Phyto’s ancient blackheart trees. Walls that had once been roots and trunks spiraled upward, their shapes gnarled and fused, a towering mass that looked more grown than built. The trees that made up the keep were dark as pitch, their bark marked by grooves that glistened faintly, almost as if sap still pulsed through them. Even from across the river, I could feel the place—its energy, low and pulsing, as if the keep itself was breathing.

Bralen joined us, his face set in a hard line, barely glancing at the fortress that loomed ahead. “Are we crossing, or are we standing here gawking?” he muttered, his voice carrying the familiar edge of impatience. He wasn’t one to linger on the mystery of a place or its history. To him, the keep was simply a means to an end.

Aldric didn’t answer, his attention still on the dark water lapping quietly at the shore. “There’s a barrier here,” he said finally, his voice low. “I can feel it.”

And then there was me. A thief, a debtor, a man who knew too many tricks for his own good and yet never quite enough to keep out of trouble. My name was Eldan, though most in the Verdant Veil Guild called me “The Leaf” for my quiet tread and knack for going unnoticed. I’d started with dreams larger than this, ambitions that stretched into the sky like the branches of Phyto’s Great Reaches. But life had a way of dragging even the tallest trees back to earth. Now I was tethered to the ground, my hopes weighed down by the debts I owed to the Thieves’ Guild

“Barrier?” Bralen scoffed. “It’s a river. I’ve crossed hundreds. Let’s go.”

But I knew what Aldric meant. There was a thickness to the air, a low hum just at the edge of hearing, like the distant rumble of thunder. It was more than just the weight of water and earth; it was as if the forest itself was drawing a line, daring us to cross it. Phyto was old—older than any of us could fathom—and the magic here was thick as the roots that wound through the ground beneath our feet. I felt it deep in my chest, a warning, a pressure that grew with every passing moment.

“Let’s go,” I said quietly, though even as I spoke, the words felt heavy. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what lay on the other side. None of us were.

Aldric gave me a quick nod, his expression tense but resolved, and together we stepped down toward the riverbank. The water was frigid, biting through leather and cloth as we waded in, each step pulling us deeper into the silent current. It felt heavier than it should have, as though the water itself were holding us back, testing our resolve. The river here wasn’t just a river—it was part of Phyto, part of the ancient magic that bound this world together.

When we reached the other side, we climbed out onto the muddy bank, the cold seeping through to our bones. The keep rose just ahead, its walls towering above us, twisting and curling into shapes that seemed both familiar and alien. The closer we got, the more I felt the pulse in the wood, a slow, deep rhythm that thrummed beneath my skin. This was no ordinary fortress—it was a living place, crafted from the heartwood of trees that had grown in Phyto’s oldest forests, trees said to hold memories, secrets, and warnings.

“Stay close,” Aldric whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “The keep doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”