Andersson managed to push himself onto his knees.

His breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one fighting its way free. Hands pressed against the forest floor, he held himself up as if the world might tilt and throw him off. The soil beneath his fingers was damp and real, but it felt distant—like touching something through a memory.

The world around him was hushed, blurred at the edges. Sounds were muffled. Colors felt too soft, as if the forest had pulled a veil over itself in reverence. His mind reeled, the tail end of the vision still flickering behind his eyes—whispers of fire and sorrow, alien skies, children crying, the weight of civilizations collapsing under the shadow of a single, patient evil.

Unseen threads still tugged at the edges of his thoughts, like claws trying to reel him back into the abyss of memory. But he resisted. He clenched his fists into the cool soil, grounding himself in the now.

Then Reece was there.

He dropped to his knees beside Andersson with none of his usual swagger—just raw, unfiltered urgency. Dirt smeared the knees of his uniform, but he didn't notice. He reached out and grabbed Andersson's hand, gripping it tightly, as if afraid he might slip away again.

"Are you okay?" Reece asked, voice low, tight. The question came out ragged, more plea than demand.

Andersson opened his mouth, tried to speak—but the words tangled behind his teeth. "I…"

It was all he could manage.

Hale's voice snapped through the quiet like a crack of thunder.

"What did you do to him?" she snapped, rising to her full height and glaring at Siona, then Davrin in turn. "What the hell was that?"

Her hand hovered just shy of her weapon—out of respect, or restraint, or maybe uncertainty—but her stance was all soldier. Coiled, defensive. Angry.

Siona didn't move. She didn't blink. She simply regarded Hale with calm that bordered on unnerving, her voice even as still water.

"He saw," she said. "What only he was meant to see."

Hale's eyes burned.

"Enough with your mystic tree bullshit," she snapped, turning her fury on Siona. "You said you weren't going to harm him."

Her gaze cut to Davrin next—sharp as a drawn blade. "You're responsible for this."

Davrin didn't respond, but something in his expression faltered. A flicker of conflict, too brief to pin down.

Andersson forced in another breath, still trembling at the edges. He lifted his head slightly, voice hoarse but steady enough.

"Hale…" He coughed once, steadied himself. "Stop. It's okay."

She didn't look convinced.

But she obeyed.

Barely.

She crossed the distance to Andersson and Reece, her boots silent on the moss-lined ground. Her eyes never left Davrin—tracking him like a sniper might a threat, one heartbeat from escalation.

Then she dropped to a crouch beside Andersson, her hand brushing against his shoulder as if testing to make sure he was still whole.

Reece leaned in closer, the tension in his face not easing one inch. "What happened?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Andersson closed his eyes for a moment.

And then, slowly, he began to speak.

Andersson's voice was rough, the words catching as they rose. "I saw… everything."

Reece's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Andersson murmured, eyes unfocused. "I can't think straight."

Hale stepped closer, scanning his face for signs of injury, of trauma. "Did they harm you?"

Reece shifted to help as Andersson moved to rise. With one arm braced around his waist, he steadied him as the captain pulled himself to his feet—slow, unsteady, but upright.

"No," Andersson said, catching his breath. "I don't think so. I'm just…" He dragged a hand down his face. "Overwhelmed."

Around them, the clearing had transformed.

The gathered Elarin—dozens, maybe more—stood in a wide crescent, heads bowed in deep reverence. Some pressed their palms to the earth. Others whispered softly to one another in awe, their voices feather-light, as if afraid to disturb the air. It wasn't celebration.

It was worship.

Hale's gaze snapped away from the crowd and back to Davrin. Her voice dropped to a low growl, sharp with barely contained fury.

"Get us out of here. Now."

Hale stepped in beside Reece without a word, slipping Andersson's other arm over her shoulder. Between them, they bore his weight—or what little of it he seemed able to hold on his own—supporting him as they moved slowly away from the heart of the clearing.

Davrin said nothing. He simply nodded once, somber, and turned to lead them, his steps quiet but unhesitating. No ritual. No fanfare. Just a quiet acquiescence to Hale's demand.

The crowd of Elarin parted silently as they passed, heads still bowed, their expressions a mixture of awe and reverence. No one reached out. No one interfered. Even Siona remained still, her face unreadable, her hands folded before her as if the moment required silence more than benediction.

They didn't walk with them.

They bore witness.

Andersson, his head low, let himself be guided. The warmth of Reece and Hale bracing either side of him was the only thing anchoring him to the present—one footfall at a time, one breath at a time.

Behind them, the clearing remained hushed. Not empty. Just... watching.

Davrin led them without a word, his pace steady but unhurried, guiding them through the living corridors of Virehn toward a waiting shuttle nestled between two great roots. Its frame shimmered in the dappled light, quiet and unobtrusive, as though the forest had grown around it by design.

Andersson moved on instinct, carried more by Reece and Hale than by his own strength. But something had shifted.

The forest didn't feel foreign anymore.

The trill of distant birdsong, once strange and discordant, now rang like remembered melodies—soft, layered, and somehow familiar. The scent of moss and leaf, once sharp with alien earth, now felt familiar—woven into the air he breathed, as natural as his own pulse.

His gaze drifted up to the canopy above, where slivers of golden light filtered through the branches. The trees didn't just move in the wind—they breathed. He could feel it now. A rhythm. A presence. Not invasive, not overwhelming—but known.

As Reece and Hale eased Andersson into one of the shuttle's seats, Davrin stepped forward, his voice quiet, but clear.

"You have honored us today, Captain."

Hale's mouth opened, the retort already forming—but Andersson lifted a hand before she could speak. It wasn't much, just a small gesture, but it was enough to stop her.

Davrin inclined his head slightly. "It was not our intention to cause you distress. I do not know what Vhenasul shared with you… but it was necessary."

Reece scoffed, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. "Really? Because whatever state he's in now doesn't look necessary—it looks intentional."

Davrin didn't argue. He didn't even flinch. "I hope that you will come to forgive us," he said, softly now, more to Andersson than the others. "When the time is right… please come back to us. The forest is yours."

With that, he stepped back, the door sliding closed with a hush of finality, cutting off the view of the gathered Elarin—still silent, still watching, still reverent.

The shuttle powered up, a low hum filling the cabin as its systems came to life and the lift engines engaged. Slowly, the vessel began to rise through the dense curtain of leaves.

Hale crossed her arms tightly, her gaze fixed on the sealed door as the clearing fell away beneath them. "What an asshole," she muttered.

Andersson's head leaned back against the shuttle wall, eyes half-lidded. "Please. The two of you. It's fine. I just… need some rest."

Reece settled beside him, voice gentler now. "Whatever you need, we're here."

No one spoke after that.

The shuttle crested the treetops, breaking free of the canopy with a rush of filtered light. Its wings adjusted with a soft hiss of hydraulics, banking gently toward the western horizon, towards the ocean that separated them from Arlathan.

Andersson sat quiet, his body still heavy with the aftershock of what he'd seen, what he'd felt. As the shuttle gained altitude, he turned his head toward the window.

There she was.

Vhenasul.

Even from this height, she rose above the canopy like a monument to something older than time. Her upper boughs reached far above the rest of the forest—soaring, still, as if she were touching the sky itself.

And though the shuttle moved farther with every second, he could still feel her.

The connection wasn't gone. It wasn't a tether, but something deeper. Something that pulsed faintly in his chest, echoing the rhythm of the forest below. She wasn't pulling him back. She was with him. Watching. Waiting.

Not done.

He leaned his head back against the cabin wall, letting his eyes close.

The forest receded behind them, swallowed by distance and cloud, but the presence remained—quiet, steady, eternal.

Vhenasul did not say goodbye.

She didn't need to.

The shuttle carried them forward—over the trees, across the water, toward the gleaming spires of Vael'theron.

Toward the Pathfinder.

Home.