Chapter Twelve: Into the Forgotten Wilds (And Immediately Regretting It)
The next morning came far too soon.
Elliott awoke to Dorian gently poking him with the flat end of a sword.
"We ride at dawn," Dorian announced.
"It's midday."
"Well, then we overslept at dawn. Either way—up you get."
Groggy, sore, and existentially burdened, Elliott dragged himself from the attic cot and stumbled into the inn's common room, where Marlow was already stuffing supplies into her satchel, Seraphine was arguing with a bar stool (which she swore insulted her mother), and Elric was hyperventilating over a map.
"We're going where?" Elric squeaked.
"The Forgotten Wilds," Marlow replied. "You heard the glowing ghost-hologram-memory. That's where the next shard is."
"Yes, and also where at least three dozen documented expeditions have gone missing. It's like someone crossed a cursed forest with a cryptid zoo!"
"Perfect," Dorian said. "We'll fit right in."
Packing List: Panic, Snacks, and Questionable Decisions
The team assembled their gear:
Seraphine brought two enchanted daggers, three vials of "do-not-sniff-this," and a journal labeled Definitely Not Spells I Stole.
Dorian packed six throwing knives, one highly suspicious duck whistle, and a flask of "medicinal courage."
Elric carried rope, an ancient compass that pointed toward the nearest regrets, and a blanket embroidered with ducks.
Marlow brought food, charm scrolls, and a large frying pan she refused to explain.
Elliott packed… a lot of worry.
Also, the relic.
It pulsed faintly every few minutes, like it was dreaming of firestorms.
Elliott tried not to think about it.
Into the Wilds (Mostly Screaming)
They reached the edge of the Forgotten Wilds by nightfall.
It did not greet them warmly.
Fog curled between trees like gossip. Branches twisted overhead in unnatural arches. Every sound was either too close or too far. And something—or several somethings—watched them from the shadows.
"Lovely place," Seraphine muttered. "Do you think it comes with a cursed welcome mat?"
"Probably a rug that eats you," Elric said, clutching his duck blanket like a talisman.
They stepped forward.
The forest swallowed them whole.
Rules of the Wilds (They're All Bad)
The first hour was fine.
The second hour, the compass spun in circles and refused to stop.
By hour three, the trees began whispering.
By hour four, the trees began remembering things Elliott hadn't told anyone. Like how he cried when he let go of Lyra's hand in the fire. How he sometimes dreamed of running away instead of leading.
"Is it just me," Dorian muttered, "or are the trees judging us?"
"They are," Marlow said, frowning. "They're memory-walkers. This entire forest is soaked in old magic. It doesn't hurt you—it just… shows you."
"I'd rather it didn't," Elliott muttered.
Forest Detour: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
The path forked unexpectedly.
The left trail was foggy, ominous, and smelled like regret.
The right trail featured strange glowing mushrooms, eerie singing, and something that sounded almost like a goat laughing.
"We go left," Seraphine said firmly.
"I don't know," Elric said. "The goat-laughter might be the path not to certain doom."
Dorian sighed. "Why is every decision in this group made based on which option sounds slightly less deadly?"
"Because the normal path usually turns into a sinkhole," Marlow said. "We tested this theory back in Chapter Two."
They went left.
Ten minutes in, the path vanished completely.
Enter the Mossbeast
They stumbled into a glade.
The air turned cold. The whispers stopped.
Then something moved.
At first, they thought it was a tree. Then it blinked.
A massive creature rose from the ground—moss, bark, antlers, and glowing green eyes the size of dinner plates. Its growl shook the air.
The Mossbeast.
"Oh good," Dorian said. "A walking allegory for trauma."
The Mossbeast roared.
Seraphine threw a vial that exploded into a cloud of glitter.
The beast sneezed violently.
"RUN," Elliott shouted.
They scattered.
The Great Chase, Now With More Screaming
The team tore through the woods, dodging roots, branches, and occasionally each other.
"This is your fault!" Elric screamed at no one in particular.
"I was trying to dazzle it!" Seraphine shouted.
"With GLITTER?!"
"It worked on the duke of Stormfen!"
"HE WAS A MAGPIE SHIFTER!"
The Mossbeast crashed after them, each step like a drumbeat of impending doom.
Elliott yanked Marlow away from a falling tree.
Seraphine vaulted over a log and landed on Dorian's shoulders.
Elric tripped over his own feet and was caught by pure luck and a very angry squirrel spirit who decided to help "just this once."
The Relic Speaks
Just as the Mossbeast cornered them in a dead-end ravine, the relic pulsed—then flared.
Elliott held it up on instinct.
Flames burst from the stone, spiraling outward in a circle of burning gold. The Mossbeast reared back—confused, then afraid.
A voice echoed through the flames.
"Seek the heart of the forest. Where the silence drowns. Only there can the shard be found."
The flames vanished.
So did the beast.
And just like that, the glade was still again.
Aftermath and Mild Existential Terror
They collapsed on the mossy ground, panting and singed.
"Well," Dorian wheezed, "I think that qualifies as the worst group hike I've ever had."
"We're not dead," Marlow said.
"Which, in this group, is practically a miracle," Elric added.
Elliott sat back, the relic warm in his hands.
"The heart of the forest," he repeated. "Whatever that means."
Seraphine looked up at the trees, which had gone silent again.
"Something's guiding us. But I don't think it's on our side."
"Then we move fast," Elliott said.
"But carefully," Marlow added.
"Also," Dorian said, "I'm just going to throw this out there—we might want to stop shouting in the forest that hates us."
A branch fell nearby.
They nodded silently.
Closing Scene: Not All Whispers Are Dead
Deep in the forest, beyond where light dared touch, a figure stirred.
Cloaked in midnight, crowned with thorns, it watched the glade through eyes that had not blinked in centuries.
It whispered one word.
"Awaken."
And far below the forest floor, something ancient turned in its sleep.
End of Chapter Twelve