Chapter Thirteen: The Heart of the Forest Has Trust Issues
If the Forgotten Wilds were a dinner guest, they would've shown up uninvited, insulted your cooking, and then cursed your cat.
Elliott and the group had barely survived the Mossbeast, and now, with the cryptic clue from the relic still burning in their ears—"Seek the heart of the forest. Where the silence drowns."—they trudged deeper into what was surely the worst camping trip in recorded history.
Even Seraphine, usually the first to poke danger with a stick, was looking nervously over her shoulder.
"Anyone else notice how quiet it is?" she whispered.
"Yes," Dorian muttered. "It's the kind of quiet that makes your ancestors wake up just to yell at you."
The Map of Maybe
Elric spread out the ancient map again, now half-soaked and partially chewed by a squirrel spirit (they still weren't speaking after "the incident").
"It should be this way," Elric said, pointing to a cluster of trees that looked suspiciously like a middle finger.
"You said that an hour ago," Marlow reminded him.
"That was a different middle-finger tree formation."
"Why do they have so many?"
"Because this forest is deeply petty," Seraphine said, twirling a dagger like it owed her rent.
They pressed on, stepping cautiously through a mist that moved like a living thing.
The Trials Begin (Because of Course They Do)
It started with voices.
Soft ones. Familiar.
Elliott heard Lyra—laughing, calling his name, whispering about the stars.
He froze.
"She's not here," Marlow said gently.
"You heard it too?"
Marlow nodded. "The forest digs up your memories and uses them like daggers. It knows how to wound."
Ahead, Dorian staggered to a halt, staring at a phantom figure no one else could see.
"Elira," he whispered.
Seraphine grabbed his shoulder. "She's dead, Dorian. It's not her."
He nodded once—but his eyes stayed locked on the vision until it melted into fog.
Elric didn't speak at all. He was walking stiffly, tightly clutching his duck-embroidered blanket like a lifeline.
A Talking Tree with No Patience
Eventually, they came to a clearing where a single, enormous tree stood—twisted, ancient, and very clearly irritated.
It opened two eyes in its bark and spoke in a voice like wind over tombstones.
"Who seeks the heart?"
Elliott stepped forward, the relic in hand.
"We do."
"Why?"
"Because... we have to," Elliott said, honestly. "Because something's coming. Something worse than just us messing up. And because I think this thing,"—he held up the relic—"wants to be whole again."
The tree was silent for a long time.
Then:
"You will not survive what lies ahead."
"That's... kind of been the vibe of the whole trip," Seraphine muttered.
"To reach the heart, you must face yourselves. And survive."
Dorian cracked his knuckles. "Finally. A test we might actually fail spectacularly."
Trial One: The Mirror Bog
The ground opened beneath their feet and dropped them into a swirling pit of water, mud, and illusion.
Elliott landed in a bog that shimmered with light.
In the reflection of the water, he saw himself—not now, but if he'd never run.
An older Elliott. Strong. Leading. People cheering his name.
"You could've been this," the bog whispered. "If you'd stayed. If you hadn't let them burn."
"I didn't let them," Elliott hissed. "I was a kid."
The bog didn't answer.
But the illusion reached out with a hand—beckoning.
Elliott stared at it.
Then stomped into the reflection.
It shattered.
Trial Two: Seraphine's Smile
Seraphine's trial took the form of a ballroom—beautiful, perfect, every noble she'd ever robbed or lied to bowing at her feet, singing her praise.
"You're a hero," the illusions said.
"A legend. A queen."
She laughed bitterly.
"I'm a thief. A liar. A knife in the back."
"But you could be loved," they insisted.
"Real love doesn't ask you to wear a mask," she snapped, throwing one of her vials at the illusion. The dream exploded in a puff of purple smoke.
Trial Three: Dorian's Oath
Dorian stood in a field where Elira lived.
She smiled at him, whole and alive, not bleeding, not gone.
"Stay," she said. "Just stay. You don't have to fight anymore."
"I do," he whispered. "You died because of me. I won't let it happen again."
He turned away—tears in his eyes.
Trial Four: Marlow's Secret
Marlow stood before a council of witches who turned their backs on her.
"You broke the code," they chanted. "You brought ruin."
"I tried to save lives," she said.
"You sacrificed your own blood."
Marlow clenched her fists. "And I'd do it again."
Her trial faded.
Trial Five: Elric's Fear
Elric stood alone in a library where every book whispered his name—except one.
It sat on a pedestal, blank, untouched.
"Your life means nothing," the silence said.
"No one will remember you."
Elric walked forward, picked up the blank book, and wrote the word hope.
The library disappeared.
The Heart Revealed
When they came to, they stood before a tree older than time—huge, pulsing with light, roots woven into the bones of the world.
The Heart of the Forest.
It opened its glowing eyes.
"You have passed. Barely."
"Charming," Seraphine said.
"Take the shard. But know—your path only grows darker."
A crystal floated down from the branches—brilliant and blue, like frozen starlight.
Elliott reached out and took it.
The relic flared. A second shard clicked into place.
The runes on its surface pulsed again—this time, in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Something stirred far away.
And something else—something cold—noticed.
Closing Scene: Far to the North
In a tower wrapped in stormclouds, a man of ash and shadow opened his eyes.
"She has found them," he said.
A raven croaked from the windowsill.
He stood, stepping into the storm.
"Then we begin."
End of Chapter Thirteen