Chapter Five The Zhilaan Forest

Chapter Five The Zhilaan Forest

Elloren Guryev

Zhilaan

The power radiating from the dome-shield over Zhilaan is a shock to my rootlines.

As Yvan soars us toward the Forest alongside our Dryad’khin and newfound Eastern Realm allies, the Forest’s warrior energy

surges through our bond, our hold on each other reflexively tightening.

The Zhilon’ile Wyverns are holding back the unmoored weather whipping around us with their own storming power, the dome-shield’s

blurred expanse becoming increasingly visible, spitting purple lightning and a curious blue mist coursing over its entirety.

Somehow, I realize, the people of Zhilaan have found a way to channel the Zhilaan Forest’s power straight into it.

I tense my brow and focus my power empathy on the colossal amount of magic at play in this shield. There’s a strong framework

of Eastern Wyvern storm power present in it, but that underpinning magic is dwarfed by both the Zhilaan Forest’s energy and

another line of magic that fills me with surprise.

Blue Urisk geomancy .

Somehow intimately fused to the Forest’s power.

But how?

My surprise notches higher as I read how the geomancy is actively channeling the Zhilaan Forest’s power into the dome-shield to wall off the violent weather.

“Yvan,” I say, my lips brushing his warm ear. He pulls me nearer, the close contact sending an unbidden rush of heat through

us both. “We’ve an unexpected Urisk ally,” I tell him, striving to be heard over the thunderous mayhem. “Zhilaan’s dome-shield

is shot full of blue geomancy—”

My words cut off as the Zhilaan Wyvern soldiers flying before us raise their palms and blast bright white lightning toward Zhilaan’s dome-shield. An oval opening forms in its surface, and we soar through the gap into storm-free Zhilaan...

... and gain our first clear glimpse of the mighty Zhilaan Forest.

My lips part in awe.

The Zhilaan Nightwood Pine Forest is a majestic carpet of midnight purple reaching into the distance, its rich hue dotted

by groves of deciduous trees bursting with autumn’s every prismatic color, the fabled rocky Spikelands of Zhilaan arced around

the Forest’s northern edge. I can sense the Forest latching on to Yvan’s and my sudden presence, its fire-fueled power embracing

us both, our Wyvernbond flooded with purple flame.

“The Forest... it’s amplifying our bond,” I marvel, my awareness of Yvan’s strong body intensifying as the Forest blazes

what feels like an intentional pull toward each other through us.

“Gods, Elloren,” Yvan murmurs as he spears us forward. “It’s intensifying my draw to you. I didn’t think that was possible.”

An invisible trace of his fire shivers over my lips, Yvan’s aura blazing around me with such impassioned energy, its motion

sparks my own returning heat, his hold on me firming.

We close in on the Forest’s edge, my pulse hammering against Yvan’s, as we take in the gargantuan Zhilaan Nightwood Pine Trees,

their spear-like apexes rising so high they almost touch the dome-shield above them. I shiver from the Forest’s intensifying

aura, power running blisteringly hot through its expanse.

A colossal firestorm of might.

Witch’kin , the Forest thunders through me, raising every hair on my skin as we follow the Zhilon’ile Wyverns down, the pine trees seeming

to rise higher and higher as we descend. Yvan lands in a field of lavender grass in front of the Zhilaan Forest’s tree line,

our allies alighting all around us, Raz’zor and the other Wyverns morphing to winged-human form.

I gape at the huge Nightwood Pines before us, the girth of their trunks larger than the largest of Valgard’s buildings, the

trees’ massive forms blazing out their invisible fire power toward the shield above through that mysterious channel of blue

Urisk geomancy.

Desperate to fully restore my Dryad rootlines, I surge toward the nearest Nightwood Pine and throw my III-marked palm onto

its wall-size trunk.

Errilor’s onyx raven head flashes through my vision, the rest of my flock surrounding him, all of them dissolved into a mist of Dark that swirls around me with palpable love and support before flowing back down into Erthia. Tears sting my eyes, my connection to my kindreds blessedly still there for as long as they can hold off the Reckoning.

The Zhilaan Forest’s violet fire blazes into me via that kindred connection with such sudden force that my body begins to

vibrate. I fall to my knees, Yvan catching me from behind, his touch an anchoring force as the Zhilaan Forest fully links

to my rootlines and sears into them, flooding them with its full spectrum of elemental power.

Light, earth, water, air.

And purple fire.

All of it swirling around and intensifying my bond to Yvan.

My vision clearing, I turn and meet Yvan’s gaze. He’s giving me a wildfire look, our love and Forest-amplified desire for

each other pulsing hard through our bond, the yearning to throw myself at him almost impossible to resist.

“Your green hue has returned,” he tells me, looking both relieved and a bit feral, his eyes burning.

Dazed, I glance down, grateful to find my skin’s deep-green coloration and shimmer restored, the dark purple branching pattern

strengthened, the Zhilaan Forest’s energy running hot through me.

Yvan and I both rise and find Sylvan and my other Dryad’kin down on their knees pressing III-marked palms to the Nightwood

Pines’ black trunks, Raz’zor at Oaklyyn’s side, Mavrik and Gwynn hanging on to each other as they make contact with the huge

tree before them. Alder and Soleiya help Thierren stay upright as he lurches for one of the trees, his falcon lighting on

his shoulder, Sholin aiding Fain, their dove and tailorbird kindreds flitting around them. I draw in a hard breath, my empathy

filling with the heady sensation of this martial Forest flooding my Dryad’kins’ rootlines with elemental power, their green

hues rapidly returning, the Zhilaan’s purple branching pattern overlaying it.

A flock of black Noi Fire Hawks fly out of the trees and light on the shoulders of every Dryad’khin in need of a kindred,

the rest of the hawks perching on branches around us, as if waiting for their new kin.

Yulan is on her knees before one of the trees, palms to midnight bark, her injured heron beside her, and emotion tightens my throat as black clematis vines sprout to life all over her head, rapidly forming viney tresses dotted with deep-purple blooms, her Tricolor Heron’s feathers shedding the gray and morphing back to their beautiful lavender, white, and blue hues as the bird fully revives. Trumpet vines flow out from the Zhilaan’s tree line and twine embracingly around Yulan, lavender flowers opening as she begins to weep.

My brother Trystan has his palms pressed to the huge tree beside me, his green hue restored and marked now with the same dark

violet branching pattern, his breathing labored, Vothe, Sithendrile, and Rafe holding on to him.

“I’ve lived in Zhilaan most of my life,” Vothe tells us as he peers up at the trees’ cloud-high apexes, “and I’ve never stepped

foot inside this Forest.”

“Why not?” Trystan asks as his breathing steadies.

“It doesn’t permit intruders,” Vothe answers.

“It’s a lethal Forest,” Vothe’s father, Hizar’drile, interjects, a warning light in his eyes. Wyvernguard commander Ung Li

and Vothe’s brother, Gethindrile, bracket him, all of them standing a few paces back from the tree line, all of them eyeing

it warily. “It doesn’t allow anyone to enter except Dryad Fae,” Hizar’drile continues. “If I attempt to step over its threshold,

it will slay me.”

To illustrate his point, Hizar’drile carefully steps toward the tree line and pushes his hand between two of its trunks. He

yanks his hand back just as a wall of purple branches spears downward in a lethal blur, knifing into the soil with a muffled

thud . Most of us flinch, my heart jumping into a faster rhythm as Hizar’drile takes a step back and the branches pull from the

soil and slowly draw back into their original position.

Yvan and I exchange a look of surprise, as I’m hit by a wave of the blue Urisk geomancy coursing through Zhilaan’s dome-shield,

the aura of geopower sweeping out from the Forest.

A rustling sounds, and two silver-haired Zhilaan Mountain Goats with crystalline horns step out of the trees at the same time

that a familiar figure leaps into view on one of the branches overhead.

My heart leaps clear into my throat as Valasca Xanthrir meets my gaze, her sky blue skin surrounded by the same blue aura

mist as Zhilaan’s dome-shield. She’s clothed in armor fashioned from thin plates of cobalt stone, countless runic blades made

from blue gems sheathed all over her along with the powerful Ash’rion blade, a crystalline-blue stylus gripped in her hand.

A grin overtakes her face as she drops to the ground before us.

“Valasca!” Ni Vin cries as she staggers forward, her legs almost giving way beneath her as she bursts into tears.

The grin vanishes from Valasca’s face, swiftly replaced by a look of pure ardor. She surges toward Ni Vin and sweeps her up

into her arms. “My love,” Valasca passionately murmurs in Noi as Ni Vin sobs and Valasca hugs her tight. “My beautiful, forever

love,” she continues, voice hitching. And then Valasca draws Ni Vin into a loving kiss that floods my vision with tears, Yvan’s

hand wrapping around mine as we surge toward her.

Valasca murmurs something to Ni Vin, kissing her once more before they draw back from each other, a number of us, including

Alder, Freyja, and Kam Vin, converging around them.

“My queen,” Valasca says, lowering herself to one knee before Freyja, head bowed.

Freyja draws in a deep breath before motioning Valasca up. “Rise, Warrior of the Goddess,” she charges.

Valasca obeys, the two of them making the complicated goddess symbol on their chests, eyes locked. Valasca turns to me, her

eyes sheening with emotion as we pull each other into a close embrace. “You’re looking pointy around the ears, Elloren,” she

jests through her tears as we draw back from each other, a more heartfelt look overtaking her angular, blue face.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I say as more of her crystal-horned goat kindreds filter out of the Forest and flock affectionately

around her.

Valasca glances around at our allies, her brow knotting as her gaze lights on Thierren. “Where’s Sparrow?” she presses.

A pained look tightens Thierren’s severe features. “She’s caught in Vogel’s Shadow.”

Valasca’s dark eyes widen before her expression hardens. “Well, we’ll simply have to find a way to free her.” Thierren nods,

stiffly, before Valasca looks to me. “The Great Tree, III,” she tells me, “it drew me through its rootline network all the

way to this Forest.” She raises the stylus in her hand, a martial light in her eyes. “III freed up my geomancy. Then tasked

me with the strengthening of Zhilaan’s shielding.”

It all falls into place, Valasca’s combined Noi and Urisk heritage giving her the ability to use both runic systems to fortify

Zhilaan’s dome-shield with the Forest’s own might.

A look of sorrow tightens Valasca’s features. “I know what happened to Lukas, Elloren. The trees... they showed me everything . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . Lukas made this moment possible for us all.”

I struggle against the ache suddenly gripping at my heart, because even though so many of us are here, finally allied, Lukas

is gone. And these allies and loved ones that remain... we all might be lost to this fight.

Valasca raises her III-marked hand and looks toward the non-Dryad’khin amongst us. “You need to bind to the Forest now ,” she charges. “The Zhilaan will permit you to make contact with the trunks facing us. This Forest is ready to amplify and

merge your elemental power, but only if you become its Dryad’khin. The Zhilaan showed me its history here. The Dryads who

once lived here, they were decimated during the ancient Elfin Wars, and the Zhilaan turned against all non-Tree’kin as a result.”

“I can read what transpired,” Alder affirms, one of her palms pressed to the huge trunk before her. “The Alfsigr Elves not

only killed this Forest’s kindred Dryads, they clear-cut a huge section of the Forest’s territory and came close to triggering

an Unbalancing.”

Hizar’drile nods. “Our legends have it that this Forest fought back and drove the Alfsigr out.” He gives us all a grim look.

“For centuries now, if anyone who is not Fae Dryad’kin tries to step into its depths, they’re fought off with every means

possible—spearing branches, Zhilaan Fire Ants, Lightning Salamanders, Fire Hawks—the trespassers promptly set aflame and exploded.”

Witch’kin. The Forest shudders through me, the frequency of the word bone-deep and embracingly hot around my lines, fire to fire. Erthia’s

last sizable stand of old-growth Forest.

Our last stand.

“Vogel will be coming for this Forest,” I warn, taking in the trees’ towering potency. “Valasca’s right. Everyone needs to

bind to it and link to its power before foliage season ends.”

Yvan takes my hand and draws me toward the tree line until we’re just inside it, an instant realization of his intent dawning.

He turns to the non-Dryad’khin massed before us and gives them a fervid look. “I’m bonded to this Forest,” he calls out, holding

up his III-marked hand. “It accepted me and named me Guardian even though I am a Keltish-Lasair Wyvern.”

Vothe turns to his father, a thread of his invisible lightning crackling out toward Hizar’drile. “This is the moment we go on faith, Fav’vyar,” he offers, his arm and the rest of his power tight around Trystan. “We need to show this Forest that we can be its allies instead of its destroyers.”

Trystan suddenly breaks away from Vothe and strides toward Hizar’drile and Gethindrile, stilling before them and holding out

his III-marked hand to Vothe’s father. “Join with us,” he stridently offers, his eyes alight with purple-and-white lightning.

Vothe’s father stills as he holds Trystan’s forthright stare, seeming as if he’s struggling with a rise of powerful emotion,

lightning spitting through his dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally manages, his expression tightening with obvious remorse.

“I can scent your sincerity, Trystan Gardner.” He briefly glances at me, then Rafe. “And I can sense the sincerity of your

kin. I should have gotten to know you first, Trystan Gardner, before shunning you based on your lineage.”

“I’m sorry, as well,” Vothe’s brother offers, a tortured look on Gethindrile’s face.

Trystan and Vothe exchange a quick look, and Vothe draws up to my younger brother’s side.

“We forgive you,” Trystan says to Hizar’drile and Gethindrile, an emphatic strength crackling through his power.

“We forgive you both,” Vothe seconds before they draw both Hizar’drile and Gethindrile into embraces and the potent truth

strikes home—there’s no time left for anything but forgiveness and alliance.

“Welcome to the family,” Rafe comments wryly, grinning at Vothe’s father and brother, his arm slung around Diana, Hizar’drile

and Gethindrile looking a bit dazed by the turn of events.

“You’ll soon have the Icaral of Prophecy as your full kin, as well,” Ariel teases, shooting Yvan and me a sly look, a welcome

glint of amusement in her fiery eyes.

“A few Lupines, as well,” Diana adds, grinning wolfishly at Vothe’s father and brother as she casts a pointed glance at Jarod,

Aislinn, and the rest of our extended kin, my heart filling with so much love for my family and friends, even in the face

of what’s bearing down on us all.

“It’s time to break down all the barriers,” Valasca offers, growing serious. “And unite as one Dryad’khin people.”

Yulan rises, her tresses now made up entirely of deep-purple blooms. There’s renewed strength in her stance, the power of the Zhilaan Forest rising with her, her heron ruffling its multihued feathers. “Come,” Yulan says, beckoning all of the non-Dryad’khin toward the tree line, “let’s bring you all to the Forest.”

The entirety of our accompanying Vu Trin forces, both Zhilon’ile and Noi, along with our entire horde, enter into the trees

and join with them, the Zhilaan Forest able to handle our horde’s fire, Naga, Raz’zor, Ariel, and the others gaining smatterings

of purple leaves and slim branches amidst their wing feathers along with the III mark on their palms.

A transformed Hizar’drile immediately sends soldier envoys out to beckon all of Zhilaan to come to the Zhilaan Forest’s trees

simply to listen. And then, if they freely choose a Dryad’khin bond, to enter into the Zhilaan Forest for the first time in

their lives, embraced and strengthened by the combative Forest as its newfound allies and army.

Hours later, Yvan and I pause, just above the Zhilaan Forest’s canopy, my feet supported by one of the Nightwood Pine’s uppermost

huge, dark branches as I search for any trace of Vogel’s incoming power. Unbalanced storms boom against the dome-shield above,

held back by Valasca’s geo-channeling of the Forest’s purple-hued might.

“Peak foliage is almost here,” I say, light power flooding my lines as I turn to Yvan. “We have just a few days, at most,

to gather power and move against the Magedom.”

Yvan nods as we both turn our sights toward the slender, conical mountain that rises from the Zhilaan Forest’s center, a Vu

Trin military base built into the obsidian stone of the mountain’s pinnacle, all of us to convene there once everyone emerges

from the trees.

“I’m not picking up any trace of Shadow power,” I say, giving him a sober look. “Not yet.”

Yvan’s violet-fire eyes hold mine, courage blazing through our bonded fire. Because we both know it’s coming—Fallon’s wintry

Shadow cold rising against Yvan’s Forest-linked fire.

“It turns out this was your fight, all along,” I say, my voice hitching. “And I never was the Black Witch. But the Prophecy...

it will likely prove to be true. Alder is still reading it in the trees.”

Yvan’s jaw tightens as he glances back toward the West. “If I’m meant to be Erthia’s Icaral of Prophecy, then so be it. I’m ready to fight for all of you.”

A rush of love burns through his fire, so much emotion in its incandescent blaze that for a moment I can barely pull in an

even breath.

“I love you,” he says, turning to me, a hotter band of his invisible fire sweeping in around me.

“I love you too,” I say, tears sheening my eyes as I’m swept up into a longing for him that’s so intense I can barely get

the words out. “What happens... when a Wyvernbonded couple fully pair?” I venture. “I’ve seen the bite marks. Trystan has

one. So does your mother.”

Yvan’s eyes spark, ardent energy crackling through his power. “Our initial kiss was like a wandfasting in some ways. Connecting

us and our fire magic. When we pair, it’s like a Sealing in that we’ll gain a more intimate grasp on each other’s magic.”

He hesitates, swallowing, as his gaze briefly flicks toward the base of my neck, the yearning in it so obvious it makes my

skin tingle. “The bite opens up a full sharing of fire power between two Wyverns—to the point where they can deploy each other’s

fire. But, Elloren, I don’t know what the Wyvern bite would do to our balance of magic, since we’re both so uniquely powerful

and you’re not Wyvern’kin.”

I can sense him warring against his desire for this link even as his note of caution strikes home. Because we can’t risk upending

our power in unknown ways, not with this war against the Magedom looming.

“Then we wait on the bite,” I offer, steeling myself for what’s to come. “But I don’t want to wait any longer to fully belong

to each other.”

“I don’t either,” he passionately returns, wildfire in his eyes.

“Be with me tonight,” I offer. “I want you as my full mate before this fight comes.”

In answer, Yvan wraps his arms and wings around me and pulls me into a kiss that quickly turns explosive, both defiance and

love in the hot press of his mouth, the covetous motion of his tongue, the molten feel of his hands claiming my body, the

two of us letting ourselves burn for each other in this brief moment at the top of the Zhilaan Forest.

Before Yvan takes up the mantle of the prophesied Icaral, and we all go to war.