They did not realize the story had escaped them.
By nightfall, the forest was far behind. A small fire crackled between stones as the group rested beside the road. No one spoke for a long while.
Ravik finally broke the silence. "So… we promised a forest we wouldn't own it."
Kael nodded. "Yes."
"And instead, we're going to talk about it everywhere."
Solaryn smiled faintly. "Words are lighter than chains."
Orin poked the fire. "And sharper."
Kael stared into the flames. He could still feel the forest's presence—not as pressure, but as distance. A quiet trust.
He wondered how long it would last.
They reached the village of Tarn's Crossing two days later.
It was small, built around an old stone bridge, with market stalls leaning like tired men. Travelers rested here often, and travelers carried news.
Kael noticed the looks immediately.
Not fear.
Interest.
A merchant whispered to another. A child stared openly. An old woman crossed herself when Kael passed.
Ravik leaned close. "Either we smell bad, or something's wrong."
Solaryn stopped walking. "Listen."
They heard it then.
"…the one who spoke to the forest…"
"…didn't name it, they say…"
"…the Witness walks again…"
Kael exhaled slowly.
"It's already spreading," Orin said.
They entered the inn.
The moment Kael removed his cloak, the room quieted. Not completely—but enough.
An innkeeper approached, nervous but polite. "You're welcome here," he said carefully. "Food and rooms are ready."
Kael nodded. "Thank you."
As they ate, a man stood from the corner table.
He was clean, well-dressed, and smiling too easily.
"I've heard your story," the man said. "Very inspiring."
Kael did not look up. "Stories change as they move."
"Of course," the man replied. "That's what makes them useful."
Solaryn's eyes hardened.
The man continued, "A forest that cannot be owned. A leader who refuses to claim power. People love that sort of thing."
Ravik muttered, "I don't."
The man leaned closer. "You should be careful, Witness. Some people hear such stories and feel hope."
"And others?" Kael asked.
The man smiled wider. "They feel threatened."
He straightened and bowed slightly. "Enjoy your meal."
He left.
Silence returned to the table.
Orin spoke first. "That man wasn't a traveler."
"No," Solaryn agreed. "He was listening on purpose."
Kael clenched his jaw. "The forest wanted to be remembered."
Ravik sighed. "Didn't say by who."
That night, Kael dreamed.
He stood on a hill, watching people argue over the forest—drawing lines, carving symbols, claiming protection and control.
Above them all, stories flew like birds.
Some carried truth.
Others carried lies.
Kael woke suddenly, breathing hard.
Outside, torches moved along the road.
Not many.
Enough.
Solaryn appeared at the doorway. "We have visitors."
Kael stood and reached for his blade—not to fight, but to remind himself who he was.
"Then the story has reached the wrong ears," he said.
And somewhere far away, a voice smiled.
Power moves slowly.
Stories do not.