The morning after Alistair and Lysander's arrival dawned gray and heavy.
Kaelen woke early, the pendant warm against his chest, the bond humming with a quiet energy that he had come to recognize as anticipation. Something was coming. He could feel it in the air, in the way the birds had gone silent, in the way the servants moved with hushed urgency.
He found Roland in the main hall, a sheaf of reports clutched in his hand. The Baron's face was pale, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
"You're up early," Kaelen said.
Roland looked up. "I didn't sleep."
"What happened?"
The Baron handed him the reports. "Read for yourself."
Kaelen scanned the pages. They were dispatches from the eastern villages, accounts of strange occurrences that had begun in the past few days.
"The forest has grown. Overnight. Trees that were saplings yesterday are now towering oaks. The paths have vanished. Travelers who entered the wood have not emerged. We have sent search parties. None have returned."
