Page 38 of Essence of the Throne

With Rael leading the way, we venture deeper into the forest, my unease growing as it feels like a living presence that is watching and calculating our every move. My senses remain sharp, every step intentional. I don’t trust this place—or its people—but I trust the urgency that’s driven us here. Whatever answers lie ahead, we’re too far gone to turn back now.

The walk is long, with Rael leading us deeper into the forest’s belly. It’s not silent—far from it. The rustle of leaves overhead, the occasional creak of old wood, and the faraway creatures fillthe air. But there’s a strange rhythm to it all…like the forest itself is breathing, keeping pace with us.

Every so often, Rael’s hand flicks in a quick gesture, answered by soft murmurs from those who follow in our wake. I listen, trying to pick up pieces of the language, but it’s nothing like the common tongue.

Caspian’s footsteps are steady beside me. I glance at him occasionally, searching for any hint of unease, but he holds himself like he was born for this kind of uncertainty. I suppose he was. I’d be impressed with his mask if I wasn’t too busy trying to keep us both alive.

The ground shifts beneath us, becoming softer, almost spongy. It’s the first hint that we’re approaching something new. Then the forest parts, revealing the city hidden above us.

The homes are invisible at first glance, built into the thick canopy. They’re not crude huts, but complex structures made of thick wood, branches braided into walls that twist upward like massive vines. Their placement is precise, interconnected by bridges of twisted roots and translucent vines that reflect light like the Khyla. It’s a stunning sight—nothing like the stone walls, musty smells, and hard angles of Valoria.

But it’s the gardens that strike me. Even from here, I can smell the heady mixture of unfamiliar herbs and flowers. There are clusters of vivid plants, their colors shifting as the breeze separates the leaves, allowing the sun to enter. Fruits hang heavy from some branches, their shapes irregular and foreign. Strange blue ferns curl along the ground, releasing a sweet, loamy scent as we pass.Each step feels like walking through a living maze—one that’s trying to make sense of me as much as I’m trying to make sense of it. At least that is what it feels like with the dozens of eyes that peek from in between the gardens and buildings.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Caspian whispers, his voice a low murmur beside me.

I give a sharp nod. “Distracting,” I correct.

He just shakes his head with a faint smile, but he knows I'm as awed as he is. We’re not meant to see this world; that much is clear. It’s a sanctuary for the Palmluvela—and suddenly I understand the secrecy and strange moths.

Rael guides us through a series of narrow paths, weaving around gardens filled with iridescent flowers that shift between shades of purple and blue. Finally, he stops in front of a hollowed-out trunk, wider than five men standing side by side, and motions us inside.

The space within is dim, lit only by small fire-filled lamps spread throughout. I wonder if they worry of burning down their city…

Rael moves to a low table in the center, gesturing for us to sit. His movements are precise, and there’s a solemnity to his eyes that was not there before, as if the silence here allows him to shed the guise of ritual and authority.

He begins to sign, his hands moving slowly. Deliberately.

It doesn’t appear so different from weavers who need more exaggerated gestures to access their essence; only he's weaving words, not commanding strands.

“He welcomes you to our community,” the translator says, stepping forward. “He says the time has come to speak of the Accord.”

My eyes narrow. “Right to it, I see—I appreciate the lack of facade.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. “What do you know of the Accord? And why tell me?”

Rael’s response is swift, his hands a blur of emotion and urgency. “The Accord, as our ancestors have described for centuries, is the binding entity between the Aether realm and ours. It balances the essence between both realms, so that no one place—or person—has too little or too much.

“We know that it is weakening,” the translator continues. “The balance has shifted too far, and the essence that sustains the realms is being drained faster than it can be replenished. The Accord was meant to maintain harmony, and we believe someone—or something—has been taking too much, leaving everything else unbalanced.”

My chest tightens. “Who would dare to do that?” I already know the answer, but I keep my stare blank.

Rael’s eyes meet mine, steady and certain. “That is not for us to know,” the translator says. “We hear whispers from the flora—they speak of a time when the Accord could have been repaired, but now…it is too late. The damage is irrevocable.”

“What does that mean?” I press, trying to keep my voice steady. “If the Accord can’t be fixed, then what?”

Rael’s hands slow, each gesture heavy with the same kind of resignation I feel in my soul. “It means a new Accord must beforged,” the translator says, his voice carrying a note of finality. “This one is beyond repair. The balance has been shattered, and we've already seen the effects through the unnatural weather phenomena.”

I can feel the weight of Rael’s gaze as I chew on my lip and cross my arms, the unspoken question hanging between us. “Why tell us this? Why invite us here and throw this information at us without any hesitation?”

The leader smiles, his dark eyes flitting between Caspian and me with a strange warmth. He appears to consider something before lifting his hands, speaking. The translator attempts to hide a smile before meeting my cold stare. “As we’ve said, the flora whisper to us. We knew who you were before you had even decided to find us.Thava Serathis éna, aneth éri Aetarys. Thava utela lira esthara.You will be given any help we can offer for your role in forging a new Accord.”

I scoff, so fucking ready to rip my hair out. “Of course you have more languages. What does that mean?”

The translator speaks himself, offering a gentle smile. “You will know when time decides.”

Groaning, I give up trying to understand. “And how do we create a new Accord?” I ask, my voice low.

Rael shakes his head slowly, his hands making a small, helpless motion. “We do not know,” the translator admits. “Our knowledge comes from the land, who know of the Accord’s purpose, but refuse to share its creation. Rael believes the Seer can help you.” He pauses, watching the leader’s movements. “He says thatit is imperative you destroy that which has shifted the balance. A new Accord will be a wasted effort if the evil is not removed first.”

“Obviously,” I mutter.

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