Few days later

The forest whispered secrets on the wind, its gentle breath stirring the leaves in a rhythmic dance. Cyrus walked with measured steps, his feet sinking slightly into the earth beneath him. The ground, still soft from recent rains, released a rich, earthy scent that mingled with the crisp aroma of fresh air filling his lungs. He followed silently after the Prophet, his senses attuned to the vibrant world around him.

The air was alive with the fragrance of freshly grown fruits, their sweet perfume carried on the breeze. Cyrus's nostrils flared slightly, drinking in the intoxicating blend of scents that spoke of life and growth. His eyes roamed the landscape, constantly scanning and absorbing the details of their surroundings.

Looking upward, Cyrus's gaze was drawn to the canopy above. The trees stood tall and proud, their branches reaching towards the sky in an intricate lattice. Lush green leaves fluttered in the wind, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of light and shadow. The sunlight filtered through the foliage, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor and giving the entire scene an almost ethereal quality.

The Prophet's voice broke through the tranquil silence, startling Cyrus from his reverie. "What can you see, Cyrus?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of something deeper than mere curiosity.

Cyrus blinked, refocusing on the immediate surroundings. "Trees," he replied simply, his mind still processing the beauty around him.

The Prophet came to a halt before a particularly magnificent specimen. This tree towered over all the rest, its massive trunk a testament to countless years of growth. Its branches spread outward in a sweeping canopy, creating a natural dome that arched over them like the ceiling of a grand cathedral. Shadows pooled beneath its expansive reach, and Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine as a cold wind caressed his back, causing him to tremble slightly.

There was something different about the air here, a palpable shift in the atmosphere that Cyrus couldn't quite define. His attention was drawn to a curious sight beneath the great tree. A curved semicircle of wood sat on the ground, its purpose unclear at first glance. As Cyrus studied it, he realized it was a sort of wooden frame, carefully crafted to accommodate a human head. The opening at the level of the neck sent an involuntary shiver through him.

The Prophet knelt on the strange device, positioning himself so that his neck rested precariously in the wooden circle. From this vulnerable position, he looked up at Cyrus, his eyes intense and probing. "I know, but what can you see?" he insisted, his voice carrying a weight of importance.

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips as his eyes widened in astonishment. The forest around them began to transform before his very eyes. "The trees... they are golden. Impossible," he breathed, wiping his eyes in disbelief.

Under his astonished gaze, the leaves of every tree in sight started to change color. Slowly, methodically, they transmuted from vibrant green to a pure, lustrous gold. The transformation swept through the forest like a wave, leaving in its wake a breathtaking display of aureate splendor. As the sun's rays struck the newly gilded leaves, the entire forest seemed to come alive with a ethereal, shimmering light.

"They had always been golden," the Prophet's voice echoed in Cyrus's mind, though his lips remained still. "Your mind simply decided to ignore the irrelevant details. Beware, Cyrus, the mind sees only what it has chosen to."

Cyrus's brow furrowed as he pondered the Prophet's words. Was this cryptic statement somehow related to the question he had asked earlier? He had been curious about how the Bureau could have entered the separate domain through a magical portal, something that should have been impossible according to everything he knew. The Prophet's response seemed to suggest that there was more to perception than met the eye.

'Is he warning me against trusting my own perceptions?' Cyrus mused, absently stroking his chin as he watched the old man move around the clearing. He knew better than to press for a more direct answer; the Prophet had a habit of revealing information in his own time and manner.

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Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Cyrus spoke up. "What is this place? I have never come this far in the forest before."

The Prophet's shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, a subtle change that didn't escape Cyrus's keen observation. "It is the Path to Redemption," the old man said, his gaze fixed on the wooden device from which he had now extricated himself.

"In the bites, you must have already experienced this. No matter from what canine they are, there are strict rules that everyone must abide by," the Prophet continued, his voice carrying a solemn weight.

Cyrus nodded, recalling his interactions with Tirag from the tiger canine and Dargos from the panther canine. There had indeed been a sense of rigid hierarchy and unspoken laws governing their behavior.

The Prophet's voice took on a reverent tone as he explained further. "In every bite bloodline lies a path to redemption. Those who defile the sacred laws of our ancestors, the laws of our survival, must face the ultimate price. They must offer their lives, their throats bare to seek forgiveness from those who came before. They have to embark on the path to redemption." With those final words, his voice trailed off, and he turned to leave, his shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible burden.

Cyrus stood in silence before the wooden contraption, his mind racing. Fragments of memories from his encounter with the queen surfaced, but much of it remained frustratingly out of reach. He recalled with vivid clarity the moment the queen had ripped out Dargos's throat. Was that her way of carrying out an execution according to their rules? What exactly were those rules, and how far did they extend?

The revelation about the queen's past gnawed at him, a disturbing piece of information that he couldn't quite reconcile with his previous understanding. The weight of this knowledge made it difficult for him to face Leora; he feared that he might inadvertently say something that would lead to his own demise.

As the Prophet's figure disappeared into the golden forest, Cyrus made his way back to the library. The day seemed to slip by in a blur of thoughts and questions. As evening fell, he found himself seated at a large table, poring over an enormous tome that lay open before him. The lack of Neno's presence made the task of research far more arduous than usual.

"Humans can be turned into bites, but only by the leader. Why?" Cyrus muttered to himself as he turned the pages, seeking answers to the myriad questions that plagued his mind.

The sound of the library doors being pushed open broke through his concentration. Cyrus lifted his head, a frown creasing his brow as he saw who had entered.

The queen moved with her characteristic grace, gliding across the room towards him. She had resumed her usual elegance, but Cyrus noted that she wore only a flowing mantle and was barefoot. The sight of her approaching sent a mixture of emotions coursing through him – fear, curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite name.

"My queen," Cyrus said, rising from his seat and bowing deeply.

She reached the table and perched herself on its edge, gesturing for Cyrus to sit back down. He complied, keeping his head lowered to avoid meeting her gaze directly. The memory of their previous encounters and the fragmented recollections that followed made him wary of looking into her eyes.

"Oh, the code of honor of the bites," the queen remarked, picking up the book from the table. She leafed through it casually, her eyes scanning the pages with practiced ease. Cyrus watched her silently, acutely aware of her every movement.

"Let me spare you the trouble," she said, closing the book with a soft thud. "There are two types of bites: the originals and the followers. Originals are bites who are born with their canine, while followers are humans transformed into bites." She paused, her eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. "The bites are not allowed to transform humans for their own pleasure or agenda unless it is for the interest of the entire family. A privilege reserved only for the leaders – in this case, me." A smile played at the corners of her lips as she finished speaking.

Cyrus felt a surge of indignation rise within him. "But it's horrible," he exclaimed, his fists clenching beneath the table. "You turn humans into your pawns!"

The queen's smile didn't waver. "If we had to use real bites every time we needed something dangerous to be done, we wouldn't have lasted this long, darling," she explained, her voice smooth as silk. "Those humans are considered heroes. They pay the price of blood for all of us, you included. All so we can enjoy this." She waved her hand, encompassing the vast library and, by extension, the world beyond.

Cyrus attempted to stand, but found himself pinned in place by the queen's blood-red eyes. He remained seated, desperately searching for a way to escape her metaphorical claws. "Why is it forbidden then?" he asked, trying to maintain the facade of innocent curiosity. "It can't be only because the ancient texts say so. There should be a reason."

The queen's expression shifted, a predatory gleam entering her eyes. "Oh, come now," she purred, using her foot to lift Cyrus's chin. The movement caused her mantle to slide to the side, exposing her pale thighs. Cyrus swallowed hard, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. "Do you really want to talk about ancient texts now?"

Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper as she leaned in closer. "It's time for your extra reward."