The elder tree wasn't hard to find. Not with Quarrel's help. The dense forest fell away as the group stepped into the clearing, and for a moment, all they could do was stare. The massive darkwood tree towered above them, its colossal trunk anchoring it like a titan rooted in the earth. Its sprawling branches stretched skyward, an intricate cathedral of leaves and limbs, while its thick roots burrowed into the soil like serpents. The rich, almost black bark gleamed faintly in the fading light.

“Oh wow,” Kallik said softly, his voice carrying the wonder Molly and presumably the others felt.

They moved toward the tree almost in unison, their steps slow and reverent, eyes craning upward to take in the sheer immensity of it. A small crack sound under her boot caught Molly's attention enough for her to tear her gaze away the great forest elder. She glanced down, expecting a branch or dried leaves, but instead saw the slender, splintered ankle bone of a deer.

Her brow furrowed as she crouched to inspect it. The fox in her arms squirming against the motion. Nearby, another crunch made her glance sideways. A skull, round and elongated, caught her eye. The telltale shape of a Darkmoon wolf’s jawbone sent a prickle of unease up her spine. She scanned the ground more closely now, her fingers brushing the detritus. Bones. So many bones.

“There are…” Molly hesitated, her voice uneven. “There are bones everywhere.”

Kallik and Tomlin finally tore their gazes away from the tree, looking down as if seeing the ground for the first time. The bones scattered across the floor formed a grim carpet beneath the tree’s massive roots. Molly swallowed hard, brushing her hands on her skirt as she rose. Leaving the Firefoot Fennec by her feet.

Why so many? She wanted to ask, but the words didn't form.

Tomlin turned slowly, his cautious gaze sweeping the clearing. He shifted his shield into position, the tension in his shoulders building. Molly’s unease deepened, her tail twitching nervously behind her.

Tomlin’s attention lingered on the tree a moment longer before he turned, his lips parting to say something—but the words never came.

A deafening hiss split the air as a serpentine form burst from the canopy above. Leaves and small branches rained down as the creature plunged toward them, its emerald scales glinting in the fading light. Its yellow eyes glowed with predatory intent, and its muscular, snake-like body twisted midair. Thick forearms tipped with sharp claws spread wide, grasping for prey. Before any of them could react, it slammed into Tomlin with the force of a boulder, sending him sprawling.

Molly screamed, stumbling back as Quarrel erupted from her hair in a flurry of panicked chirps. Kallik whirled, his spear already in hand, his expression shifting from awe to alarm in an instant.

The creature hissed, its claws raking against Tomlin’s armor as it coiled around him. Its forearms gripped him tightly, claws digging into the seams of his armor, as it began to drag him toward the tree. Its body lashed, striking the ground and scattering dirt and bones. Tomlin struggled beneath the beast’s weight, his shield wedged awkwardly between them as he grunted in pain. The creature's maw snapped inches from his face, its hot breath steaming against his skin, while its powerful limbs strained to haul him into the branches above.

“Get it off!” Tomlin shouted, his voice ragged with fear and effort. His mace swung wildly, striking the wyrm’s side but failing to do much more than brush over its scales.

Kallik moved first, his spear angled toward the beast. “Hold on!” he called, his voice steady despite the chaos. He lunged forward, the point of his weapon aiming for the wyrm’s exposed flank.

Molly stood frozen for a heartbeat, her eyes wide as the scene unfolded. She didn’t like Tomlin, not at all, but she didn’t want to see him die either. Her gaze darted between the creature and the massive tree looming above, her indecision carving a hollow pit in her chest. Then, as the wyrm’s claws dug deeper and Tomlin’s muffled grunts grew weaker, she set her jaw.

Taking a deep breath, she planted her feet and reached outward, into the dark, familiar other. Comfort and unease swirled together as she felt the pulse of life and death around her—the bones beneath her feet whispering of ends long past, and the tree towering before her radiating timeless vitality. Her hand twisted unnaturally, her fingers forming shapes no humanoid hand should. Words spilled from her lips, soft and alien and ancient, reverberating through the clearing like a distant echo.

A sickly green and purple ray erupted from her outstretched finger, shooting across the clearing. Molly's heart sank as the ray missed its mark, disappearing into the branches of the massive tree behind the wyrm. The creature, undeterred, tightened its grip on Tomlin, its claws digging deeper as it dragged him closer to the tree's limbs. Molly cursed under her breath, her hands trembling as she stood on the ground unable to do anything useful.

Kallik seized his last opportunity. His spear lashed forward, piercing the wyrm’s side with a brutal thrust. The creature screeched again, thrashing violently as it tried to pull away from the steel weapon.

Molly watched helplessly as the wyrm hauled a struggling Tomlin higher into the tree’s massive branches, its powerful limbs pulling him effortlessly out of Kallik’s reach. Her heart raced, panic and frustration swirling in her chest as she tried to think of anything that could stop it. She clenched her fists, but before she could act again, Kallik stepped forward.

He seemed unfazed, his focus sharp and unyielding. He leveled his spear, aiming carefully at the wyrm’s wounded side. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, the spear launched itself forward with impossible speed. The tip buried itself deep into the creature’s scales, driving straight into the previous wound. The wyrm let out a deafening screech, its grip faltering as it writhed in pain. Tomlin slipped free of its claws, falling several feet before landing heavily on the bone covered ground.

The wyrm snarled, its instincts driving it to flee. The spear snapped back into Kallik’s waiting hand, his movements calm and deliberate. With a sharp gesture and a single word of power, he unleashed a white, arcane spearpoint that trailed ethereal fire. The projectile curved deftly around the thick limbs of the tree before striking the wyrm squarely in its side. The creature’s screech turned into a strangled hiss as it lost its grip entirely and plummeted from the canopy, crashing into the forest floor below.

Kallik approached the fallen wyrm, his spear in hand. Its movements were weak and sluggish. With a practiced thrust, he ended the creature’s struggle swiftly. The forest fell eerily silent, save for the heavy breathing of the group.

Molly stared at Kallik, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him calmly lower his weapon. For a fleeting moment, he reminded her of the heroes from one of her stolen romance novels—the noble warrior, brave and unfaltering, stepping out of legend to save the day. However instead of striding confidently toward her, he ran to check on Tomlin.

“Do you have any more healing magic?” Kallik asked as he turned Tomlin onto his back. Blood seeped from the puncture wounds where the creature’s claws had burrowed into his flesh. His expression remained calm, though his voice carried a sense of urgency.

“Um, yeah,” Molly said, her voice hesitant as she slowly approached Castilia’s acolyte. Part of her didn’t want to help him, but she knew she had no choice. She waved her hands in a practiced motion, mumbling the necessary words before placing her hand firmly on Tomlin’s chest.

A soft glow emanated briefly from her touch, and the puncture wounds began to close. As she worked, Molly’s mind raced. Did Kallik understand what she was doing? Could he see through her careful gestures and words to the deeper truth? She didn’t understand it herself, not entirely. The power she wielded felt natural and yet alien, like instinct not knowledge.

When the magic faded, Molly stepped back, her hands trembling slightly. Tomlin stirred, his eyes relaxing as he let out a low groan. He looked at her, then quickly away, muttering something under his breath. Molly wasn’t sure if it was a thank you or a complaint, and she didn’t much care.

Kallik nodded at her, his expression steady. “Good work,” he said simply, before lending a hand to help Tomlin up. Molly let out a quiet sigh, relieved the moment had passed without further scrutiny. She was at least one spell over her Adept cover story.

***

Molly crouched near the massive trunk of the elder darkwood tree, her fingers brushing lightly over the moss that clung to its dark surface. The patch was soft and spongy, its deep green color contrasting against the nearly black bark. Carefully, Molly peeled it away in clumps, placing each handful into the pouch. The task was simple and methodical, requiring none of her focus, which left her ears free to pick up on the low conversation behind her.

Not too far away, Kallik and Tomlin worked to bury the skeletal remains of the three hunters who had met their grisly end in the limbs of the tree. Their tones were muted, but the quiet of the forest carried their words clearly.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“How do we divide wa-wa-wa... Slpit the watches for tonight?” Tomlin asked, his voice practical but edged with tension.

Kallik’s voice was calm, almost indifferent. “Three of us, so three watches works.”

Tomlin hesitated. Molly edged around the tree just enough to catch the way his mouth twisted. “And her?” he asked, tilting his head in her direction. “You really think we can t-trust her to take a watch?”

Molly stilled, her fingers tightening slightly on the handful of moss she had just collected.

“No,” Tomlin continued before Kallik could answer. “She’s lying about her c-c... about her class, and probably more.”

There was a pause. Then Kallik sighed. “She’s definitely lying, I do think Castilia was right about her.” he said, his voice steady but devoid of judgment. “But it doesn’t mean she’s dangerous. People lie for reasons.”

“Castilia is always right,” Tomlin muttered. “I don’t know why y-y-you’d risk it.”

“We’ll manage two watches,” Kallik said smoothly, changing the subject. “I have a spell that will alert me if anything comes too close. Don’t worry about it.”

Tomlin grunted in reluctant agreement. Their conversation shifted, their voices lowering further as they spoke about other matters. Molly stayed where she was, kneeling in the dirt and moss, staring at the patch she had just harvested. Her chest felt tight, her breath uneven.

She had expected distrust from Tomlin. That was nothing new. But hearing Kallik agree, even in his calm, detached way, stung more than she thought it would. She had lied to him, and maybe she deserved his doubt. Still, it hurt. And it was odd it hurt. Why should she care what he thinks?

Forcing herself to move, Molly finished gathering the last of the moss and tied her pouch shut. She rose slowly, her face carefully blank, and approached the men as if she hadn’t heard a word.

“Got the moss,” she said, her voice steady. “What now?”

Kallik looked out from under the boughs of the giant trees at the darkening sky. "Is it safe to camp here? With a small fire."

Molly looked up at the tree limbs above her. "A small one." "Then let’s set camp. You two collect firewood. I'll ward the area."

"Who has first watch?" Molly asked, her tone casual, but her eyes flicked toward Kallik, trying to gauge his reaction. She wanted to know if he truly intended to trust her, even for something as simple as keeping watch.

Kallik glanced at Tomlin. "Do you want first watch?"

Tomlin nodded. "Y-yeah, I can take first."

"Then I'll take second, until morning," Kallik replied easily. He adjusted his spear and looked back at Molly. "What about me?" Molly asked, her voice light but probing.

Kallik met her gaze, his expression neutral. "You can watch with us if you want, or get some sleep. It's up to you."

Molly nodded and turned to go collect firewood. Disappointed, but not surprised.

***

Molly sat cross-legged near the edge of the firelight, her fingers running absently through the fox’s soft fur. The animal had relaxed in her lap, but Molly couldn’t find the same comfort. The warmth of the campfire flickered over her face, but it didn’t reach the cold dread curling in her stomach. She had been awake for a while now, stealing glances at Kallik as he kept watch, trying to piece together something to say—something to break the silence that wasn’t utterly meaningless.

She fidgeted, adjusting her grip on the fox, but before she could speak, Kallik’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Sorcerer, Wizard, Magus, Witch, and maybe Oracle.”

Molly’s breath caught. The word “witch” struck her like a physical blow, her stomach twisting as though she had been caught doing something forbidden.

“What?” she asked, forcing the word out as neutrally as she could manage.

Kallik didn’t look at her, his eyes still scanning the dark treeline. “Ray of enfeeblement. A spell that saps the strength from its target. Too bad it missed.” He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on his spear. “Also, an adept can get a familiar at level two.”

Molly went still, her fingers halting against the fox’s fur. The realization hit her all at once—he was calling her out. He knew. He had seen through her carefully crafted deception, seen the truth hidden in the gaps of her lies. He knew Quarrel wasn’t just a pet, knew the spell she had cast during the fight with the wyrm wasn’t something an adept should be able to use.

Her mind raced. Deny it? Change the subject? Laugh it off? Admit something, but not everything? Stay silent? The panic rising in her chest made each option feel impossible. The fire crackled, the fox gave a quiet sigh, and still, she said nothing.

The pause stretched too long.

Kallik finally turned his head slightly, his red eyes glinting in the firelight. “Healing,” Kallik continued, his tone still neutral. “Not impossible, but extremely rare for anyone other than Witch or Oracle.”

Molly let out a slow breath, shifting just slightly, positioning herself so she could bolt into the woods if she needed to. She could run. That option was always there. But she hesitated, her mind racing between choices she wasn’t sure she had.

Her eyes flicked toward Kallik, only to catch sight of Quarrel perched comfortably on his leg, chewing idly on something Kallik was feeding him. The damn traitor.

She swallowed hard and remained silent.

Kallik tilted his head, watching her carefully. “I’d guess witch,” he said finally. “Am I right?”

Molly’s breath caught, her body tensing as if ready to spring. But then she caught the expression on his face. No anger. No accusation. Just curiosity, like he was trying to solve a puzzle rather than expose a fraud.

She didn’t relax—couldn’t—but she hesitated, uncertain now what she should have feared more: his judgment or the fact that she didn’t know what it would be.

Molly shifted just a bit more, ready to bolt if she had to. The firelight flickered, making Kallik’s expression harder to read, but his tone had remained so even, so matter-of-fact. That somehow made it worse.

She swallowed and forced the word out. "Yes."

Kallik just nodded to himself, as if confirming something obvious. Without another word, he plucked another morsel of food from his hand and passed it to Quarrel. The squirrel accepted it eagerly, beady black eyes flicking toward Molly as he chewed. He almost seemed to shrug.

The damn traitor.

Molly’s mind reeled, grasping for any kind of logic. He wasn’t reacting. No accusation, no anger, no hostility. Just—acceptance? That couldn’t be right. Before she could gather the words to ask, Kallik spoke again.

"Why lie about your class?"

Molly stared at him for a long moment, her fingers curling slightly in the fox’s fur. When she finally found her voice, it came out small but edged with bitterness. "Um, because everyone hates witches?"

Kallik frowned, his head tilting slightly as he considered her words. "I’m sorry, other than a class, what does 'witch' mean out here?"

Molly let out a sharp exhale, her shoulders tensing. "It means people who consort with demons and evil fey to torment people they don’t like. That’s what they think witches do. That’s what they think I do. They think I hex crops and poison wells and curse them with sickness when they glare at me for too long. Doesn’t matter if I’ve never done anything to them."

Kallik listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable. When she finished, he nodded once, as if absorbing the explanation. "I understand why you would hide your class in that case."

Molly barely had time to process his lack of judgment before he continued, shifting the conversation in the direction she had dreaded.

"What is your patron entity?"

Her heart skipped. Panic surged, tightening her throat, but she forced herself to answer honestly. Every time she had told the truth before, she had been called a liar. But Kallik didn’t seem like the others. "I don’t know."

Kallik barely reacted, his tone still mild, but there was a flicker of something—concern, maybe—as he asked, "What does it want?"

"I don’t know," she admitted, her voice a whisper.

Kallik considered her for a moment before asking the next question, his voice steady. "Can you give up power if the cost is too high?"

Molly froze. Completely. Her breath hitched, her muscles locking in place. Her expression twisted into something close to concern—no, fear. She had never considered that. Never thought she’d live long enough for it to matter. She had assumed she’d die at level one or two, that she’d never have enough power for it to be a problem.

But now she wasn’t so sure. "I don't know."

Kallik nodded, his expression thoughtful, but his next question caught Molly off guard. "Are you registered with the Order of the Silverwood?"

"The what?" she asked, blinking in confusion.

Kallik actually looked surprised. "The Order of the Silverwood. They oversee druids, witches, rangers, and a few others. It’s their job to make sure people with those classes are accounted for and not causing trouble. You’ve never heard of them?"

Molly shook her head slowly. "No. I’ve never heard of them."

The concept intrigued her. She had always assumed witches were loners, avoiding notice and keeping their magic hidden. But an entire organization that monitored them? It was almost impossible to imagine.

Kallik seemed to consider this for a moment before asking another question. "Are there any druids or rangers in Falcon’s Hollow?"

Molly thought for a second, frowning slightly. "I think there’s a ranger, but he’s gone most of the time. I don’t know much about him. I don’t think I’ve ever met him in person."

Kallik nodded again, seemingly filing that information away. Molly shifted slightly, still mulling over the idea of the Order of the Silverwood, trying to figure out if it was something she should be worried about—or if it was something she might actually want to learn more about.

There was silence for a long while. Molly had relaxed somewhat, her fingers running idly through the fox’s fur, though her thoughts still churned. Kallik remained where he was, methodically feeding Quarrel, his red eyes distant as the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn.

“When this is over, I’ll need to head to Berkhanstead,” Kallik said, breaking the quiet. He didn’t look at her, his voice as steady as ever. “I’d like you to come with me. To register at the Order.”

Molly’s head snapped toward him, her breath catching. Her stomach twisted in a confusing knot of excitement and fear. He wanted her to go with him? To a real city? To see this mysterious Order? The thought sent a thrill through her, but it was immediately dampened by anxiety. Would they even let her in? Would it mean putting herself at even greater risk?

“Oh, okay,” she said quietly, the words slipping out before she had fully processed them. A part of her—one she tried to smother—wondered if a journey to the city together could be the start of the kind of story she had only read about. Probably not. But still…