With a letter in hand and a few belongings with her, she left. Not saying many words, not of gratitude or emotion. She left, and she did not look back. But as she slowly began disappearing behind the hill populated with forest, she did look, for a moment, behind her. And on her face, Kanrel could imagine tears flowing, perhaps as an earnest goodbye to those who lived in the village.

A goodbye to her family; a goodbye to her friends; a goodbye to home. And a goodbye to her master.

Perhaps such tears existed on her face as she turned, at last, leaving home behind. Perhaps there are no such tears, but rather a face of determination. A promise that there would be no regret behind her decision.

Only she would stand at the end of all of life, and when questioned, she could proudly smirk, as she had lived a life with no regret. Perhaps it could be so. To that and all of that, which Kanrel thought about, he held no answers.

All he could hope was that it would be so. She would have no regret at the end of her life, nor at the end of this first part of her journey in life.

Summer, to him, had grown so cold. To him, he felt that there were no birds around; they weren’t here for him; they weren’t here to bring life to the nature around him. To him, summer had grown so silent.

Even when there were so many who spoke to him and came to visit, it still remained so.

Funny is this world: you do a thing expecting something, and that which you get in return is regret. It was not he who was supposed to regret the action of another, nor the action of giving flight to someone else's dreams. Yet here he was, regretting the months he had spent teaching Roslyn.

To him, this could only mean one thing: all the effort he had put into her had been worth it. For him, she had become someone of importance, not just another face that he would soon forget.

Either way, he would regret it; this feeling would remain, and it would remain even when he would be able to meet her again. This was just a part of the suffering that he had accepted into his life—this regret, which would endure through each and every single decision he had made and that he would end up making.

Thus, the forest was silent, even when it called for him to return. And, after a week of her not being under his tutelage, he returned to the forest and kept looking for a clue to follow; he kept looking for the ruins mentioned.

The further one goes into the forest, the less there can be seen the touch of men, and for there to be no marks at all, it won't take long. And if there are any marks that seem like they are done by men, then most likely they aren’t and are instead done by other animals that roam the woods, yet somehow Kanrel missed his chance of seeing them almost every time.

But it was no wonder; this was their domain. And to think that men inhabited forests like these on a regular basis thousands of years ago, they could be seen sticking out like a sore thumb. Men seldom felt safe in the woods, and even less, they felt like they belonged.

Kanrel did not belong, even though the woods did not make him scared; the uncertainty was there for him to discover, not for him to be afraid of. And if he were to come across an animal—a bear or wolf—he would be able to defend himself quite easily.

Fire is what most are afraid of, and animals know to be wary of it. Even they know to run away from the fireballs of a priest.

Many days, which felt so meaningless, went by. It was so difficult to figure out if he had made any progress, for there were no signs of such a thing. He wasn’t, most of the time, aware of where he was relative to the mountains or the village. He didn’t know when he would find anything that would be different from the same trees or the landscape that was around throughout his journeys into the woods.

After those days, he began carrying around things he might need to spend the night in the woods. He would travel further into the woods, further than he had ever traversed before. He would travel all the way to the mountains if he had to, just to find something that differs from the things that are around and present at most times.

He spent multiple days away, not finding anything. Just waking up during another morrow, just knowing that yesterday he had found nothing, that today he would find nothing, and so it would be tomorrow as well.

He still got up, packed his things, and traveled further ahead. Always thinking that there might be something around the next meadow of trees, or the next hill, or the next stream, or the next whatever. There had to be something, but not today or tomorrow. In just one of the days that would follow, there’d be something, and that something would most definitely be just the mountains.

Insanity is what this is. Slowly, the things he had packed with him began dwindling away—the food he ate and the water he drank. Those things were, of course, around, but the time he would have to spend finding them was much better spent exploring the forest that had no end.

After a week, he had nothing. Just an empty backpack that he uselessly carried with him when he woke up on another day, just to mindlessly continue deeper and deeper, not minding that there was nothing; not minding that there would be nothing.

Let there be nothing. It would be better this way. Logically, nothing would be best. Nothing means that there is no issue with the cult or that there is no temple where they might gather.

No. Nothing means that if there is something, then he has not found it. If there is nothing, then he has failed. If there is nothing, then there is nothing to report. If there is nothing to report, then he could be sent away. If he is sent away, then if there is something—here, in this forest—if there is a temple, then he would not clear it. Then the cult could remain here; they would be able to continue their evil ways, and the good people who lived in the village would remain unsafe.

Thus, there had to be something, or else his time here had been wasted, or worse, he would have spent too little time when he should have spent more.

Either way, the silent forest calls for another fool to explore it. Silence must’ve been the voice of that god, the one who speaks from under the forest floor. Silence must be that deafening sound the villagers had spoken of.

Kanrel stopped in sudden realization. Silence is not natural in a forest.

And if there is no sound in a forest, then there must be something ahead—then there must be something wrong. A beast hunts the fool who walks in a silent forest.

He looks around and sees nothing; he hears nothing; he feels just that familiar torment inside. The forest is silent, and he knows that it should not be. The forest is silent, and from it comes panic; it floods one from within. It makes you sink to its level, and as you slowly drown and contemplate what might be ahead, you find fear has found its way in.

Should he take another step? Should he run until there, again, can be found a sound in this forest? When had he felt fear? When had he ever been afraid?

Everything seems like it has always been: just trees and hills occupied by more trees. No paths, and sure as hell, no marks from men or animals alike. There is nothing in the forest. Except for him and the silence that refuses to unwind and release its tension, to release sound.

Kanrel prepared himself; he was ready to launch fire at anything that moves, at anything that comes across him, at anything that is alive and is hunting him, at anything that is the cause of this silence.

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He walked forward, more careful now—the only true noise is not the sound of the forest, but the sound of his heavy breath and the gentle noise of the forest as he lifts his foot and puts it after the other. Minutes go by as he walks slowly. Kanrel looked here and there at the things that might be ahead, for any and all movement. There just remains nothing other than the trees, which sway with the wind, almost waiving at him, welcoming him further in.

He climbs the hill, blocking his view further. On that hill, there are birch trees. Carefully, he leaned closer to them and peeked past that, which had blocked his view. First, it seems the same; first, it is just more trees: more birch, more pine, and more spruce. And more hills.

Under a veil of green, that which looks like it belongs is more alien to this place than a man walking toward it. Beneath the veil of green, of trees and moss, of that which is like a hill, there remains what perhaps was once a building or many.

His heart, which kept on beating faster and faster, can now take a moment to rest. Sweat, which had trenched his back, could now slowly go cold. He had found what he was looking for. He was not insane for going further; he would not have to live in doubt.

The forest was still silent, and the reason for its silence remained unknown, but at least he had found something—anything.

Now was the time when he should somehow mark his findings and make his way back, mapping the areas that were in between this and the village. He should turn back; he should get more materials. He should have had other people come with him to explore what he had found.

What if he can’t find it anymore? What if he would have to find another year to find this place? What if this place was nothing, just something that looked like the thing that he was looking for? He braced himself as he took another step, past the birch trees that covered him, slowly descending the hill.

He was still ready for anything; his codes were there if he ever got attacked. There just seemed to be no movement in the large complex of covered ruins. And as he got closer, he at least confirmed that there was no one here.

Yet there had been, just unsure of when.

The ruins had been called a “temple” in the notes that Isbit found in Rant’s hidden cellar. The place, mostly covered by moss and with parts seemingly buried under the earth or hills, certainly deserved to be described in that manner. It truly was a temple—one that had been left in ruins for who knows how long.

When it was built, or when it was last inhabited by those who built it. All this was a mystery to him and perhaps to those who rediscovered it perhaps a few hundred years ago. And the last time this place had seen another human visit, it was mostly less than a decade ago.

With his hands, he removed a part of the moss covering that, which seemed like a pillar; underneath, there was marble. Material that was not native to this place, or at least that he knew of. On this round marble pillar, there were engravings; they went around the pillar, and they most likely were of a scripture whose users must have died long ago, for there was nothing in this scripture that he could recognize when comparing them to the ancient scriptures that he had learned of.

But when one considers the place where all of this was found and all the things that were connected to this place—the things his mother had mentioned about the Otherkind, or perhaps, the many things she wasn’t allowed to share.

If humans had not built this thousands of years ago, then only a race that lived here long before them could have constructed it. During a time of that great empire that he had seen engraved on the walls of the chamber that he had seen for himself beneath the academy.

Perhaps this was the true reason why the Herald had tasked him here: to find this temple, for he was the only one that she could trust with such a task.

He ventured deeper into an area that had either been beneath a roof, transforming it into another large room or had once functioned as one of the many possible courtyards within the continuous temple.

A place for a campfire, one that had recently been afire, perhaps the previous night, perhaps days or weeks ago, and supplies scattered around in pouches and bags. He could feel his heart rate quickening as he went closer, inspecting the things he had found.

There was a wall blocking his sight; it faced the hill he came from, which is why he had not been able to see signs of people being here in more recent times. Now, more than ever, it had become apparent how silent it truly is.

Each pouch and bag he went through, he made sure to leave it in a state it had previously been in—they mostly had things that could be found around the forests in them, but also clothes and tools, knives, hammers, and such.

In another bag, he found a mask. He stared at the thing that had so often brought him nightmares. The thing, which in a way, was the thing that had soiled so many memories for him. His hands trembled as he took it out, slowly tracing his fingers over the grotesque details of it. The gray mask that promised death; the gray mask that was to blame for everything wrong that had ever happened to him. He gritted his teeth and put it away. He wanted to shatter it, yet he was careful with the damn thing, making sure that no scratch would soil its pristine surface.

He got up and looked around the camp more; it was hidden from all angles except the one that he had entered from. There seemed to be no more things of interest. He could not handle it anymore. This tension and this silence, there had to be something to truly break them and set him free.

All he could do was one of three: one, he could leave this place and return to the village; two, he could explore some more and find other clues; and three, he could hide and wait for those who had set up camp.

He chose to explore further; perhaps this way he could at least make an educated guess of the number of people that could have possibly held camp here. He went around and entered even deeper into the temple ruins.

Kanrel mostly found nothing, just more pillars, and walls made out of marble; only the pillars were filled with the same script. On the walls, there had perhaps once been something, maybe murals, but there seemed to be no more signs of such things.

The ruins were massive, as most of them were buried beneath the ground, and some parts seemed to form hills that populated the already hilly location of the temple. There was only one other thing that indicated human life around, and that was a small entryway into one of the hills.

Inside, he found more materials placed in bags and a ladder that descended into the darkness below. He could go down, and at some point in the future, he knew that he would go down. But that time was not now.

He would return to the village and come back here with more people with him, for he had no idea how many had spent the night at that camp. He left the building that had seemed like a hill and found that there was once again sound in the forest. But a sound in a forest and a sound in the ruins could only mean two different things.

Those who had camped here had returned, and they were aware of the fact that someone had entered their camp and gone through their things.