Before dawn the following morning, Azaril slipped away from the visitor's dwelling. Silvius had been mysteriously absent since their conversation the previous evening—not unusual for his companion, who often conducted solitary explorations. With the Selection Ceremony scheduled for moonrise and questions multiplying, Azaril decided to seek answers directly from the forest.

  The northwestern quadrant remained subtly guarded, but Azaril had spent enough time observing sylvan movement patterns to identify the least-watched approach. Using skills honed across centuries—stealth learned in demon territory, systematic observation from his time as Emperor Lucian, and his growing attunement to the Root Network—he navigated around the community's outer boundary.

  As he moved deeper into the restricted area, the forest character changed noticeably. The harmony that defined most of Grove Delvari gave way to a more directed organization. Trees grew in precise formations unlike their natural patterns elsewhere, their branches creating shadowed pathways that seemed to funnel movement toward a central point. Most telling was the silence—the usual morning chorus of forest creatures was absent, creating an unnatural stillness.

  Seraphine's amulet grew increasingly warm against his chest, its protective energy pulsing in rhythm with his steps. Whatever power it responded to was growing stronger as he approached the heart of this section.

  After an hour of careful progress, Azaril discovered an ancient stone outcropping partially recimed by the forest. Moss and vines had grown over much of the formation, but in pces where the vegetation had been cleared or failed to take hold, he could see remnants of carvings—far older than anything he'd observed in the inhabited areas of Grove Delvari.

  Kneeling beside one such exposed section, Azaril traced the weathered symbols with his fingertips. Though unfamiliar with the specific script, his centuries studying human formu patterns and imperial historical records had given him insight into how symbolic nguages evolved. These carvings appeared to predate current sylvan communication by many generations.

  As his fingers followed a particurly clear sequence, images flickered in his mind—impressions simir to those shared through the Root Network but more structured, like memories deliberately preserved. He saw sylvans gathered around a central tree, but instead of the somber ceremony Deepcircle had described, this gathering showed participants forming a circle, each with hands extended toward but not touching the tree. Energy visibly flowed between participants, redistributed rather than extracted.

  "You see the Old Way," came a voice behind him.

  Azaril turned swiftly to find an ancient sylvan watching him. Unlike the other elders of Grove Delvari, this one's bark-like skin had developed actual branches, small twigs extending from his shoulders and forearms as if he were partially transforming into a tree. His eyes held the deep green of ancient forest shadows, wisdom accumuted across centuries.

  "Elderoak," Azaril acknowledged, recognizing the eldest keeper from community gatherings, though they had never directly interacted.

  "Few seek this pce," the ancient sylvan observed, moving forward with the slow deliberation of extreme age. "Fewer still can read what remains of our true history."

  Azaril gestured toward the carvings. "These show a different retionship with the forest than what I've observed in Grove Delvari."

  "Yes." Elderoak settled beside him with careful movements. "Before the Great Withering, before the Deep Root rituals, our connection flowed in both directions." His gnarled fingers traced the symbols Azaril had been examining. "Energy freely given and received, not extracted through sacrifice."

  "Then the 'feeding of deep roots' is not the original practice," Azaril concluded.

  "It is a compromise born of desperation," Elderoak confirmed. "Five hundred years ago, a blight threatened the entire forest. Our ancestors believed more direct intervention was necessary to ensure survival."

  "Human formu magic follows simir patterns," Azaril observed. "Emergency measures become permanent structures once established."

  Elderoak's ancient features creased in what might have been a smile. "You perceive connections across boundaries. Such strength of curiosity once served the forest well before being forgotten."

  "What changed? Why abandon the banced exchange for something requiring 'selection'?"

  The elder sylvan was silent for a long moment, his consciousness seeming to commune with the surrounding forest before responding. "Fear. When the blight came, our people feared extinction. The most powerful among us discovered that concentrated life essence could heal sections of the Root Network more effectively than distributed energy. What began as voluntary sacrifice by elders became..." he hesitated, "institutionalized."

  Azaril thought of Treefriend's fear and the emotions recorded in the Memory Moss. "And now the young are selected instead of the elders volunteering."

  "Power structures perpetuate themselves," Elderoak sighed, the sound like wind through ancient branches. "The Ritual Keepers gained influence through their role in the Selection process. Few remember there was ever another way."

  "But you remember," Azaril noted. "Why haven't you shared this knowledge?"

  "I have tried, over centuries. Some listen, most do not." The ancient sylvan's branches rustled slightly. "The Old Way requires more participants, more time, more patience. The current method is efficient, requiring only one life essence rather than community effort."

  Azaril studied the carvings again, his mind connecting patterns across his experiences. "In the Human Empire, I witnessed how efficiency becomes justification for inequality. Formu magic concentrated in noble bloodlines was deemed more efficient than distributed knowledge."

  "And in your demon homend?" Elderoak inquired.

  "Physical dominance as the sole measure of worth creates simir imbance," Azaril replied. "Those with different strengths are devalued, their contributions ignored."

  "You speak with unusual wisdom for one so young," Elderoak observed.

  The comment nearly made Azaril smile, considering he had lived for six centuries in the Demon Realm before his exile, plus the three centuries since in the Human Empire. "I've had time to consider alternatives to traditional power structures."

  "Indeed." The ancient sylvan's eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him. "Your companion Silvius suggested you might find your way here. He indicated you possess the perspective needed to understand what you discovered."

  "Silvius knew about this pce?" Azaril asked, surprised.

  "He has visited me twice since your arrival," Elderoak confirmed. "His knowledge of the Old Ways surpasses even mine in some respects, though he speaks of them as if remembering a story rather than ciming direct experience."

  That aligned with Silvius's usual approach—hinting at deeper knowledge while maintaining pusible deniability about its source. After centuries together, Azaril had grown accustomed to his companion's mysterious depths, though questions accumuted with each realm they visited.

  A subtle movement in the undergrowth caught Azaril's attention—someone observing their conversation from concealment. Elderoak seemed unsurprised by the presence.

  "Pineshadow serves as Forest Guardian," he expined without turning. "He watches this area to prevent accidental discovery of these remnants."

  The hidden observer remained in pce, apparently content to monitor rather than interrupt now that Elderoak had acknowledged Azaril's presence as permitted.

  "The Selection Ceremony occurs at moonrise," Azaril noted. "Is there no alternative to the sacrifice?"

  "Alternatives exist for those willing to see them," Elderoak replied. "These carvings preserve the knowledge, but implementation requires courage to challenge established practice." He turned his ancient gaze directly to Azaril. "Your presence in our grove is not coincidental, demon prince. The Whisperwood has recognized something in you since your arrival."

  "I'm not sure what I can offer," Azaril admitted. "I'm an outsider here."

  "Sometimes only an outsider can see clearly what tradition has obscured." Elderoak's gnarled hand moved to rest on a particur section of the stone carving. "This symbol represents the bance between individual and community—giving and receiving in equal measure. It appears in the Old Way rituals but is absent from current practice."

  Azaril studied the indicated symbol—a complex spiral pattern where multiple lines flowed both inward and outward from a central point. It reminded him of mathematical formus he'd studied in the Human Empire, particurly those dealing with energy distribution systems.

  "The Deep Root Grove contains a corrupted version of this pattern," Elderoak continued. "Energy flows only inward, never outward. The imbance grows with each ceremony, requiring more frequent 'feeding' to maintain."

  "A self-perpetuating cycle," Azaril observed.

  "Precisely." The ancient sylvan seemed pleased by his understanding. "The Root Network believes you might perceive a solution others cannot."

  "Why would the forest trust a demon with such knowledge?"

  "The Whisperwood judges by nature, not origin," Elderoak replied. "Your communion with the Root Network revealed a mind that seeks bance rather than dominance. Such perspective transcends realm boundaries."

  A distant horn call interrupted their conversation—the mid-morning gathering signal. Elderoak rose slowly, his movements deliberate with age.

  "You should return by a different path," he advised, indicating a less-traveled route through the undergrowth. "Pineshadow will ensure you're not observed."

  As Azaril prepared to depart, the ancient sylvan pced a gnarled hand on his shoulder. "Your strength of curiosity served you well today. Remember that true strength flows in both directions—supporting others while being supported in turn."

  The comment resonated with Azaril's evolving understanding of power across realms. Each kingdom defined strength differently, yet all sustainable systems required bance rather than pure extraction.

  "One st question," Azaril said. "How did the Old Way benefit the forest if it didn't involve sacrifice?"

  "Voluntary energy contribution from many creates a different quality than forced extraction from one," Elderoak expined. "The Root Network thrived on diversity—many voices in harmony rather than a single life consumed. Like a forest itself, strength came from variety, not uniformity."

  As Azaril made his way back toward the community, following the subtle guidance of the unseen Pineshadow, he reflected on how this pattern repeated across realms. The demon emphasis on singur physical strength created brittleness. The human formu hierarchy limited innovation. The sylvan sacrifice system appeared to create simir imbance despite its harmony-focused rhetoric.

  By the time he reached the edges of Grove Delvari, the community was gathering for mid-morning activities. Silvius appeared at his side with characteristic timing, falling into step as if they'd arranged to meet at precisely that moment.

  "Your morning exploration proved informative?" his companion inquired casually.

  "You might have mentioned your conversations with Elderoak," Azaril replied.

  Silvius smiled enigmatically. "Some discoveries have more impact when made personally rather than received secondhand."

  "The Old Way patterns could potentially be recreated," Azaril observed, keeping his voice low as they passed other community members. "But it would require disrupting an established power structure."

  "A challenge you've faced before," Silvius noted. "Both in human society and your own."

  The Selection Ceremony loomed just hours away. Azaril's mind worked through potential approaches, weighing direct intervention against more subtle strategies. His centuries of experience had taught him that sustainable change required working within cultural frameworks rather than simply imposing external solutions.

  "Elderoak mentioned something curious," Azaril said as they reached their dwelling. "He suggested the Whisperwood itself recognizes something in me—something potentially useful in addressing the imbance."

  "The forest possesses wisdom accumuted across millennia," Silvius replied. "Perhaps it sees what others miss."

  Around them, Grove Delvari continued its daily activities, the surface harmony masking the deeper tensions Azaril now understood. The beauty remained genuine, the connection to nature sincere, yet the shadow of the approaching Selection Ceremony fell across the community like an invisible cloud.

  That afternoon, as preparations for the moonrise ritual began, Azaril noticed Treefriend and others of simir age being separated for purification ceremonies. Their expressions reflected resignation rather than willing participation, confirming his growing certainty that intervention would be necessary.

  The Old Way carvings had shown a path forward—not through rejection of sylvan traditions but through restoration of their original, banced form. The challenge would be convincing enough community members to risk changing a system that had sustained them, however imperfectly, for five hundred years.

  As twilight approached, Azaril found himself staring at the center of Grove Delvari, where the massive First Tree stood as silent witness to generations of both harmony and sacrifice. Somewhere in its ancient consciousness y memories of both the Old Way and the current practice—perhaps even understanding of how one might be transformed back into the other.

  "The strongest trees bend rather than break," Silvius observed, following his gaze. "Perhaps the same is true of traditions."