The sensation of being watched intensified as Azaril and Silvius ventured deeper beyond the forest boundary. They had crossed into the Sylvan Territories at dawn, and now, several hours into their journey, the forest's awareness of their presence was undeniable. The trees seemed to lean closer, their branches shifting subtly to track the visitors' movements.
"They've been following us since we entered," Azaril murmured, his demon senses detecting the careful movements among the foliage.
Silvius nodded calmly. "They're cautious, as they should be. Few outsiders are welcomed here, especially those with demon blood."
As if summoned by his words, five figures emerged from the surrounding trees with such fluid grace that they appeared to materialize from the forest itself. Their skin bore subtle patterns resembling bark, and small leaves seemed to grow naturally from their hair. Their clothing blended seamlessly with their bodies, making it difficult to determine where garment ended and person began.
The tallest among them stepped forward, a spear fashioned from a living branch held at the ready. His eyes, the deep green of forest shadows, assessed the visitors with undisguised suspicion.
"You trespass on sacred ground," he stated, his voice carrying notes that reminded Azaril of rustling leaves. "The Eternal Forest does not welcome those of fire and destruction."
Azaril recognized the reference to his demon heritage. After centuries in the Human Empire, he had grown accustomed to prejudice taking different forms across realms.
"I am Azaril, formerly of the Demon Realm," he replied with a respectful inclination of his head. "This is my companion, Silvius. We come seeking knowledge and understanding, not to harm or take."
"A demon seeking knowledge?" A shorter guard with auburn hair that seemed to contain actual autumn leaves scoffed. "More likely scouts for new territories to burn."
Silvius stepped forward slightly. To Azaril's surprise, he made a complex gesture with both hands that resembled the unfurling of leaves, then spoke in a nguage Azaril had never heard before—fluid sylbles that sounded like water flowing over stones, interspersed with soft sounds like wind through branches.
The patrol members stiffened, exchanging startled gnces. The leader's eyes narrowed as he studied Silvius more intently.
"Where did you learn the Old Tongue?" he demanded, switching back to the common nguage. "Those words haven't been spoken to outsiders in generations."
"I have traveled much and remember well," Silvius replied enigmatically. "We come in peace to learn from the wisdom of the Sylvan people. My companion has a particur affinity that may interest you."
The leader, unconvinced, turned his attention to Azaril. "What affinity could a demon possibly share with the living forest?"
Before Azaril could respond, he noticed a small sapling at the edge of the clearing, bent and partially crushed—likely damaged during the patrol's hasty emergence. Without thinking, he knelt beside it, extending his hand toward the wounded pnt. The patrol tensed, weapons raising slightly, but Azaril focused only on the sapling.
He had no conscious pn, only an instinctive response. To his surprise, he felt a faint stirring within his mind—simir to his mental abilities but different, as if the pnt itself had awareness he could touch. The sapling trembled, then slowly straightened as Azaril maintained contact. A soft green glow briefly illuminated his fingertips where they touched the slender trunk.
The sylvan guards murmured in astonishment. One of them, a female with delicate features and hair that seemed composed more of flowers than actual strands, moved closer to examine the sapling.
"It's fully healed," she said with wonder. "The damage is gone." She looked up at Azaril with wide eyes. "How does one of demon blood speak to growing things?"
The patrol leader studied Azaril with new interest. "I am Greenwhisper," he said finally, lowering his spear slightly. "This is Oakshield, Rootsong," he indicated the woman who had spoken, "Vineleaf, and Mossback. You have shown an unexpected gift, stranger."
Azaril rose slowly. "I didn't know I could do that," he admitted. "It felt... natural somehow."
Greenwhisper considered for a long moment, then made a decision. "You will come with us to Grove Delvari. The Elders will decide your fate." He gestured to the graceful woman who had examined the sapling. "Willowheart will guide you. She has some skill with outsiders."
Willowheart stepped forward, her movements flowing like water. Unlike the others, her expression showed more curiosity than suspicion.
"The sapling responded to you," she said, studying Azaril intently. "In all my years, I've never seen a non-sylvan with such ability. What other surprises do you hide beneath your demon skin?"
"That remains to be discovered," Azaril replied honestly.
As they prepared to depart, Azaril noticed Greenwhisper watching Silvius with a peculiar expression—part wariness, part something deeper that resembled recognition without understanding. His companion had once again demonstrated knowledge that seemed impossible for a mere traveler, raising questions Azaril had long pondered but never fully articuted.
Willowheart gestured for them to follow. "Grove Delvari lies three days' journey inward, if the forest permits swift passage," she expined. "The path changes for those the trees distrust."
"And how do the trees feel about us?" Azaril asked.
She tilted her head, listening to something beyond ordinary hearing. "Curious about you," she said to Azaril. Then, with a gnce at Silvius, she added, "And strangely... respectful of your companion. The oldest trees have stirred at his presence."
Silvius merely smiled, offering no expnation. As they moved deeper into the Sylvan Territories, following Willowheart's graceful lead, Azaril sensed they were entering a realm that might challenge his understanding more profoundly than even the structured formus of the Human Empire had done.
Around them, the ancient forest watched, whispered, and waited.
