“Bah! Who needs magic?” Enrik scowls while we walk. “All I need is iron and coal! Power of the forge!”

The youngster still hasn’t gotten over his scare back at Ayla’s cottage. He walks alongside Ivan while Crag and Ivy scan the forest for danger.

Clara and I trail behind.

“You know, he’s got a point,” Clara whispers.

“Hm? Not a fan of magic? I thought you were something of a healer.”

“Well, I am…” She glances away, her usually confident aura growing soft. “Or, I was supposed to be, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother and Father had big plans for me. They both taught at the academy in the city—professors of healing and magical theory. Most parents read bedtime stories to their children…but not mine. I’d fall asleep while Father read the history of Toronian potioncraft.”

“Sounds riveting.” I grin.

“Absolutely.” She smiles. “But it didn’t stop there. They wanted a daughter who’d be a scholar…and then a daughter who’d be a professor. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Someone picking your path in life? They had it planned before I was even born—before I even existed!”

“Pushing their dreams onto you…”

“Exactly. I’d sit inside, poring over tomes, but the outdoors always called. Herbalism was the only class I enjoyed. Working with my hands…feeling the wind and the soil…it reminds you you’re alive. Shows how everything is connected. Sun feeds the plants, plants feed the animals…”

“A cycle.”

“But Mother and Father didn’t agree. I told them the classroom wasn’t for me. We’d shout and argue. As soon as I came of age, I was gone. Left at night while they slept.”

“Their loss is our gain, right?”

“I suppose so.” She smacks my back. “You can’t get rid of me now! I want the simple life!”

“Up there! I see it!” Enrik calls out.

We peer up the hilly forest path. He’s right—perched at the crest, a vibrant red spire stretches high. Its long, feathery fronds are coated in needles. Heavy pinecones dangle from the tips. Sunlight rains around the ancient tree, causing its crimson hue to glow.

The most beautiful tree in the valley…

“Well, I’ll be…” Ivan grows quiet while we approach. “Touched by the goddess herself.”

We move in, standing in the tree’s colossal shadow. Perhaps it’s only the wind, but the spiky fronds seem to sway with unusual force.

“What does a keystone look like?” I cock my head.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” He turns to his companions. “Ready?”

“Yeeeee!”

“Roooorg!”

They launch into action. Ivy circles the tree, moving high while peering between branches. Crag crawls underneath, sniffing and pawing at the dirt.

The rest of us investigate, shaking branches and knocking pinecones free. The tree is stiff, almost like it’s resisting our touch.

“What?” My nose crinkles. I pull on a branch. I swear it pulls back on its own.

“Rooorg! Rooorg!” Crag’s deep voice radiates from within the tree.

Branches shudder while he races out, eyes wide with panic. None of us have a chance to react. The entire tree shivers. Its needles flare like a porcupine. Its branches swing and slash, sending us tumbling back.

“Waaaah!” I stumble.

“Easy now.” Clara tries to calm the arboreal beast.

“Now that’s a new one.” Ivan scratches his head. “Hey, tree! Got a keystone for us?”

“Yeah! Hand it over!” Enrik grabs his hammer.

“Shh! Both of you.” Clara scowls. “Didn’t your ma ever teach ya manners? Be gentle.”

She turns to the tree, tiptoeing in close.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” She gives a small curtsy. “We’re looking for something lost. Maybe you’ve seen it?”

Clara beckons Ivan. He gets the message, pulling the tapestry from his bag and holding it aloft.

The giant red tree bends over, peering with what I assume are its tree eyes—a double set of pinecones near the top. A frond reaches up, scratching its “head”.

It nods.

“Wait. Really?!” My pulse picks up.

“That’s great news, ma’am. Perhaps we could make a trade? Willem here is a farmer, you see. He could give you a cool drink from his watering can. He could carry your precious cones through the forest, finding nice homes for your children.”

The tree pauses, considering the offer.

“Erm, yeah!” I speak up. “Take a look!”

Pulling the watering can from my bag, I hold it high like a knight and his sword.

The tree shivers with excitement.

It nods.

Crawling on my hands and knees, I press under its lowest branches. Dead needles poke my palms while I carefully angle the watering can, pouring near its trunk.

The ground vibrates. The tree seems to purr.

While I water, Clara gathers an armful of pinecones. By the time I’m back out, the tree has relaxed. Its branches droop with lazy comfort. I wouldn’t mind lying in its shade and taking a nap.

“Do you see?” Clara shows off her haul. “We’ll plant them on the way back to the valley floor.”

The tree rustles. Its branches churn and wiggle, the entire plant undulating like a column of fire. Something rises from its depths, carried aloft by pine needles. It’s an orb—a pinecone.

Wait. No.

It’s a rock.

“What have we here?” Ivan moves in, taking the oddly shaped stone and holding it high.

Bathed in sunlight, faint runes are carved into its ridges and nodules. It’s a sculpture. It’s a work of art.

“No doubt about it. It’s the keystone.” The gaia lens pulses around Ivan’s neck while a smile creeps onto his face. “A gift from the forest.”

“One down, two to go.” Clara bends low, giving Crag celebratory head pats.

“Rooorg! Rooorg!”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Clara extends a hand, giving the tree a bizarre sort of handshake. “Willem—better get planting!”

“Guess so.” I take her collection of cones while she bids goodbye to the forest guardian.

“See? You gotta understand what the plants need. Very important.”

“Uh, yeah…I guess.”

“You know what this means, right?” Ivan shields his eyes, looking up at the morning sky. “Next stop—Varian Farm!”

He plows into the forest, Enrik and the creatures racing at his side.

But Clara and I exchange glances. He has no clue what he’s getting into.

Our treasure hunting party descends the mountain, winding around boulders, leaping over logs, and ducking beneath trees. I carefully scatter pinecones while we trek, fulfilling our promise. It’s a far easier journey on the way down—gravity is on our side.

“No sign of the fae,” Enrik says while we move. “A shame. I want to give this hammer a good swing. Swoosh! Swoosh!”

He makes sound effects while swinging his arms. Clara scowls.

“Keep quiet, boy! And watch where ya swing that thing! Have you ever even been in battle before?!”

“Erm, well…”

“That’s what I thought.”

Enrik grumbles, the journey continuing in peace. As afternoon arrives, we finally emerge from the woods. We exit into the valley, walking along a clear blue river. A trio of purple frogs hops in the shallows, their chubby mouths opening to croak and blow large, prismatic bubbles.

The sleek orbs flutter in the wind, dancing to the river’s rhythm. They blow and swirl over a rolling green field. The grass ripples, broken only by large stones jutting like islands in the ocean.