It's been another hour, maybe more, of trudging through the snow only now it's coming down in sheets, thick and relentless, turning the air to a swirling, blinding white. My boots are soaked, my toes numb, and my mood is blacker than the night sky back home. In my head, I curse the proctors with every insult in my arsenal, mentally flaying them alive for subjecting me to this. Bastards. Cunts. Whores. Sons of bitches. I hope they choke to death or get conveniently blown up that would be amazing.
Sadly even with these conditions we can't stop. Not yet. We're still nowhere near the base of the mountains and we need to cross those too before the end of the week. What a god damn impossible task. It's like they want us to fail and die miserable deaths.
So we keep moving, heads down, faces buried in collars, suffering. Then the ground underfoot starts to change less of the open, field with tall grass we started on and more uneven, with tufts of weeds poking through the snow and patches of hard, root-tangled earth. I'm so focused on keeping my footing in the pilling snow that I almost miss the shift at first. But then something in the air changes. The wind dies down a little, and the whiteout thins. I look up, blinking snow from my lashes, and shaking it from my hair then my heart stutters in my chest.
Towering shapes loom ahead of us, stretching up and up into the swirling gray. Trees massive ones, old as time, their trunks as thick as city walls and their branches lost somewhere in the gloom above. Their bark is rough and dark, furrowed with deep grooves and clothed in shaggy moss. Roots twist above the ground like the knotted legs of ancient giants, some thick enough to climb. The forest is so dense, the snow barely makes it through the canopy, but it does even if most of it does land is caught in the lattice of branches, hanging like ghostly veils.
I'm not the only one caught off guard. The rest of House Apophis halts beside me, staring up in awe and confusion. Elijah leans in, his hand outstretched to shield his face from the wind, his breath puffing in the cold. "What the fuck?" he says, voice hushed, almost scared. "How are there woods here? How did we not see these fucking trees from further back?"
I shrug, forcing a mask of nonchalance over my own surprise. "I'm not sure, but these trees are fucking massive." And they are ancient, primeval things, the kind of trees you only read about in stories. Their trunks are a patchwork of deep brown and silver, so wide that two men couldn't wrap their arms around one. The forest floor is a tangle of ferns, dead leaves, and thick, wet moss and snow.
Zaria and Vihaan appear at our sides, as do Lucian, Joon-ha Kim, and a handful of the others the so-called "wannabe leaders" as I've already started to think of them, always quick to gather at the first sign of something out of the ordinary. Zaria folds her arms, her gold eyes focused. "Well, this is odd," she says, eyeing the woods with clear suspicion.
Lucian nods, and his voice is low but steady. "Indeed. But we have no choice. We must continue." His gaze sweeps the forest, taking in the shadows, the hidden spaces between the trees.
Joon-ha Kim glances around, his expression unreadable. "I don't really get how these trees seemingly appeared out of nowhere, but Lucian is correct. We don't really have a choice we must go through them even in normal circumstances we would not take such a risk."
For a long moment, I just stand there, weighing the options, listening to the the others talk. Every instinct I have is screaming at me not to go in not to trust a forest that materializes out of nowhere like a thief in the night. I really don't want to go in. But there's nothing else for it. I nod, feeling the weight of every eye on me, and force myself to agree with the rest. "We'll go through the woods," I say "At least it'll be a little warmer in there"
We turn back to the rest of the house, who are clustered together a few paces back, their faces pale and drawn. Zaria steps forward assuming easy authority. "We're heading into the forest, "she announces, pitching her voice to carry over the wind. "It's our best shot at getting out of this snow and making some real progress toward the mountains."
A few nervous murmurs ripple through the group, but no one protests. We all know the score: there's no other way, not unless you fancy dying in a snowdrift or waiting for the proctors to come collect your frozen corpse. So we shoulder our packs, tighten our hoods, and step beneath the shadow of those ancient trees.
It's like crossing a threshold, stepping through a portal. The change is instant and absolute. One heartbeat I'm squinting into the wind, face stinging, snow biting at my cheeks. The next, the world falls eerily, impossibly silent. The wind dies. My breath comes out in a small, visible puff, but it doesn't hang in the air long. The cold disappears, replaced by a tepid, almost muggy warmth that's as unnatural as it is unsettling. I can still see snow clinging to the branches overhead, thick and powdery, but none of it falls. Not a flake. The air is thick with the scent of old leaves, damp earth, and something else I cant identify.
A pressure settles on my shoulders, heavy and cloying. My skin prickles. Every animal part of me every instinct honed by years of living and surviving in the outskirts then honed by all my teachers begins to scream in alarm. You're being watched.
I glance around and see the same sensation flicker across the faces of my housemates. Lucian's eyes narrow, scanning the trees with a predator's focus. Elijah's lips thin into a grim line, his hand drifting automatically to the hilt of his sword. Joon-ha's fists clench at his sides, knuckles white. Even Bragg, who could probably pull a bear apart with his bare hands, moves a little closer to the center of the group, eyes wide and wary. Weapons appear almost simultaneously steel glinting in the filtered green light, swords sliding into palms as if summoned by the air itself. Those who have nothing but their fists due to the proctors sudden teleportation square their shoulders. We form a tight cluster, everyone instinctively shrinking the gaps between them.
I keep my hand glued to my hilt, every sense straining for the tiniest sound. The only thing I hear is the faint crunch of boots on leaf-litter, the soft exhale of tense breath. The air presses in, thick as soup, and I can't shake the feeling that the trees are leaning closer, listening to our heartbeats. We've moved only a dozen paces into the woods when it happens a sharp, high-pitched cry shatters the silence behind us. I spin, blade clear of its sheath before I have time to think, the movement as easy and natural as breathing. In that instant, every muscle in my body is alive with raw, electric fear and excitement.
My eyes land on the source a girl, I forget her name but she had blue eyes and has the mark to generate shields and blasts of energy. She's sitting on her ass, scrambling backward, fingers digging furrows in the moss and damp earth. Her eyes are huge, fixed on something behind us. For a split-second, I think she's seen a monster, or something equally ridiculous with claws and teeth and too many eyes.
But then I look up and my stomach drops.
Where the entrance to the woods had been, where we'd just stepped in from the snow and the wind and the bitter cold, there's nothing. No path. No gap. No hint of the outside world. The trees have shifted, closing in behind us like a fist. The snow-covered plains are gone, erased, as if they never existed. All that's left is green shadow, ancient trunks, and the oppressive, suffocating hush of the forest.
A cold sweat breaks out down my back, even in the unnatural warmth.
"Shit," Elijah breathes, voice barely above a whisper. He's staring at the place where the exit should be, his face pale beneath his hood. "It's gone. The way out is fucking gone."
Zaria recovers first. She steps forward, hand outstretched, her eyes narrowed. "Illusion?" she asks, her voice tight. "Or something else?"
I take a step forward, sword still raised, and press my free hand to a tree trunk. The bark is rough but real. "If it's an illusion, it's a good one. It feels real to me"
Joon-ha glances around, his voice cold and analytical. "Nothings changed." His eyes meet mine, dark and bottomless. "The only way is forward."
The girl picks herself up, brushing dirt from her hands, her face set in a mask of stubborn defiance. "I saw it close," she mutters, voice trembling. "I was looking back, and the trees just… moved. Like they were alive."
I force myself to take a deep breath, to steady the tremor in my fingers. Panic will kill us faster than anything else in this place. I sheath my sword, but keep my hand close. "Alright," "Joon-Ha has a point, we cant do anything about it"
We're in the forest now. And whatever it is that's watching whatever it wants I can only hope we're strong enough, or lucky enough, to make it through.