In the hidden magical town of Heartwood, nestled beyond the veil between worlds, Heartwood Academy stands as a beacon for young mages seeking to master the ancient arts of spellcraft and potion-making. For centuries, it has trained generations of magic users—until students began vanishing without a trace.
Ember Shadewood, a shy and observant 15-year-old with an unexpected gift for Nature Magic, arrives for her first year unaware that her arrival coincides with the third disappearance of the sem
The Secret of Heartwood Academy - The Path Where Roots Open — The Forest's Memory and the Wet Jacket
The exchange at the library yesterday still lingered in Ember Shadewood's mind.
The look on Finn Brightspark's face when he stared intently toward the forest. That rare silence where he didn't slip in a joke. The lowered tone of his voice when he pointed out that the staff fragment had been "pulled out."
(Maybe that's who Finn really is.)
With such thoughts, Ember walked through the hallway after classes. Outside the windows, the trees planted on the academy grounds swayed in the evening breeze. The sky was overcast, and the root-vein lamps were beginning to glow earlier than usual. Their pale greenish-gold light spread across the stone pavement like a stain.
"Alright, let's go."
Finn was already waiting at the corner of the hallway. His vivid crimson short hair caught the light, and his usual carefree smile was in place. He was tall, and his mere presence commanded attention. The small mole at the corner of his mouth moved slightly when he smiled.
"You're early," Ember said.
"A walk doesn't need any preparation," Finn replied, waving his hand lightly as he spoke. A casual gesture. He said it as if it were nothing.
A walk. Right, just a walk, nothing more.
Ember nodded slightly and began walking beside Finn.
***
The outer edge of Silverwood—a primordial forest spanning roughly 60 square kilometers that spread southeast of the academy—came into view about ten minutes after they left the academy grounds.
In the evening light, the bark of the silver-trunked trees began to shimmer faintly. During the day they looked like ordinary trees, but as dusk approached, their silvery surfaces began to glow from within. It was as if the trees themselves were awakening from sleep.
A small stone guardhouse stood several dozen meters before the forest's outer edge. It was the station for the root-keepers—specialists who patrolled and managed the boundary between Silverwood and the town, with twelve always on duty.
Finn walked toward the guardhouse, humming a tune.
(What song is that?)
Ember couldn't make it out, but Finn was completely relaxed. Chest out, hand swinging lightly, he walked like someone who had genuinely come for a stroll.
The root-keeper standing in front of the guardhouse noticed them.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His sun-tanned face showed no attempt to hide his fatigue. Two silver leaf insignias were pinned to his uniform sleeves—marking him as assigned to the outer perimeter patrol. He stood with his arms crossed, facing the two of them directly.
"Students?" the root-keeper asked.
"That's right! The weather's nice, isn't it? We thought we'd take a little walk," Finn said with a natural smile. By any measure, he looked like someone who had genuinely come for a stroll.
The root-keeper's eyes narrowed.
"Two kilometers inside the outer edge, maximum. Anything beyond that is off-limits," he said.
"Could you let us go in just a little bit? Really just a little—" Finn began.
"No."
The root-keeper's refusal was curt, but Finn stepped forward with "Come on, just..." anyway.
The root-keeper's eyes narrowed further.
Ember, standing beside him, had gone completely rigid.
(This is bad. We're definitely going to get in trouble. This is bad. This is bad.)
Each time Finn said "Really, just a little," "Three minutes is all I need," "I just want to see the trees," the wrinkles between the root-keeper's eyebrows deepened. Ember could read that change as clearly as if it were written on paper.
(Finn doesn't notice at all. Why doesn't he notice? That look in his eyes—he's reached his limit.)
"You two, leave," the root-keeper said flatly.
Something contracted tightly in Ember's chest.
Leave. Of course. There were rules, there were reasons. She understood. But.
(I can't leave. We haven't found anything yet. The forest holds something. The fact that Rowan's staff fragment came from inside the forest means—)
That urgency welled up from deep in her chest.
The ground moved.
A single thin vine rose silently from beneath Ember's feet. Then it became two, then three, crawling across the stone pavement from the gaps between the stones, heading toward the forest.
"Huh?" Ember gasped involuntarily.
She looked at her palm. The spell-mark on her left wrist—the faintly glowing pattern that marked her as a practitioner of natural magic—was shining a brighter green than usual.
(I didn't do anything. I have no memory of casting magic. No consciousness, no will, nothing.)
But the vines didn't stop.
The forest trees rustled. Not from wind—the branches spread open left and right. As if creating a path. A passage just wide enough for two people to walk through.
A low, groaning sound rose from the entire forest. It was like the sound of root-veins flowing, a sound coming from deep within the earth itself.
The root-keeper froze.
His mouth hung half-open, his eyes wide. His hand reached toward the charm pouch at his waist, then stopped.
"This... this can't be..." he moaned, unable to finish his words.
Finn turned back toward Ember. His golden-tinged eyes studied her face carefully. Then he looked at the opened path through the trees. Then back at Ember's face again.
His eyes narrowed as if in thought.
No joke came.
"Let's go," Finn said quietly.
His usual lightness had completely vanished from his voice.
Ember nodded, and the two of them stepped into the forest.
***
The air inside the forest was different from outside.
It was humid, heavy, and something felt concentrated. Light filtering through the leaves created dappled patterns on the ground. The roots of the silver-trunked trees spread across the surface, and with each step, the soft earth beneath their feet sank slightly. Bird calls echoed—but they seemed to come from some distant place, their distance impossible to gauge.
Ember looked at her hand again. The glow of the spell-mark had returned to its usual faintness.
(What was that? Did I really do that?)
Finn walked beside her, observing their surroundings. His eyes were serious. The usual light smile was gone, and he carefully examined each change in the tree roots and ground as they advanced.
The two of them stopped well before the limit that the root-keeper had permitted—two kilometers inside the outer edge. Ember had judged that going too deep would be dangerous. Even so, just stepping a little way into the forest was enough to feel the profound quiet and deep atmosphere.
"Found it," Finn said, his voice low.
Following his gaze, Ember saw something half-buried at the base of an ancient tree.
In the gap where the roots of the tree spread out and thrust upward from the earth, something was half-swallowed by the soil.
A thin wooden stick—no, not a stick. A fragment of a broken staff.
Only the tip remained, and there was an empty hollow where the crystal unique to magical staffs would have been embedded. The crystal was already gone. The handle portion had disappeared into the earth.
Finn crouched down and carefully brushed away the soil around it with his fingers.
"If it belonged to the owner..." Finn began.
"I'll check," Ember said.
She knelt down. Taking a breath to center herself, she prepared to use residual magic confirmation—a technique taught in alchemy class for reading the traces of a user's magical power left in materials and tools. It was her first time doing it in a real situation, but there was no choice but to try.
Slowly, she brought her fingertips to touch the fragment.
The world changed in an instant.
Noise ran through her mind. Not sound. Not light. A confusion of sensation. Her vision and thoughts warped simultaneously, and she couldn't tell which was "now."
—The silver-trunked trees looked smaller.
—The sky was midday, not evening.
—Her feet were shorter than they were now.
(Ah, this is...)
A memory.
Her own memory.
Spring, when she was eleven. Before coming to Heartwood, or rather, just after arriving—the day she had slipped away from her parents' eyes and ventured alone into the outer edge of Silverwood. The vines seemed to pull her hand out of curiosity, so she followed them and got lost. She had almost cried. But even then, she thought she heard a "voice." Something before it became words.
The same "voice" as now.
"—Ember."
Something warm touched her shoulder.
Finn's hand.
"Are you alright?" Finn asked.
Ember was pulled back to reality by his voice. The ground returned. The outlines of the trees became clear. Her breathing was slightly ragged.
"...Yeah. I'm fine," Ember said.
"Your face is pale," Finn observed.
"I just remembered something from a long time ago. That's all," Ember replied.
Finn kept his hand on her shoulder for a while. Its warmth gradually scattered the noise in her head.
Ember looked at the staff fragment again.
"This staff... had an owner. And now, they don't," Ember said.
Finn nodded.
"That's what I wanted to confirm too," Finn said.
He picked up the fragment and examined it from different angles. His golden eyes traced every detail. There was a long silence.
"The magical power didn't just disappear," Finn said finally.
His voice was different from usual. The lightness had completely vanished. This, Ember thought, was his true voice.
"It was pulled out. The traces that should remain are completely gone. This wouldn't happen by accident or chance," Finn continued.
A quiet air fell between them.
A low wind sound drifted from deep in the forest. The leaves of the silver-trunked trees swayed. Somewhere far away, a bird called.
The disappearance was not an accident.
Not a chance occurrence.
That fact was shared between them without words. Ember felt it clearly—because she could see the same thing reflected in Finn's eyes.
Something like resolve.
"Let's take it with us," Ember said.
"Yeah," Finn agreed.
He carefully wrapped the fragment in cloth from his pocket. The two of them stood and began walking back toward the forest's exit.
***
The rain came suddenly.
Right after they left the forest, the sky split open and rain began pouring down. It started as scattered drops, then quickly became a downpour.
"Run!" Finn shouted.
The two of them broke into a sprint. The stone pavement gleamed with moisture. The greenish-gold light of the root-vein lamps spread and blurred in the rain. Ember's coat became soaked through in moments. Water streamed from her shoulders down her back.
(He's fast,) Ember thought as she ran. Finn was tall, so his stride was long. But he was adjusting for her—slightly reducing his pace to stay beside her.
Without a word, Finn took off his jacket.
He placed it over Ember's head.
"Wait, that's—" Ember started to say.
But Finn was already facing forward again, running.
Ember looked at his back. His crimson hair, darkened by the rain, had taken on a deeper hue. With his jacket removed, Finn wore only a shirt. The rain struck him relentlessly, but he didn't slow his pace.
(That's unfair,) the thought surfaced. It was unfair to act without giving excuses. Unfair to leave no room for refusal.
From the jacket draped over her, a familiar scent reached her. Finn's scent. A smell that had been beside her since childhood.
Something kindled in the center of her chest. Not quite heat, but definitely warmth.
(It's just natural consideration as a childhood friend. That's all it is.)
She thought that. Even as she thought it, her feet stumbled for just a moment.
Ember kept running forward.
***
After returning to the academy and changing clothes, Ember stepped into the hallway. The rain continued outside, and streaks of water ran down the window glass. The air in the hallway was slightly humid.
Ember was walking down the corridor, lightly pressing a towel against her damp hair.
"You're Ember Shadewood, aren't you?"
A calm voice came from behind her.
She turned to see a man standing in the middle of the hallway.
He appeared to be in his mid-forties. He had a gentle face, and warm eyes behind his glasses. His uniform was that of a spell-
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