The Thornwood doesn’t begin. It walls.

One step, you’re on open road. The next, you’re facing a barrier of trees so dense that the sunlight dies a few feet past their edge. The trunks are massive—wider than houses, older than cities. Their bark is dark, almost black, and covered in thorns that gleam like silver in the dim light.

“Welcoming place,” Neve mutters.

Your ally studies the tree line. “The records say there used to be paths. Pilgrims would come to pay respects to Thornwen. But after she… after the founding, the forest closed itself off.”

“It’s protecting something.”

“Or keeping something out.”

You approach the tree line. The air changes as you near—cooler, heavier, scented with green and growing things. And something else. A presence. The forest is aware of you.

When you’re close enough to touch the nearest trunk, you hear it.

Why have you come?

Not a voice. Not exactly. More like… the forest thinking, and you somehow hearing its thoughts.

“I need to reach the Heart Grove,” you say aloud. “I need to find Thornwen’s Seed.”

Silence. The trees seem to lean closer.

Many have sought the Grove. None have found it in two hundred years. The forest turned them away. Made them walk in circles. Led them to madness or death.

“I’m not like the others.”

Prove it.

The trees part. Not much—just enough to create an opening, a path that disappears into green darkness.

Enter. The forest will judge you. If you are worthy, you will find what you seek.

If you are not…

The thought trails off into rustling leaves and creaking branches.

“That’s not ominous at all,” Neve says.

You step forward.

The forest swallows you.