The Song of the Trees

Zenon seeks aid from the trees to save his father. Writer's Cramp Winner!

The moon hung like a silver coin in the sky, casting cold light upon the twisted branches of the Forbidden Forest. The trees murmured with an eerie hum, a harmony that whispered through the leaves and tangled vines like a haunting lullaby. None dared enter the forest; not since the Old War, when the trees were said to have drunk the blood of the fallen and learned to sing.

But Zenon had no choice.

His father, General Varek of the Southern Reaches, lay unconscious, his skin graying with the creeping rot of the Giantess's poison. The battle had been brutal, the ground scorched and stained where the Giantess mage had cursed him with her death touch. No blade nor balm could mend him. Only one hope remained: the Sap of the First Tree, rumored to grow in the heart of the Forbidden Forest ; and only under the light of a full moon.

Zenon’s boots crunched over a forest floor that seemed to breathe with life. Thick roots writhed beneath moss like sleeping serpents. His breath misted before him as the air grew colder, thick with magic and memory.

He held his father’s old sword in one hand ; not for battle, but for courage. His other clutched a pouch of moonstones, talismans to ward off the forest's more...animate dangers.

The trees groaned as if aware of him.

"You're not welcome here," they seemed to say. "Turn back. Turn back."

But Zenon pressed on.

Hours passed, or perhaps only minutes; time twisted under the canopy, moonlight dripping like dew through gaps in the trees. Then he heard it: a song. Not one carried by birds or the wind, but from the trees themselves. A chorus of low, harmonious tones that hummed in his bones and filled his chest with sorrow. It was beautiful. Terrifying.

He followed the song deeper, past a veil of hanging vines that shimmered silver in the moonlight. And there it stood: the First Tree.

It rose taller than any castle tower, its bark glistening with sap that glowed faintly gold, pulsing in time with the rhythm of the forest’s song. Around its roots, flowers bloomed in impossible hues; blues like forgotten skies, reds that bled memory.

As Zenon approached, the tree’s song changed; no longer distant and mournful, but questioning. Demanding.

“Why do you come, child of war?” the voice thrummed, though no mouth spoke.

Zenon knelt. “My father is dying,” he said aloud, unsure if words would suffice. “Poisoned by a Giantess's magic. The rot won’t stop. They say your sap can cleanse it.”

Silence. Then a low creaking sound, like a great ship shifting at sea.

The First Tree responded not with words, but with a vision ; vines curled around Zenon’s arms, and he saw memories not his own: flames engulfing villages, Giantesses crying out in grief, Varek himself raising his sword over a fallen grove. A forest burned. A song broken.

"You come seeking healing," the voice rumbled, sad and ancient. "But your kind has sown only death."

“I know,” Zenon whispered. “But I am not him. I don’t fight for conquest. I just want to save what’s left of him; the part that regrets.”

The tree was silent again. Then a single branch descended, gnarled and heavy, its tip leaking a single golden drop of sap.

Zenon caught it in a small glass vial, sealing it with shaking fingers. The forest trembled as he turned to go, the trees resuming their song, but now it carried a different note, one of warning.

"Balance must be kept," the forest whispered. "A gift requires a price."

Zenon felt the truth settle in his chest like frost. He had been given what he came for , but he would never leave the forest untouched.

He emerged just before dawn, his boots damp with dew and his heart heavy. Behind him, the forest stood silent once more, as though nothing had stirred.

He saved his father.

But in his dreams, Zenon now hears the trees; and in his bones, something ancient stirs. For the forest had marked him. One day, the song will call him back.

Written for: "The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week" 
Prompt: "Winner & New Prompt! Due Fri 4/18 noon"