London Undercurrent: Psychic Walker

The city's edge clamor vanished, sealed off like a heavy door slamming shut. Alan and Fenrir stood at the boundary where the colossal shadows of Epping Forest's ancient trees began, straddling two worlds. Ahead lay darkness so thick moonlight struggled to penetrate. An overwhelming scent—damp earth, rotting leaves, fresh moss, and an indescribable, sweetly pungent fragrance unique to deep, rain-soaked woods—enveloped them. It was primal, potent with a vitality bordering on the savage, utterly alien to London's concrete and steel, heavy with ancient dread.

Fenrir inhaled deeply, bare torso muscles tensing in the cool night air, steam rising less vigorously now. His amber wolf eyes glowed with eerie green light in the gloom, twin vigilant lanterns. His ears twitched, nostrils flared, capturing the forest's faintest sounds and hidden scents.

"Smells... thick," he rasped, his voice carrying a lupine, near-feral edge. "Rotting, growing, earth... and others. Many 'living' things. Big. Small. Friendly... and not. Stay close, kid. Step for step." He shot Alan a glance, the earlier reckless bravado replaced by instinctive wariness. Here, he wasn't the berserker, but a son of the wild returned.

Alan nodded, his heart a steady drumbeat in his chest. Stepping into the forest hadn't diminished the vast, serene Anima pulse; it had intensified, becoming less a sensation and more an encompassing field. The loam underfoot was unnervingly soft and deep, like stepping onto the warm skin of some colossal creature. The air was saturated, damp enough to wring, chilling to the bone. Overhead, the gnarled branches of titanic trees wove an impenetrable canopy, shredding the weak moonlight into fractured shards that barely kissed the deep carpet of fallen leaves below.

The forest wasn't silent. Far from it. It teemed with sounds, but these wove a deeper, more primordial stillness. The susurrus of wind through high leaves; the distant, haunting call of an unseen night bird; the skittering of insects beneath the leaf litter; the rustle of small rodents darting through undergrowth; even the faintest, almost imperceptible hum of sap flowing within the trees themselves... A symphony of the wild, profound and harmonious, making the forest's heart feel even more fathomless and secret.

Fenrir led, his movements transformed into a hunter's fluid grace. He didn't move straight but followed an unseen path Alan couldn't fathom: sidling through narrow gaps between trees locked in a root embrace, leaping lightly over moss-hidden streams gurgling unseen, detouring around patches of boggy ground that radiated faint, decaying Anima. He avoided pitch-black hollows untouched by moonlight and gave wide berth to strangely vibrant, sweet-smelling fungi with unnaturally bright hues.

"See that blue glow?" Fenrir hissed, nodding towards eerie, coldly luminescent moss coating a fallen giant. "'Wraithmoss'. Touch it? Skin rots, Anima gets sucked dry."

He pointed at a seemingly innocuous patch of low shrubs with white flowers.

"'Weepblood Briar'. Smells sweet, breathe too much, see things... walk right into its roots for fertilizer." His voice held a mix of respect and hard-won familiarity. "This old wood looks quiet, but it's all traps. Step where I step. Exactly."

Alan obeyed, shadowing Fenrir's steps. He navigated the flagged hazards while attuning to the changes in the watch nestled against his chest. Since entering the forest, the Thorn-and-Oak glyph on its back had radiated a gentle, persistent warmth, not burning, but alive and constant. Now, deeper in, the warmth felt sharper... and held a subtle pull. Deviating slightly from Fenrir's path made it flare hotter; moving towards a particular direction brought a sense of calm, comfortable steadiness, a silent guide.

"Fenrir," Alan whispered, unable to contain it, "the watch... it's warm. Like... it's pointing?"

Fenrir halted, turning to eye the watch, wolf eyes gleaming with surprise and dawning understanding. "Wildheart mark... figures. Alright, where it feels 'right', we try. But," he warned, "don't trust it blind! Your gut, my nose and ears—all gotta work! This place, any leaf could hide trouble."

Their path became a fusion of Fenrir's acute senses and the watch's faint guidance. They ventured deeper, cautiously, no longer strictly following the "safest" route, drawn towards the watch's pull. The trees grew older, more massive, bark armored in thick moss and lichen. Buttress roots like the claws of prehistoric beasts gripped the earth. The vast Anima pulse grew stronger, an invisible tide washing over Alan's awareness. The parched well within him seemed to gather minuscule droplets of moisture, condensing under the pure, immense natural energy.

Suddenly, Fenrir froze mid-stride. His body dropped low, a deep, threatening growl rumbling in his throat. Muscles coiled like springs, claws slid silently from his fingers, gleaming wickedly. His wolf eyes locked onto a shadowed area ahead, choked by giant ferns and thick vines.

"Something!" Fenrir's voice was a knife-edge whisper, fur bristling. "Alive... thorny... lots!"

Even as he spoke, the shadows exploded into motion!

HISSSS!—SWISH!—CRACK!

Dozens of wrist-thick vines, armored in vicious black thorns, lashed out like awakened serpents! They erupted from the ground, tree trunks, even overhead branches with vicious speed and a chorus of sharp cracks! Their target: the intruders!

These were no ordinary plants. They pulsed with a sickly dark green luminescence, thorns gleaming like cold metal, radiating palpable hostility and aggressive Anima! Forest guardians—awakened!

"Move!" Fenrir roared, not retreating but charging! His powerful frame became a silver blur, meeting the first wave head-on! Alloy claws tore through the air with lethal precision!

CLANG! SHING! CRACK!

The clash of metal on wood echoed unnaturally loud! Sparks flew! Fenrir's claws found weak joints, severing two of the thickest vines instantly! Thick, sap-like fluid, smelling sharply vegetal and acrid, sprayed from the stumps, sizzling where it hit the ground!

But more vines surged forward like a relentless tide! They were unnervingly tough; Fenrir's strikes often only gouged deep wounds, failing to sever. Worse, they moved with coordinated malice—some attacked head-on, others snaked treacherously from the sides, even erupting from the soil to snare Fenrir's legs!

"Alan! Underfoot!" Fenrir bellowed, blocking and dodging furiously.

Alan reacted instantly. The surge of danger sparked a faint, involuntary ripple of his Harmonizing ability. He didn't stand and fight. Drawing on his brief Warden training and Fenrir's warnings, he threw himself sideways into a desperate roll!

SWISH!

A barbed vine whipped through the space he'd occupied, shattering a moss-covered rock into dust!

More vines, like sharks scenting blood, redirected their fury, whistling through the air from all sides, converging on Alan! The density of thorns and the pulsing Anima glow screamed lethal intent!

Alan rolled, leaped, using massive tree trunks as shields. But he lacked Fenrir's speed and strength. Against the onslaught, he was perilously outmatched! A vine snaked around his ankle, icy thorns piercing fabric, bringing sharp pain and a numbing chill!

"Ugh!" Alan grunted, feeling invasive, corrosive Anima surge up his leg through the wound! As he struggled, the watch against his chest erupted with searing heat! The warmth became scalding, a brand! Simultaneously, the Thorn-and-Oak glyph flared! A faint, barely visible emerald-green radiance rippled outward from the watch!

The impossible happened!

The vine tightening around Alan's ankle, poised to crush bone, jerked rigid the moment the green light touched it! The hostile dark green Anima coating its surface flickered and dissipated like smoke! The thorns' metallic gleam faded! The entire vine transformed from a murderous serpent into inert, lifeless cord, slumping limply from Alan's ankle with a wet thud onto the loam.

Not just that! The other vines lunging towards Alan froze mid-strike! They hung trembling in the air, confused... or perhaps *afraid*? Of that faint, yet profoundly pure emerald light emanating from the watch.

"Rrragh!" Fenrir seized the momentary paralysis, claws a whirlwind of silver, hacking through several more vines. He saw Alan freed and the vines' hesitation, surprise flashing in his eyes, quickly replaced by ruthless opportunism. "Now! Go!"

But the vines' hesitation lasted mere heartbeats! Enraged, they rallied, dark green Anima flaring brighter than before, surging back with redoubled ferocity! And now, their focus seemed laser-sharp on Alan... and the watch that radiated that unsettling, disruptive energy!

"Shit! Kicked the hornet's nest!" Fenrir spat blood (a thorn had grazed his arm), positioning himself defensively in front of Alan. "That damn watch pissed 'em off! Run! Don't look back!"

Just as they braced to break through—

Thoom... Thoom... Thoom...

A deep, resonant vibration, felt more than heard, rose through the soles of their boots. It wasn't the violence of an earthquake, but a slow, ponderous, immensely powerful pulse. Like a slumbering giant, disturbed by the commotion beneath its feet, beginning to... turn over.

Accompanying the subterranean drumbeat, deep within the forest gloom ahead, the furrowed bark of several of the oldest, most massive oaks began to glow. Two pairs of immense, luminous emerald-green orbs ignited within the deep crevices! Like enormous eyes slowly opening! An Anima pressure—ancient, immense, carrying the weight of ages—descended like a mountain, instantly crushing the air from the clearing!

The frenzied vines froze mid-lunge, as if seized by an invisible fist. Then, like a receding tide, they slithered back into the shadows, vanishing without a trace. Only the wind's sigh in the treetops and the deep, rhythmic, heartbeat-like thoom... thoom... remained.

Thoom... Thoom...

Alan and Fenrir stood rooted, breath caught in their throats. Cold sweat traced a path down Alan's temple. He clutched the watch, now merely warm and inert again, his heart hammering against his ribs. He lifted his gaze, dread coiling in his gut, towards the colossal, slowly brightening emerald "eyes" watching them from the ancient oaks.

The Tree Sentinels... had awakened.