Rain fell softly on the Hollow Court.
It wasn't the thunderous kind of storm that uprooted trees or shattered rooftops—it was a curtain of mist, steady and cool, as though the forest itself were drawing breath in anticipation.
Elira stood beneath the boughs of the central grove, her cloak soaked through. Water clung to her hair, dripping down her brow, but she didn't move. She was listening—not with her ears, but with something deeper.
Something ancient.
"There's a change in the roots," she murmured.
Behind her, Caelum approached silently, his own cloak heavy with rain. "It started last night. The northern trees are pulling inward, drawing back their blossoms."
"A defense?"
"Or a warning."
Elira finally turned to face him. In his hands, he held a piece of bark—smooth and dark, etched with a new sigil that shimmered faintly even in the dull gray light. It hadn't been carved. It had grown that way, pressed into the wood like a fingerprint.
"What is it?" she asked, taking it.
"We don't know," Caelum admitted. "Maerel's seen something similar in one of the deep tombs, but it's older than anything the archives can place."
"It's not from the forest."
"No," he agreed, "but the forest is remembering it."
Elira closed her fingers around the bark. She didn't shiver, but a strange cold settled in her chest.
"We need to be ready," she said.
Maerel had already begun preparations.
The once-empty war room beneath the Hollow Court had been cleared of dust and vines. Maps—some ancient, some freshly inked—now lined the stone walls, showing the surrounding territories in meticulous detail. Trade routes. River crossings. Old leyline fractures that once pulsed with forgotten magic.
Maerel stood at the center, eyes tracing every path.
"When they come," she said, not looking up, "they won't just be seekers of knowledge. They'll bring soldiers. Relics. Machines."
"Then we fight," Caelum said, voice low and steady.
"We protect," Elira corrected. "The forest is not a weapon. It's not a prize. But it is a living thing—and it will defend itself if it must."
Maerel looked up now, her gaze sharp. "There are rumors already. The merchant houses of Vareth are offering bounties for pieces of the new bloom. One of the southern duchies sent scouts to the riverbanks. A masked emissary from the House of Obsidian crossed the eastern border last night."
Elira sighed. "All drawn by what they felt. The shift."
"They think the magic is vulnerable," Maerel said bitterly. "Like an open wound."
Caelum stepped forward. "Let them come. We know this land. And we're not alone."
Maerel's eyes narrowed. "You want to call the other guardians?"
"They'll feel it soon anyway," Elira said. "Better we reach out first."
By moonrise, word had already begun to spread.
Elira stood once more in the central grove, this time with hands pressed to the bark of the ancient tree—the one that once held Selene's memory.
"Call them," she whispered. "Not with commands. With truth. Let them know the forest lives again."
From her fingertips, a pulse of golden light spread through the bark, traveling like a heartbeat into the roots below. The trees responded—not with whispers, but with quiet resolve. Their leaves trembled. Their roots quivered.
Far across the continent, distant groves began to stir.
In the Icevault Glade, a stag of crystal antlers raised its head and began to walk.
In the Emberwood Reaches, a girl with flame in her veins opened her eyes and wept molten tears.
And in the floating isles of Nir'hen, an old druid queen whispered a single word into the sky: "Awaken."
Lady Nyra stood at the bow of her ship, eyes trained on the mist-covered coastline ahead.
Her cloak fluttered in the wind, lined with threads of nightshade and silver. Around her neck hung a chain of fractured runes—stolen from the sealed temples of old.
She spoke softly to the crow perched on her shoulder.
"They're gathering. She's calling them."
The bird cawed once, then fluttered into the air.
Nyra's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Good. Let them come."
Behind her, the crew of her vessel moved like shadows—silent, robed figures bearing brands of the old world, of forgotten empires.
The Order of the Hollow Star had not died.
It had only changed its face.
Back at the Hollow Court, Elira watched the storm begin to break.
The rain lightened to a drizzle. In its wake, the forest sparkled, every leaf and stone kissed with silver. The air was charged—heavy with what hadn't happened yet.
Caelum approached quietly. "The others will come soon. I can feel them."
Elira nodded. "And the world will follow."
He studied her face. "Are you ready for what comes next?"
"I don't think I'll ever be ready," she admitted, "but I'm not afraid."
He reached for her hand. "Not anymore?"
"Not with you beside me."
For a moment, there was only silence—the kind that follows the first crack of thunder, when the world holds its breath.
Then the roots beneath their feet pulsed once, gently.
The forest was ready.
So were they.