Midday burned away to afternoon. Sunlight dappled the floor in molten patches. Both sides were deep in their trials, sweat, dirt, laughter, frustration.
Then, a sudden stillness.
Lindarion's eyes narrowed. "They've gone quiet."
Nysha frowned. "Too quiet."
Through his mana sense, he felt it, a ripple through the forest's heart. The hunters had entered the Hollow. The defenders had prepared an ambush. And yet, something else was there… watching.
"Hold," Lindarion murmured. His power flared faintly, enough to feel the breath of the forest itself.
Then it came, a surge of raw mana from beneath the roots, not from spell or soldier, but from the land itself.
The ground trembled. The vines that had lain dormant began to move of their own accord, snapping, coiling, striking.
"What—?!" Halric barked, already reaching for his sword.
"It's not an attack," Lindarion said sharply, raising his hand. "The forest is… testing them."
