The hill was quiet.
Too quiet.
No birds. No insects. No wind.
Just the crunch of their boots against glassed ash as Leon and the others approached the husk of the tree—blackened and split down the centre like a wound that had never healed. The symbols carved into its bark were ancient, older than any script Leon recognised. Yet as he stared, the markings shifted. Not with movement—but memory.
The first shard throbbed in his chest.
So did the second.
But differently now.
Like a warning.
Kairis moved ahead of them, one hand out, tracing the symbols without touching them. "This tree was once a tether," she murmured. "Before the war. Before the shards scattered."
Leon stepped beside her. "Tether to what?"
She didn't answer.
Because the earth answered for her.
It cracked.
Not with a quake—but with breath.
The hill exhaled.
And the air turned *cold.*
Mira spun, sword already half drawn. Tomas swore. Kairis took a step back, her face paling.
Because the tree was moving.
