The next morning in the Grove dawned unusually silent.
Not the peaceful, serene kind of silence.
A waiting silence.
A silence that meant something in the ecosystem was missing—something important.
Lira sensed it immediately while walking along the lower roots of the Great Tree Spirit. The air hummed with healthy growth: the night-bloom flowers gently folded after their moonlit display, the seed-chipmunks scurried above in the canopies, and the shimmering phoenix flock warmed the fire-plants with their glowing feathers.
All was beautiful.
All was thriving.
But something was… wrong.
Before she could identify it, the Great Tree Spirit stirred. His ancient bark groaned softly, and glowing veins of light pulsed through his trunk as he addressed her:
"Child of balance… the Grove now grows too quickly. Without a counterforce, imbalance will root. We need the cleaners. The tiny caretakers. The Ones-Who-Dismantle."
Lira blinked. "Cleaners?"
