The Grove groaned once more, but the note was lower now, almost relieved.
Above, the Heart Tree's scarred trunk split along an existing seam. No crack of pain, only a deliberate parting. Warm gold spilled through the opening, bathing root and ruin in gentle sunlight where no sun could reach.
A seed floated from that radiance, no larger than a raven's eye, wrapped in filaments of pale energy. It drifted, slow and deliberate, spiraling as if carried by unseen hands. It neared Draven and paused, hovering at breast height.
Sylvanna watched, silent. Her breath caught as petals of light circled the seed.
Draven lifted his palm. The seed settled into his glove as though it already knew the path. A heartbeat later, the glow folded inwards, dimming to a steady pulse—alive, waiting.
The walls, newly freed of corruption, exhaled.
