Lira leaned against the edge of the crystal pool, her fingertips tracing ripples over its smooth surface. The Turtle-Kin glided beneath the water in slow, graceful arcs, their shells reflecting the dappled light of the canopy above. Each movement left shimmering trails that faded like dreams dissolving in morning air.
She watched them in silence, the gentle rhythm of their swimming matching the quiet steadiness in her chest. The Grove was peaceful tonight — the kind of peace that came after storms, earned rather than given. Yet beneath that stillness pulsed a faint tension, like the hum of a string drawn tight. She could feel it in her bones: this calm was only a pause, a breath before the next great turning.
The air shifted. The leaves overhead trembled, whispering to one another in the old language of the forest. From deep within the earth, a sound rose — slow, deep, resonant — and the Giant Tree's voice filled the Grove.
