The Prism Crests began to relax, wings folding, tails flicking in quiet approval. The clearing hummed with their soft song, a symphony of shifting light and harmonious chirps. Even the tiny rainbows on the moss seemed to brighten, as though acknowledging the bond forming between the creatures and the Grove's future guardian.
Serelyth floated closer to Lira. "We should not take them yet. Let them grow accustomed to your presence. They must choose the Grove."
Lira nodded. She closed her eyes, feeling the flow of energy between her, the birds, the clearing, and even the feather still hovering in the center. The Prism Crests did not flinch—they leaned in, drawn by the pulse of care and patience radiating from her.
