The forest changed after the Weaver vanished. It didn't hum with victory. It breathed in silence, slow and cautious, like it was waiting for something to happen.
Buzz felt it first. The gold in his veins didn't burn anymore—it pulsed. Each beat sank deeper, moving like it was trying to sync with the roots beneath him. Every step through the dirt sent tremors up his legs, and every tremor carried whispers. Not words, but tones—echoes of something that remembered him.
Zza moved ahead, silk stretched across her shoulders, claws steady even though her wounds hadn't closed. Her silk still shimmered faint blue from the Weaver's light, but under it faint veins of gold glowed, threading through the fiber like cracks spreading through glass.
They had been walking since dawn, following the faint glimmers that marked where the newborn's essence had spread. The gold dust hung in the air like pollen, soft but constant, leading them deeper into the forest's heart.
