Two days after Lirien's departure, the second bird arrived.
This one was smaller—dove-sized, feathers the soft gray-green of lichen—but the living-vine tether around its leg was thicker, braided with tiny oak leaves that rustled even in still air. It landed on the Voss cottage roof at dawn, cooed once—a sound like wind through hollow reeds—and waited.
Aiden climbed out his loft window onto the shingles (a habit Garrick pretended not to notice).
The bird hopped closer without fear.
He untied the new scroll.
Birch bark again, but this time sealed with two drops of sap—one amber, one pale green.
The script inside flowed like roots seeking water:
Warden's Child,
*Elder Rowan sends greeting. Your awakening has stirred the Circle's heartwood. Two of our number—young but earnest—will arrive within three days to observe, assist, and learn. They come with open hands, not grasping ones.
*Treat them as kin. Let them see what the land has chosen.
We wait with patience for the day your path turns north.
— Rowan
Aiden rolled the scroll.
Slipped it beside the first one in his tunic.
Climbed back inside.
Found his parents already at the table, tea steaming.
Elara looked up first.
"Another letter?"
He nodded.
"Two druids coming. To stay a while. To help."
Garrick set his mug down carefully.
"How many is 'a while'?"
"Didn't say. But they're not here to take. Just… watch."
Elara exhaled slowly.
"Then we prepare the hayloft again. And the table. And ourselves."
They spent the morning cleaning.
Fresh straw in the loft. Extra blankets. A small washbasin. Elara added a vase of moonblossom to the guest corner—simple courtesy.
Aiden helped without being asked.
But he also slipped out to the field edge.
Scattered valerian sprigs along the northern fence.
Left three eggs in a shallow bowl.
The pack appeared within minutes—silent, watchful.
The big gray wolf came closest.
Nosed the bowl.
Ate one egg whole.
Then looked at Aiden—long, steady.
Through Minor Beast Bond Lv.2 he felt the faint impression:
More coming. Strange scent. Green people.
Aiden nodded.
"They're friends. Probably."
The wolf huffed once—almost amused—then led the pack on their morning patrol.
The druids arrived at dusk on the third day.
Two figures on foot—no horses, no cart.
Both young—late teens at most.
The first was a boy: tall, lanky, skin the warm brown of sun-baked earth, hair cropped short and dyed faint green at the tips. He carried a staff of living willow that bent slightly as though breathing.
The second was a girl: shorter, wiry, pale skin dusted with freckles like scattered seeds, long auburn hair woven through with tiny ivy tendrils. She wore the same leaf-gray robes as Lirien, but hers were patched at the elbows—well-used, well-loved.
They stopped at the village green edge.
Did not enter without invitation.
Villagers gathered—quietly, curiously.
Marta stepped forward first.
"Welcome to Willowbrook. You're the Circle's folk?"
The boy bowed slightly—willow staff dipping.
"I am Thorne. This is Sylva. We come at Elder Rowan's word. To learn from your Warden's Child."
Heads turned toward the Voss cottage.
Aiden stepped out onto the porch.
Elara and Garrick flanked him.
He walked down the path.
Stopped ten paces away.
"I'm Aiden."
Sylva smiled—small, leaf-bright.
"We know."
Thorne's willow staff rustled.
"The land told us your name before we crossed the first ridge."
Aiden glanced at his parents.
Then back.
"You can stay. Eat with us. Work the field. But no secrets taken. And no hurting the pack."
Sylva's eyes widened fractionally.
"The wolves?"
"They're… ours now," Aiden said simply.
Thorne laughed—soft, surprised.
"Then we will honor them too."
They were welcomed.
Fed.
Shown the hayloft.
Given blankets and a lantern.
That evening they walked the field with Aiden.
Thorne knelt beside a bean row.
Pressed palms to soil.
Closed his eyes.
Opened them again—wide.
"This field… it sings your name in every root."
Sylva touched a vine.
It curled around her finger like an old friend.
Then reached past her—toward Aiden.
She laughed quietly.
"It prefers you."
They worked together the next morning.
Thorne taught Aiden how to weave living barriers—thin willow shoots coaxed into fence reinforcements that would grow stronger with time.
Sylva showed him root-sharing: linking bean plants so weaker ones drew strength from stronger neighbors.
Aiden listened.
Absorbed.
Shared back—wordless—through Silent Communion.
The field responded eagerly.
Rows thickened.
Pods swelled.
By noon the two druids were staring in quiet awe.
Thorne whispered, "This is beyond anything we've seen outside the Grove itself."
Sylva nodded.
"The land has chosen a child to speak for it."
That afternoon Garrick called Aiden to the chopping block.
"Time to spar."
He had padded the quarterstaff ends with cloth and leather scraps.
"Full speed. No holding back. Block, move, counter."
Aiden took stance.
Garrick attacked—controlled but firm.
Staff swung.
Aiden stepped.
Blocked.
Counter-swung.
Clack-clack-clack.
Footwork blurred.
Stance of the Hearth kept him grounded.
Edge of Resolve sang along the staff.
Garrick pressed harder—testing.
Aiden ducked.
Sidestepped.
Blocked high.
Then—instinct—swung low.
Garrick blocked.
But the force surprised him.
He staggered half a step.
Grinned.
"That's new."
Aiden grinned back—sweaty, breathless.
They went again.
Faster.
Harder.
Until both were laughing between strikes.
On the final clash—Garrick overextended—Aiden sidestepped and tapped his father's shoulder lightly.
Garrick froze.
Looked down at the padded end touching his tunic.
Then laughed—big, delighted.
"You got me."
He lowered the staff.
Pulled Aiden into a rough hug.
"Proud of you, sprout."
They were still catching breath when it happened.
Aiden stepped back too fast—foot catching on a root.
He stumbled.
Threw out a hand to catch himself—against the chopping block.
The moment his palm touched wood—
The air shimmered.
A soft golden-green pulse erupted from the block.
Spread outward in a slow ring.
The garden fence glowed—faint but unmistakable.
The cottage walls shimmered as though sunlight lived inside the timbers.
The pear tree shivered—blossoms opening all at once.
The bean vines in the garden leaned toward the pulse.
Even the distant field rippled—leaves lifting in unison.
It lasted three heartbeats.
Then faded.
Leaving only a faint warm hum in the air.
Garrick stared.
Elara appeared at the back door—apron in hand.
Thorne and Sylva came running from the hayloft.
"What was that?" Sylva breathed.
Aiden looked at his hand.
Still tingling.
The system chimed—bright, triumphant.
[Village Guardian Threshold Reached!]
[Village Guardian Lv.1 → Lv.3 (territorial ward activation)]
[New Perk Unlocked: Hearth Ward – Minor protective barrier around primary homestead; deflects weak hostile intent & environmental damage; glows visibly when first activated]
[Passive Evolution: Territorial Awareness → Expanded Awareness – Range increased to 500 ft; detects intent type & approximate strength]
Aiden exhaled.
"It's the house. Protecting itself."
Thorne knelt beside the chopping block.
Touched the wood.
It pulsed once—soft—under his fingers.
He looked up at Aiden.
"You just woke the hearth itself."
Elara stepped forward.
Put her arms around Aiden.
Held him close.
Garrick joined.
Thorne and Sylva watched—quiet, reverent.
The glow had faded.
But the hum remained—faint, comforting.
Like the cottage itself had taken a deep breath and decided to stand taller.
That night the pack circled closer than ever.
The big wolf paused at the garden gate.
Howled once—low, resonant.
The village heard it.
No one feared.
They simply smiled into their pillows.
And slept.
[End of Chapter 14 – Book 1]
Chapter 15 will explore the aftermath of the ward activation: villagers notice the subtle "safer" feeling around the Voss home and begin asking Aiden to "bless" their own doorsteps (small, harmless requests he fulfills with Verdant Warden touches), the druids begin formal training sessions on druidic ethics & balance, Garrick introduces basic grappling to complement staff work, and the first curious traveler arrives—a merchant's apprentice who heard rumors of "the glowing garden boy" and wants to see for himself.