For days after the Spirit Tree's whisper, the grove felt unusually still.
Even the radiant birds sang softer, as if sensing that something ancient was awakening below. The moonlight touched the ground differently — shimmering not on the leaves, but on the soil itself, like silver veins running deep beneath her feet.
Then, one evening, as stars aligned for the third time, the air trembled.
The bark of the Spirit Tree pulsed with soft green light, and its voice filled the grove again — deep, resonant, and old beyond measure.
"Lira. The roots call. You must go below, where the First Light still sleeps. Follow the path of memory beneath my heartwood."
...
The ground before the Spirit Tree opened slowly, petals of soil unfurling like the bloom of a dark flower. A gentle wind rose from below — cool, damp, and fragrant with moss and age.
Lira took her lantern, her satchel, and a single bottle of Elixir of Eternal Calm, then looked toward her companions.
