The morning air shimmered like liquid crystal. Each breath Lyra took seemed to hum with quiet power, as though the land itself had only just learned to breathe again.
Starling trotted ahead of her, his tiny paws leaving trails of faint starlight in the grass. Though his body was small, his presence filled the forest—an echo of something vast and ancient, something not yet fully awake.
The forest stretched before them, older than memory yet newborn in its calm glow. Trees rose in twisting columns of silver wood and blue-green leaves. Their roots pulsed faintly, drawing energy from the ground as if drinking from the light itself.
Lyra paused beside one of the trunks. Her fingers brushed against the bark, and it quivered in response.
"It's alive," she murmured.
Everything here is, Starling replied through thought, his tone gentle. This forest remembers what the old world forgot.
As they walked deeper, the air thickened with whispers. Faint, like songs carried by the wind—voices of the beasts that once ruled this realm. Some were joyful, others mournful. Lyra could almost make out words in their tones, a language half-forgotten by mortal tongues.
Then the ground trembled.
A ripple of force swept through the trees, making the leaves flare with golden light. Starling froze, ears perked.
Something's stirring.
Lyra raised her blade, though its surface no longer shone like it once did—it pulsed softly, now more a living extension of her will than a weapon.
From beneath the soil, a low groan echoed. Roots split, and from the heart of the forest, a colossal figure began to rise.
Its body was made of bark and bone, its eyes glowing faint blue. Moss hung from its limbs like tattered robes. Each step it took made the air ripple with ancient energy.
Starling whimpered softly. It's an Elder. One of the First Beasts.
The creature's voice rumbled like thunder through stone.
"Who walks in my grove?"
Lyra stepped forward, her voice steady. "A wanderer. A guardian of what was lost."
The creature lowered its head, its eyes focusing on Starling.
"The Star Wolf's spark… You carry it."
I am his heir, Starling answered in her mind, his tone proud though still childlike.
The Elder tilted its head. "Then the cycle has truly turned."
Its massive hand extended, fingers curling around a seed of pure light that pulsed faintly. The forest fell silent as it spoke again:
"Take this. The seed of the Awakening. It will restore what still sleeps beneath the sky."
Lyra accepted the seed with both hands. It was warm, alive, and pulsed with the rhythm of the world's rebirth.
When she looked up again, the Elder was already fading, merging with the trees.
"Guard it well," its fading voice whispered. "For not all that awakens remembers peace."
Silence returned—except for the rustling leaves and Starling's soft breathing.
Lyra turned the glowing seed in her palm. "We'll need to find where it belongs."
And if something else wakes first?
Lyra looked toward the endless forest path. "Then we remind them what it means to live again."
As they walked deeper into the glowing woods, the faint sound of wings echoed above—something vast stirring in the skies, watching, waiting.