The wilds stretched endlessly before them — a tangle of frost-tipped pines and mossy ravines where even the air seemed to hold its breath. For three days, Seren and her mother had traveled northward, guided only by the restless whisper of the wind. The land was changing — quieter, softer, as though the world itself watched their passage.
Seren's steps faltered often. The sickness had grown worse — her veins glimmered faintly beneath her skin, light rippling like threads of moonwater whenever she tried to breathe too deeply. The River-Heart pulsed faintly inside its pendant, responding to her pain like something alive.
"Breathe slowly, my love," Althea murmured, steadying her by the shoulder. "Don't fight the current. Let it pass through you."
"I'm trying," Seren whispered, though her voice came out cracked. Her vision swam; she could almost hear the river's voice in the air — distant, melodic, calling her name in the language of water.
Then, faintly, something new rose beneath the sound: music.
Not quite a song, not quite a whisper. The wind itself carried the notes — long, haunting hums that shifted with the trees. The melody wound through the forest like a beckoning.
"Do you hear that?" Seren asked.
Althea nodded, eyes narrowing. "Mana-song," she said softly. "The wild magic of the north. It leads only those meant to find its source."
They followed.
The path narrowed into a hidden glen, veiled by thornbush and silver mist. The light grew strange — soft, golden-green, as if sunlight had learned to breathe beneath the leaves. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and rain-soaked stone. Every breath Seren took eased her pain slightly, as though the very air mended something within her.
Finally, the trees parted.
Before them stretched The Grove of Veyra — a sanctuary carved from the bones of nature itself. Enormous willow trees bowed overhead, their silver branches hung with glowing threads of mana that looked like starlight trapped in dew. Pools of still water reflected an endless canopy of light. Strange flowers bloomed in the shade — blue fireblossoms, crescent lilies, and silvermoss that shimmered like frost.
At the center stood a great stone ring, ancient and alive with runes that breathed faintly with pale green light. Figures moved around it — men and women dressed in robes of woven bark and silk, their faces serene, their eyes bright with mana's glow.
Seren and Althea froze at the threshold.
"You've come far," said a calm, low voice.
From the ring stepped a tall woman with white hair bound by roots of ivy. Her eyes were golden — not bright like sunlight, but deep, like autumn leaves lit from within. When she spoke, the grove seemed to listen.
"I am Eldra Veyra, keeper of this sanctuary," she said. "Few find this place uninvited. Fewer still are guided here by song."
Althea inclined her head cautiously. "We seek no harm. My name is Althea Vale, my daughter—"
"She is ill," Eldra finished gently. "I can see it in her aura. The Flow-Sickness burns within her veins."
Seren swallowed hard. "Flow-Sickness?"
Eldra's gaze softened. "A name for what the Church fears most — the gift of communion. The mana within you doesn't obey control. It feels. It listens. It flows beyond flesh and mind, into the world itself."
She approached Seren slowly, hand raised in quiet permission. "May I?"
Seren hesitated, then nodded. Eldra's palm hovered near Seren's heart. The air thickened, humming faintly with unseen power. When her fingers brushed the pendant, the River-Heart pulsed once — bright and soft, like a heartbeat echoing through the grove.
Eldra's eyes widened. "Ah. The river chose you."
Althea tensed. "You know of it?"
"We all do," Eldra said. "The River-Heart is the breath of the world's flow. It lives where balance still endures. But it also bears memory. Old pain, old voices. If the bearer is unprepared, its call becomes unbearable."
Seren met her gaze. "Can it be stopped?"
"No," Eldra said simply. "But it can be understood."
She gestured toward the grove. "Come. Rest first. The flow always speaks clearer to the calm."
-
Eldra led them deeper into the grove. The sanctuary was alive in ways no city could ever be. Paths of soft moss wound around crystal pools where tiny lights swam like fish. Homes were carved from living trees — doorways shaped by magic rather than hands, with gentle lanterns that glowed when someone passed near.
Children played among the roots, their laughter echoing softly. In the distance, healers worked over an ailing stag, their palms radiating soft gold. Everywhere Seren looked, she saw harmony — not dominance, but coexistence.
The scent of herbs and woodsmoke filled the air — rosemary, sage, and wild mint. The breeze carried warmth even in the chill.
"Your people," Seren said quietly. "You live freely here?"
"As freely as the world allows," Eldra replied. "The Church has not found this place — not yet. Illusion hides us. But our safety is a borrowed peace. The Light grows hungrier each year."
Althea's expression hardened. "Then you know what it means to be hunted."
Eldra gave her a sad smile. "We know. We choose peace anyway."
They stopped by a pool beneath a great willow. Its waters glowed from within, casting ripples of silver light across their faces.
"This spring," Eldra said, "is the heart of the Grove. The Flow runs pure here — untouched by the Church's corruption. It may ease your daughter's sickness, if she listens."
Seren knelt beside it. The surface shimmered as her reflection wavered — her copper hair turned molten gold under the glow. When she dipped her fingers in, warmth spread up her arm, washing the ache from her bones.
"It feels… alive," she whispered.
"It is," Eldra said. "All mana is. The Church teaches that magic must obey. But the Flow does not bend. It dances. It lives through us, if we let it."
For the first time in weeks, Seren felt peace — not silence, but stillness. The world didn't seem to press upon her. It hummed softly, as if singing to her heartbeat.
-
That night, the grove glowed with lantern light and low song. Seren and Althea were given shelter beneath the boughs of a willow that bent protectively around their small hut.
Seren watched the healers work from afar, their movements like prayer. Every motion carried grace — not the sharp precision of the Church's rituals, but something older, more human.
Althea sat nearby, sharpening a small dagger, her expression distant.
"You don't trust them," Seren said quietly.
"I trust them enough," Althea replied. "But peace like this never lasts. The Church's eye always wanders."
Seren touched the pendant at her chest. "What if it doesn't have to be war, Mother? What if there's another way?"
Althea paused, meeting her gaze — soft, tired, and proud all at once. "Then you'll be the one to find it."
They fell silent, listening to the grove's nocturnal song — frogs in the distance, the hum of mana threads through the air, the faint laughter of those still awake. The night smelled of pine and jasmine, and for once, the world didn't hurt.
-
When morning came, it was unlike any dawn Seren had ever known.
No tolling bells, no chill wind from the valley, no scent of ash from the burned villages they'd passed on their journey. Here, light filtered through willow leaves like liquid gold, and the air itself seemed to breathe with them — slow, patient, alive.
Seren awoke to the murmur of water and soft laughter outside their hut. Althea still slept beside her, her copper hair haloed in green light that slipped through the woven roof. For the first time in what felt like years, her mother looked rested. The lines of worry had eased, her hands no longer clenched even in sleep.
Seren smiled faintly and stepped outside.
The Grove was stirring. Healers gathered herbs from the glowing moss beds, children carried baskets of fruit that shimmered faintly with mana, and a group of elders hummed together as they stirred a great cauldron over a stone firepit. The air smelled of roasted roots and honey — sweet, earthy, and warm.
A young woman spotted Seren and waved. "You're awake! Come, come — breakfast before the Flow fades!"
Before she could reply, Althea appeared at her side, still fastening her cloak. "They're already feeding us, it seems," she murmured, a touch of cautious amusement in her voice.
"They said the Flow fades?" Seren asked.
Eldra Veyra approached, smiling softly. "It's what we call the morning tide," she explained. "The Grove's mana breathes in rhythm with the sun. At dawn, it rises through the roots and flowers. We share food then, so that we may all take in the first light of the day."
Seren followed her to the gathering circle, where long wooden tables curved beneath hanging vines. People greeted them warmly — some with gentle bows, others with wide smiles. There was no fear in their eyes. Only recognition.
Bowls were passed hand to hand: sunfruit stew that glowed like molten amber, leafbread baked in stone ovens, and cups of cool luna tea that shimmered silver when touched by the air. Seren hesitated at first — the scents were foreign, intoxicating — but hunger and curiosity won.
The first bite melted on her tongue. Sweetness like honey and citrus filled her mouth, but beneath it was something stranger — a warmth that spread through her chest, steady and alive.
"It's the Flow," Eldra said, watching her expression. "We cook with it. Everything grown here carries mana, gentle and balanced. It feeds the spirit as much as the body."
Althea ate quietly, her gaze scanning the grove, but even she could not hide her amazement. "I've never seen a place so untouched," she murmured.
Eldra's smile was wistful. "Untouched, perhaps. But not forgotten. Every spell we cast here is a memory — a thread of what was lost when the old world fell silent."
As they ate, Seren watched the people around her. Old men murmured softly to stones that floated above their hands, carving runes into them with beams of faint light. A young girl coaxed vines to braid themselves into a basket. Two healers poured mana into the ground, and where their palms touched, mushrooms bloomed instantly in a ring of pale blue glow.
Seren leaned closer, eyes wide. "They don't force it," she whispered. "They ask."
Eldra nodded. "The Flow answers kindness, not command."
The realization settled deep within her — not as knowledge, but as feeling.
The Church's priests had always chanted with iron tongues, forcing mana into obedience through relics and stones. Here, the magic laughed. It moved freely.
One of the healers noticed Seren's gaze and beckoned her over. "Come, river-daughter. Would you like to try?"
Seren hesitated, glancing at Althea. Her mother nodded faintly.
She knelt beside the healers, palms open. "What should I do?"
"Nothing," said the older one. "Just listen."
The earth hummed beneath her fingers. At first it was faint — a vibration like the heartbeat of soil — then clearer. Whispers of roots twining, of sap rising, of something old and kind moving below. When she breathed, it breathed back.
The River-Heart stirred softly against her chest, glowing once — a pulse, not of warning, but of harmony.
A tendril of moss crept from the ground, curling gently around her wrist like a greeting. Seren gasped, but didn't pull away. It shimmered faintly, then sank back into the soil.
"You see?" said the healer. "It remembers you."
Seren's throat tightened. She couldn't speak.
Althea watched from afar, eyes glistening — pride and worry tangled in equal measure.
Eldra came to her side quietly. "You've kept her safe all these years," she said softly. "But she was never meant to hide, Althea. The Flow chooses its voice when the world is ready to listen again."
"I only wanted her to live," Althea murmured.
"And she will," Eldra said, her gaze warm. "But she will also teach. That is the burden and blessing of her kind."
-
Later that afternoon, Seren and Althea wandered along the grove's boundary. The air was rich with the scent of mint and rain.
They came across a group of children floating paper petals on a stream. When the petals touched the water, they lit up softly, drifting like stars across the current.
"What are they doing?" Seren asked.
"A memory game," said one of the children brightly. "We write wishes on petals and let the Flow carry them. If it glows blue, the wish is true."
Seren smiled, crouching beside them. "And what did you wish for?"
The smallest boy grinned, missing a tooth. "That the world stops being afraid of magic."
Seren's breath caught. She watched as his petal drifted downstream, glowing the brightest blue of them all.
-
That night, as the Grove fell into quiet again, Seren sat beneath the willow, writing the child's words in the soil with her fingertip.
"The world stops being afraid of magic."
The thought lingered long after she closed her eyes.
For the first time in her life, she believed it might be possible.