Dawn did not rise that morning.
Only a pale haze lingered over the broken Grove, a sky bruised with gold and gray. Smoke curled through the roots like ghosts, carrying the scent of burnt sap and iron. The once-living canopy now stood hollow and fractured, its leaves turned to shards that chimed faintly when the wind passed through — a dirge of glass and grief.
Seren stood among the ruin, the River-Heart cold against her chest. Its glow had faded to a pulse no brighter than a dying ember.
She could still hear the echoes — Seraphine's laughter, Gravemorn's silent descent, her mother's voice cutting through the storm. It all played in her mind like ripples trapped in frozen water.
The Grove had fallen quiet.
Even the Flow — that gentle hum that once filled her veins with song — now trembled weakly, dissonant and uneven. Like a wounded heart trying to remember how to beat.
Althea walked through the clearing with slow, deliberate steps. Her robes were torn, her blade sheathed, her hair streaked with soot. She paused by the Heartroot — once crystalline and radiant, now cracked through its center. Faint blue light seeped from it like breath from cold lips.
Eldra knelt beside it, her hands pressed to the fissures. Her face was pale, eyes sunken from the effort of mending what could not be mended. The runes along her staff glimmered dimly, one by one extinguishing.
"How much did we lose?" Althea asked quietly.
Eldra's reply came in a whisper. "Too much. The Grove's soul is fractured. Its memories will fade with the next moon."
"The Flow?" Seren asked, her voice small.
Eldra looked up — her gaze softened when it met Seren's. "The Flow endures, child. But it remembers pain."
The words struck deeper than any wound. Seren clutched the River-Heart in her hand. She could feel its sorrow — faint ripples of regret flowing through her fingers, whispering of things unseen.
"The Church found us," Thane said bitterly from where he stood near the shattered trees, his spear grounded beside him. "The Radiant Order won't stop now. That saint… she's marked us. She'll come again."
Kael sat nearby, his arm bound in vines that pulsed with soft light. "She'll bring more than light next time. She'll bring an army."
Miren stirred the ashes with her hand, watching gold flecks rise and vanish into the wind. "Let her bring the sun itself," she murmured. "The Grove stood for a thousand years before her Church ever breathed. It will not die so easily."
But her voice trembled — and the lie hung heavy in the air.
Iri approached Seren, carrying a small bowl filled with water drawn from the last untainted stream. The surface shimmered faintly, reflecting Seren's face in two halves — one bright, one shadowed.
"Drink," he said softly. "You used too much. The Flow within you is unstable."
She obeyed, sipping slowly. The water was cool, but it burned down her throat, leaving a strange warmth behind — the taste of memory, of something ancient. As she drank, visions flickered at the edges of her mind — rivers turning to light, stars sinking beneath waves, voices singing from beneath the surface of time.
When she finished, Iri set the bowl aside. "You channeled the River-Heart like no one before you," he said. "It should have consumed you. But it didn't."
Seren looked down. "It almost did."
Althea turned toward her. "But it didn't," she said firmly. "You saved us, Seren. You held the Flow when even the Grove faltered."
Seren shook her head. "No. The Flow saved itself. I just… heard it scream."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The wind shifted, carrying faint echoes through the ruined leaves — not words, but whispers. The kind that belonged to roots older than speech. Eldra closed her eyes, listening, and then spoke softly:
"The Heartroot calls. It will die before dusk unless we take its core to safety."
Kael frowned. "The Heartroot cannot be moved. It is the Grove."
"Then the Grove must move with it," Eldra answered.
Althea's eyes narrowed. "You mean the pilgrimage."
Eldra nodded. "The Flow remembers the ancient routes. The rivers that once linked the world before the Church severed them. We must follow them — to the Wellspring."
Miren looked up sharply. "The Wellspring is a myth."
Eldra smiled faintly. "So was the Flow, until Seren heard it sing."
The others fell silent. The air thickened — part awe, part fear. Seren felt their eyes upon her and wanted to shrink, but the Flow pulsed faintly at her heart again, urging her not to.
"The Wellspring," Seren repeated, tasting the word. It sounded like promise and danger entwined.
Thane exhaled, brushing glass dust from his armor. "If it means saving the Grove, I'll follow. But we'll need to leave before sunset. The Church will track the pulse again."
Eldra nodded. "We depart by twilight. Take what remains — roots, seeds, memories. The Grove's spirit must be carried."
Althea looked to her daughter. "Seren, you'll stay close to me. The Flow is raw in you. Until we reach the Wellspring, you must not call upon it."
Seren hesitated, her hand tightening around the River-Heart. "And if it calls me?"
Althea met her gaze — a flicker of fear behind her strength. "Then you listen. But do not answer."
Night came softly, painting the ruined Grove in hues of sapphire and ash.
The survivors moved through the roots in silence, gathering relics, seeds, fragments of memory-bound stone. Every step seemed to echo farewell. Fireflies drifted between the dying trees, their light dimmer than usual, as if mourning too.
Seren stood at the edge of the clearing one last time. The river that wound through the Grove shimmered faintly under starlight — its reflection fractured, but still flowing. She knelt and touched the water.
It rippled around her fingers — and whispered.
"Do not grieve the breaking," the Flow murmured in her mind. "Rivers remember how to mend."
She lifted her hand slowly, droplets glowing as they fell from her skin. For a heartbeat, she saw something deep beneath the current — a shape, vast and ancient, sleeping in the dark. Its eyes opened — not of malice, but of recognition.
Then it was gone.
Seren exhaled shakily. The Flow's hum steadied inside her chest, softer now, but clearer.
She rose as her mother called her name.
"Come, Seren. The River waits."
The group began their descent through the hidden tunnels beneath the Grove — paths carved by roots and memory long before men built temples. The light of their lanterns flickered against the earth walls, illuminating runes older than the Church itself.
Eldra led them, her staff glowing faintly green once more.
Althea walked beside Seren, silent, watchful.
Behind them, Thane carried the wounded, Kael bore the Heartroot's core wrapped in vines, and Miren whispered prayers to the dying flame spirits.
The Grove faded behind them — a world ending, and another waiting.
As they vanished into the deep, the river's reflection shimmered once more — and in the broken glass of its waters, Seraphine's image flickered faintly, her golden eyes open, unblinking, watching the Flow's children flee.