The declaration did not echo.
It sank.
Into soil.
Into roots.
Into places where light rarely touched.
Far to the south, beneath a canopy so dense the sun fractured into shards of green and gold, something ancient listened.
The jungle did not roar.
It inhaled.
And then—
It responded.
Ethan felt it before the system confirmed it.
Not fire.
Not frost.
Not shadow.
Growth.
Oppressive, suffocating growth.
He stood on the highest terrace of the mountain fortress as vines burst from stone below. Not attacking—yet—but expanding unnaturally fast along outer walls, coiling around battlements like living ropes.
Lyssara's frost reacted instantly, spreading in controlled arcs to halt invasive tendrils.
Kaelith's shadows sliced several apart mid-climb.
Valyra's flame ignited along the perimeter, burning others before they could anchor.
But the vines did not retreat fully.
They stopped.
Wrapped.
Held.
Testing pressure.
The system pulsed sharply.
