The next night arrived slowly, stretching across the clearing with a calm that felt much too forced. The sky was clear, yet the shadows between the trees looked thicker than usual, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.
Ren sat near the weak fire, turning his staff in his hands. He felt no fear, no anxiety—only a strange quiet inside him, as though he were waiting for something without knowing what it might be.
Lyra sharpened her arrows beside him, the smooth, repetitive movement calming the restless wind around her. Draven practiced small bursts of flame, each flicker rising and dying depending on how steady his focus was. Borin sat on a large stone, watching all three in silence, like an old guardian carved from the earth.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then Draven frowned and glanced toward the trees.
"Did you guys hear that?"
Ren raised his head."What?"
"I thought… someone called my name."
Lyra immediately lifted her gaze."The wind didn't carry anything. I would've heard."
"Yeah…" Draven muttered, scratching his head. "Probably my imagination."
But Ren didn't think so.
Something in the air had shifted.
He touched the staff and felt a faint pulse—like a distant heart trying and failing to speak.
The fire crackled, and for a moment its light dimmed completely, as if an invisible hand had smothered it.Then it returned, flickering nervously.
Lyra straightened, more alert now."The forest is uneasy."
Borin grunted, though his eyes were sharp."I don't like this."
Draven looked at Ren for guidance."You're feeling something, right?"
Ren wanted to answer yes.He wanted to say he felt a pressure under his skin, like roots crawling beneath the ground, moving closer.
But before he could say anything, he stood up abruptly.
The earth vibrated.
Soft, low, but undeniable—a tremor that climbed from the soil into their legs, into the air, into the bones.
Borin rose instantly, gripping his axe."That's not normal."
Lyra seized her bow.
Draven's hands ignited with fire.
But Ren…Ren realized something none of them saw.
The vibration wasn't coming from the forest.Not from far away.
It was coming from there.
From beneath their own clearing.
From the base of the Guild.
The White Spirit Flower, once so radiant, looked pale. The lights floating around it darted frantically, like insects in panic. The main root, usually still, shifted—just a small movement, but impossible to ignore.
Lyra's eyes widened."Ren… the flower is reacting."
Draven stepped back, flames trembling in his palms."Is that good? Or… really bad?"
No one could answer.
Ren approached slowly, kneeling before the flower. The largest root pulsed faintly, as though breathing irregularly.
He touched his staff to the ground—and something pushed back.
Not hostile.Not violent.
A call.
A whisper from below.
An ancient voice muffled by earth, distance—perhaps time itself.
Ren closed his eyes.
And then he heard it.
Just one word.Faint.Distant.Fragile.
But he heard it.
"…careful…"
Ren's eyes opened instantly.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Lyra rushed to him."What happened?!"
He swallowed.
"It wasn't the Cycle," he said—and somehow that was both a relief and a new fear."Then what was it?" Borin asked.
Ren looked at the ground.At the shifting root.At the dim flower.
"The forest itself," he whispered.Lyra stepped closer."What did it say?"
Ren hesitated.
"'Careful.'"
A chilling silence swept through the clearing.
Draven swallowed hard."Careful… of what?"
Ren didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
And at the same time, he knew just enough to feel fear creeping back into him.
The whole forest seemed to listen with them.Seemed to be alert.Seemed to be afraid.
And as the night deepened, Ren felt something new—something terrible—taking shape.
Something was coming.
Something the forest itself didn't want to face.
The fire flickered.The flower pulsed in that strange, irregular way.And Ren knew, without a doubt, that the peace of the clearing was ending.
The Guild wasn't ready.
But time had already run out.