The wind returned.
This time it was real wind—not a cold breath from nowhere,not a spiritual echo trying to guide or repel Ren.
Just the morning breeze.
But it sounded wrong.
As if it were blowing across a place that no longer allowed it.
Ren stood before the Dead Tree, hand still half-raised, the echo of the Shadow's last words vibrating in his chest.
"You are late."
Lyra tightened her grip on his shoulder.
"Ren… you don't need to follow anything.You shouldn't."
Ren lowered his hand slowly.
"It's too late not to follow."
Draven squeaked:
"WHO SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!"
Borin crossed his arms.
"Explain. 'Too late' how?"
Ren looked at the tree—not with fear, but with a strange kind of respect.
"She left too many traces."Borin narrowed his eyes."And you followed all of them?"
Ren hesitated.
"No."He touched his chest."Some… followed me."
Lyra's breath hitched.
There was something different in Ren's aura—not dangerous, but deeper, heavier, older.
"Ren," she whispered, "look at me."
He did.
And in that moment Lyra saw something devastating:
Determination not meant for a child.Certainty not meant for a thirteen-year-old.A cycle unfolding—even as he tried to resist it.
"You aren't going alone," she said.
Ren gave a faint smile.
"I know."
But the smile faded almost immediately.
Something changed.
A movement.
Not from the forest.Not from the Shadow.Not from the Dead Tree.
But from the ground.
Ren felt it first—as always.
The cracked echo inside him stretched, recognizing something beneath the earth.He knelt and pressed his palm to the soil.
"Ren?!" Lyra rushed toward him.
Borin lifted his axe.
Draven began praying to gods no one had ever heard of.
Ren whispered:
"It's waking up…"
A faint tremor rippled beneath them.
Lyra took a step back without meaning to.
"Ren, what's waking up?!"
He closed his eyes.
The soil pulsed with a kind of life—not spiritual,not magical,but ancient.
Primal.Raw.A life older than cultivation, older than seitas, older than naming itself.
Ren felt it.
And understood.
"The forest is trying to erase her trail."
Lyra froze.
"Erase?But why?!"
Ren rose to his feet.
"Because where she walks…"He looked at the Dead Tree."…roots die."
Borin went pale.
"So she's killing the forest?"
Ren shook his head.
"No."He breathed deeply."She doesn't kill."His eyes gleamed gray for an instant."She removes the path."
Draven screamed:
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
Ren turned slowly.
"It means she plants paths."
Silence.
Borin frowned.
"Plants… paths? Like seeds?"
Ren nodded.
"Yes."He looked at the earth beneath their feet."And every path she plants can only be walked by someone who has affinity with it."
Lyra felt a chill rise through her spine.
"Ren… do you have affinity?"
It took him too long to respond.
When he did, his voice sounded coated in ancient dust.
"Too much."
The forest trembled again—not in fear, but in strain.
From beneath the soil, living roots stirred, pushing up, trying to wrap around the Dead Tree, suffocate it, erase the trace left behind.
But the dead wood didn't break.Didn't bend.Didn't even flinch.
It was like trying to drown a stone.
Impossible.
Ren took a step forward.
The ground reacted.
A thick root burst upward and blocked his way, as if warning him.
Lyra pulled him back immediately.
"Don't get closer! The forest is telling you to stay away!"
Ren looked at the root.
And then something impossible happened:
The root retreated.
Borin's jaw dropped.
"What… what was THAT?!"
Ren blinked, startled.
"She recoiled… in fear."
Draven shouted:
"THE FOREST IS AFRAID OF YOU NOW?! REN, THAT'S NOT NORMAL!"
Lyra cupped his cheeks with trembling hands.
"Ren… look at me.What are you becoming?"
Ren stared at the Dead Tree.
And the answer left his mouth before he could stop it.
"A sower."
Lyra's fingers tightened.
"A sower of what?"
He looked at the split trunk.The skeletal branches.The lingering trace of the Shadow.
His voice came out low, almost reverent, almost fearful.
"Of paths."
The forest fell silent.
Not in terror—
but in recognition.
For a moment—a single moment—Ren felt something inside him open like a door.
A door that should not exist.A door no one should walk through.A door the Shadow had been calling since the first whisper.
And behind it—
A void waiting to be filled.
Lyra pulled him back before he could take a step forward.
Her touch forced the cracked echo to contract.
Ren blinked rapidly.
And returned.
"Ren…" she whispered, "you are not going to walk that path."
He exhaled.
"I… don't know if I can choose."
Lyra held him harder, her voice breaking.
"Then we choose for you.""Lyra…""YOU WON'T BECOME WHAT SHE WANTS."
Ren looked into her eyes.
And his voice came out small.
"Then… what will I become?"
Lyra pressed her forehead gently to his.
"Whatever you want."
Ren closed his eyes.
For an instant, the cracked echo fell silent.
For an instant, the weight faded.
For an instant… he wasn't a sower.
He was just a boy.
But when he opened his eyes again,the Dead Tree looked grayer, older, more aware.
And Ren realized—for the first time—
that what he wantedmight not be enoughto stop what was coming.