Chapter 21: What the Trees Remember
The following days after the revelation of the mine were quiet.
Not empty — not dead — but quiet, like the air on the brink of a summer storm.
In Hearthdeep, streets were swept with sawdust and laughter. Roofs glowed under fresh thatch and tiles, and stalls overflowed with odd inventions — steam pots, floating candles, laughing bread.
"Laughing bread," Kaela muttered, poking a loaf that cackled when sliced. "Whose idea was this?"
Thalen beamed. "Mine! A little humor in every bite. The secret ingredient is enchanted yeast and bad puns."
Kerris chewed grimly. "It tastes like anxiety."
"Exactly! The true taste of post-war recovery."
Kaela sighed, half smiling, and flicked a bit of flour at him. "You're lucky you're cute, wizard."
—
Lira wandered the city fringes, often silent, often smiling. The obsidian bloom from the mine rested in her pack, gently warm — never burning, but always present.
Occasionally, she'd find herself staring into hearthfires for hours, not concentrating — just listening.
One night, Kaela joined her.
"You still feel her?" Kaela asked.
"Not her," Lira answered. "Something. older. Quieter. Like a melody I almost recall."
Kaela leaned back against stone. "Do you think it's finished?"
Lira didn't answer right away. "No. But I think this is the deep breath before we dive."
"Then we take a deep breath," Kaela said. "And punch whatever is next."
Lira smiled gently. "That's the plan."
—
Somewhere out beyond the hills, a storm brewed.
Not in the sky — not yet.
It migrated in the dreams.
Children began waking with eyes that glowed, talking words they didn't know.
Farmers near the southern ridge found circles of scorched earth etched with spirals — not burned, but changed, as if the very ground had remembered fire.
And in the western woods, something walked.
—
That night, Lira stood at the top of Hearthdeep's tower, her hands behind her back.
Thalen hovered beside her, unusually quiet.
"I've been checking the weave," he said. "Something's. folding. Not breaking. Like silk getting twisted."
"Magic?"
"Yes. But not ours."
Lira closed her eyes.
"Do you suppose the Queen left a final echo?" Thalen asked.
"No. She did not leave a trap. She left a hole. And now something else is trying to crawl through it."
Thalen shuddered.
"That's. encouraging."
Lira smiled weakly. "Sleep."
"You mean spend six hours hypothesizing in my pillow fort? Done."
He slept.
—
In sleep, Lira wandered beneath a blood-red moon.
The stars burned like dying coals.
And from the sky, something spoke to her — not unkind, not cruel.
Waiting.
—
She awoke before dawn, her heart pounding.
And for the first time in weeks, she strapped on her sword belt.
Kaela stood outside, brow raised. "We riding out?"
"Just scouting," Lira said. "Something's whispering again. I want to know where."
Kerris was already saddling the horses. "You're not riding out alone."
"Of course not," Kaela exclaimed, jumping up behind Lira with a smile. "She needs someone to make sweeping dramatic statements at the enemy."
Lira rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
Out through the morning mist, the three of them rode, the walls of Hearthdeep receding in the distance.
And far away, deep in the crinkles of the world, something stirred.
—
The trees they stepped into were older than Hearthdeep, older than war, older even than the gods, or so was said.
It wasn't named — leastways, not one that humankind remembered — but the trees did. The oaks whispered it in the sweep of their leaning toward moonlight. The pines whispered it in their shivering needles. And when Lira stepped beneath their boughs, the trees fell silent… listening.
Kaela stared up. "That is a great deal of tree."
"Highly observant," Kerris snarled, brushing away the moss clinging to his armor like old resentments. "What are we looking for?"
"Not what," Lira said. "Where. There is a fold here in the Weave. A memory caught like a splinter."
Thalen emerged from the bush with branches stuck in his hair and a half-eaten lemon tart in his hand. "I found a raccoon who speaks fluent Gnomish," he announced. "He told me, and I quote, 'The ground breathes weird near the old stone tooth.'"
Kaela blinked. "How much sugar did you give the raccoon?"
"Enough," replied Thalen cheerfully. "He was very fair."
—
They came across the "stone tooth" by accident. One minute they pushed aside brambles, and the next the world just shifted.
The branches parted to show a clearing that had not seen the sun in centuries — and in the middle was a jagged black monolith as high as a giant's rib.
It pulsed softly, like a slow heartbeat.
"Don't touch it," Kerris warned.
Lira, of course, touched it.
Suddenly the air chilled. The trees shook. And a voice — one you recognized, but warped by age — boomed across the glade.
> "Do you know what she took from me?"
-----
Kaela bared her blade. "Who is this?"
> "She broke the gate. and left me behind."
-----
Thalen's fingers sparked with shield magic. "Is this. the same voice as before?"
Lira stepped forward, hand still on the stone. "You're not the Queen. But you knew her."
>"I made her."
The woods convulsed. Shadows grew long, shapes coalescing out of mist — tall beings, winged and silent, shrouded in smokeless flames.
Lira's eyes were wide. "I know this magic."
Kaela smashed one, but her sword passed through it as through mist. Kerris stepped back. "They're not solid."
"Not yet," Thalen said. "But they are coalescing."
The voice laughed.
> "The gate was not meant to break. You opened a wound in the world, little firebearer.".
Lira raised a hand. Her spiral scar on the palm stung like a candle.
"I didn't crack it open. I repaired it. What you're feeling is the scar."
> "Scars remember pain."
The figures drew closer.
—
With a flash of fire, the monolith exploded.
A black flower — the same as the one from the mine — burst out of its top, petals spreading like fingers.
Wind swept over the clearing, and in its roar, they heard another voice — clear, resonant, soft.
"Not all that follows fire is ruin."
The mist figures stopped. Trembled.
Then broke apart into ash.
Silence fell.
—
They didn't speak for a long while. Birds began singing again, hesitant and sweet.
Thalen picked up the obsidian flower. "This makes three."
Kaela dropped her sword back into the sheath. "Three what?"
"Three points," Lira said, looking at the monolith. "Three roots."
Kerris frowned. "Of what?"
"A story older than dragons. Or Takhisis. Something that was buried when the gods rose up. Something stirring now she's dead."
Kaela crossed her arms. "Just great. And right in the middle of it."
Lira smiled weakly. "Of course. Where else would we be?"
—
They camped by the stars that evening, firelight dancing upon tired faces.
Kaela held out a flask to Lira. "Still hearing voices?"
No, replied Lira, drinking. "But the trees remember. And now… so do I."
Kerris waved her hand over the darkening horizon. "Where to next?"
Lira looked west — to the mountains.
"The third bloom is beyond the pass."
Thalen shook his head. "Think it'll be less ghost-flower-monoliths and whispering voices?"
Kaela slapped his shoulder. "No."
"Cool. Just wanted to set expectations."
They laughed.
For a moment, the weight of prophecy was lost, to be returned by warmth, by fire, by remembrance of joy.
But distant somewhere, something moved beneath stone and time.
And the world waited.