The Hollow Root Grove shuddered under the weight of converging legacies.
Merran's spirit lingered at the edge of the inverted tree, his presence holding the reborn echoes at bay. Rowan and Kaelen circled outward, blades drawn, watching for any movement from the grove's haunted defenders.
But at the center of it all—beneath twisting roots and starlight-filtered canopy—stood two sisters.
Two druids.
Two halves of the same seed.
Thalindra.
And Elaen.
"Let me show you what the forest has become," Elaen whispered.
She raised her hands—and the Hollow answered.
Vines burst from the ground, swirling in complex spirals. Petals of black and gold bloomed mid-air, releasing clouds of sleep-thick pollen. The reborn druids chanted in tones that echoed from both above and below, voices of memory bent by rot.
Elaen's power surged, shaped from what once was. A Circle reforged from loss.
But Thalindra stepped forward, unshaken.
"No more shadows," she said, voice resonating with earth and wind.
She drew from her core—not just her own mark, but the seed planted in the Deeproot Mirror. The one grown from her Other Self. Her acceptance.
Her truth.
A new bloom spiraled around her body—leaves etched in gold, bark-laced armor entwining her limbs. Sporeflowers opened across her shoulders like a mantle of living stars. The wind bent to her breath.
This was no longer just Druidcraft.
This was Verdant Will.
Elaen hissed, casting forward a wave of hollow roots—seeking to bind, drain, rewrite.
Thalindra raised one hand.
"Verdra kalen."
A pulse of light erupted from her palm.
Pure growth. Clean rhythm.
The roots twisted mid-air and turned to flowers.
Elaen blinked in disbelief.
"Your magic shouldn't be this strong. You rejected the Deepwild."
"No," Thalindra said softly. "I balanced it."
She stepped closer.
Every footfall sparked fresh grass beneath her boots.
"You're not wrong, Elaen. The forest needed to grow. But you tried to grow it from pain. From memory. From pieces."
She placed her hand on the twisted bark of the inverted tree.
The whole Grove trembled.
"And I'm going to grow something whole."
The reborn druids faltered. One by one, they staggered—memories inside them flickering.
Merran turned to them and sang.
A single note.
Soft.
Low.
Echoed by the Grove itself.
The memories released.
The echo-druids fell to their knees, dissolving into petals.
Elaen screamed—not in rage, but grief.
She ran at Thalindra, claws of bark and blood lashing forward.
Thalindra caught her wrists.
"I don't want to fight you," she whispered.
"Then lose!" Elaen spat.
But the magic around them had already changed.
The Grove no longer pulsed with Hollow energy.
It sang with something new.
The tree cracked.
Its roots righted.
The inverted branches twisted upward—becoming arms of light.
The Hollow Root Grove… bloomed.
Elaen collapsed, the rot leeching from her skin like smoke. Her eyes fluttered.
The corruption faded.
And she wept.
Thalindra knelt beside her, holding her tight.
"I didn't leave you," she said. "I just forgot who I was."
Elaen's voice shook. "So did I."
Rowan and Kaelen watched in awe as the Grove healed around them.
The roots pulled inward.
The wounds of the earth stitched shut.
And overhead, the stars aligned in a new shape—a spiral of petals.
Thalindra rose.
Looked to the horizon.
"We have two more to find."
Kaelen smirked. "And one Circle to rebuild."
Rowan tapped his spear. "Let's get planting."