he Hollow Court felt different now.
Not in the way it always shimmered or shifted—but in the way Elira looked at it.
Every shadow could be a memory.
Every vine might conceal a name.
Selene.
That name haunted her as she followed Mareel through the winding halls of bark and stone.
The steward said nothing, but her amber eyes flicked toward Elira's satchel, where the journal pulsed faintly through the fabric.
They arrived at a spiraling staircase of roots, leading to the highest chamber in the Court—the Heart watch Tower.
At the top, Elira stepped into a room filled with soft candlelight and rustling leaves.
Caelum stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him.
The moonlight spilling through the skylight above traced the long curve of his horns.
"You summoned me?" she asked, her voice low.
"I did," he said without turning.
"I felt the glyph awaken."
She stepped forward.
"You didn't tell me what they were really for."
"Would you have listened if I had?"
"I listened," she said, sharper than intended.
"But you left out that they can pull memory from the very roots of the forest."
Now he turned.
His golden eyes met hers, guarded, unreadable.
"So… what did it show you?"
Elira held his gaze.
"A battle. Your army.
The Order of the Dawn Flame.
You… and a woman.
You called her Selene."
The name hit him like a blow.
Caelum's jaw clenched.
He looked away.
"She's why you came to the Heartwood,
isn't she?"
Elira pressed. "Not for glory.
Not for power. For her."
He didn't speak for a long time.
Then, quietly, "She was a sorceress. Brilliant.
Stubborn.
She believed the forest could be healed, not conquered.
The Order feared her, called her a heretic.
But I…" He hesitated.
"I loved her."
Elira's breath caught.
Not from surprise—but from the raw honesty in his voice.
"She came here alone.
To protect it.
To bind the broken magic," Caelum continued.
"I followed her, thinking I could save her from it.
Instead, I led death to her doorstep.
The Order saw her power and turned their blades against her."
"And what happened?" Elira whispered.
His voice broke.
"She chose the forest over me.
Over herself.
She became part of it—so that no one could harm it again."
He turned back to the window.
"And I… I stayed behind.
Not as punishment.
As penance."
Elira stepped closer, her voice softer now.
"You still feel her, don't you? In the roots.
In the air."
"Every day."
The silence between them was thick with grief, but not cold.
Elira reached out, her hand hovering just near his.
"Then maybe we find a way to speak to her.
The right way.
The forest remembers.
Maybe… it remembers how to undo what's been done."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't pull away either.
Outside, the wind stirred the leaves.
And somewhere far below, a forgotten glyph glowed softly in the stone.