The ritual had no name.
Caelum stood in the center of the circle carved into the stone, surrounded by glyphs only the forest remembered.
Elira knelt beside him, the journal open on a slab of living wood, her fingers trembling as she traced each symbol in silver ash.
They were alone—Maerel had warned against it.
"There are memories you should not awaken," she had said.
"Even grief has roots that go too deep."
But Elira couldn't ignore what she'd seen.
Selene's memory hadn't vanished—it was bound.
Trapped in the forest like Caelum, like so many others.
If there was even the faintest chance to free her… they had to try.
Caelum looked at her, the firelight casting flickering gold across his furred face.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I need to know what she gave up," Elira said.
"And if there's a way to bring her peace… or bring you peace."
He didn't argue.
She whispered the first glyph—Elaran, the key—and the vines curled inward, sealing the circle.
Then she spoke the second—Nytheris, the glyph of memory called back.
A rush of wind blew through the stones, though no leaves stirred.
The forest listened.
Caelum's head lowered.
His claws clenched.
The shadows stretched from the corners of the circle, twisting like ink in water.
And then, the voice came—not a whisper this time, but clear, sad, and strong.
"You should not have come."
It was her.
Selene.
Elira gasped.
The firelight flickered blue, and a silhouette shimmered in the air—tall, robed in crimson, her hair like woven night.
Caelum fell to his knees.
"Selene…" he breathed.
She turned her head.
Her face was beautiful, ethereal—but not angry.
Tired.
"You wear your guilt like armor, Caelum.
But it does not save you.
Or me."
Elira swallowed hard.
"We want to help you.
To free you."
Selene's eyes—eyes that glowed like starlight—rested on Elira.
"The forest does not trap us.
We choose to stay.
Until the wound is healed."
Caelum stood.
"Then show us how.
Tell us what must be done."
A pause.
Then Selene raised her hand—and the earth shook.
Roots burst from the ground outside the circle, twisting, cracking stone.
"You must go deeper," she said.
"To the heart beneath the heart."
The vision began to fade.
"But beware, Elira of Ashville.
Something stirs beneath the forest's skin.
A hunger older than grief.
Older than me."
And then she was gone.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Caelum's chest rose and fell, each breath slow, heavy.
Elira whispered, "She knows me."
He nodded.
"The forest remembers everyone.
Even those who haven't walked deep enough yet."
Suddenly, the stone beneath her hand cracked.
The glyphs flared once, then went dark.
The ground trembled again—this time not from magic.
From movement.
Something far beneath them… had woken.