Chapter Two: The Roots Remember

The cottage felt different that night.

Elira sat silently beside the hearth, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. Her tea had long gone cold, forgotten on the low table in front of her. Across the room, the stranger—this so-called knight—leaned against the wall, sharpening his sword with slow, precise movements. The rhythmic scraping set her teeth on edge.

Maelis bustled around the kitchen with deliberate calm, but Elira could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand lingered too long on each item she moved.

Outside, the wind had fallen silent, but its absence was louder than any storm.

Elira finally broke the quiet. “You never told me.”

Maelis paused, her back still turned. “Told you what?”

“What the mark means. Why it glows. Why something—something from the forest tried to kill me.”

The old healer turned slowly. Her eyes—so often kind—now looked tired, hollowed by the weight of years unspoken. “Because I hoped you would never need to know.”

The knight’s voice rumbled low from the corner. “You knew the prophecy, Maelis. Hiding her in this village wasn’t going to change what’s coming.”

Elira’s breath hitched. “What prophecy?”

He looked up at her then, properly. His face was rough with stubble, scarred along one jawline, eyes a piercing steel grey. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I’m tired of being the only one in the dark,” Elira snapped, louder than she meant to. The fire popped in response, as if startled by her voice.

Maelis sighed and moved to sit across from her. “When you were born, the storms came.”

Elira blinked. “What?”

“There hadn’t been a storm in Liora for five years. The land was dry. The crops were failing. Magic itself was fading—waning like a sick sun. But the night you arrived, thunder cracked the sky, and rain poured for three days. Flowers bloomed out of season. Trees we thought long dead came back to life. The river swelled.”

Elira frowned. “I… I remember the willow always being strong.”

Maelis nodded. “It was nearly dead before you came. That tree stands because you exist.”

The knight sheathed his blade and stepped forward. “The mark on your wrist isn’t just a birthmark. It’s the Crest of Verdalis—the emblem of the ancient spirit of life. It only appears once every thousand years. When magic is dying.”

“And I’m supposed to… what? Bring magic back?”

“Not bring it back,” he said. “Guard it. Awaken it. Become it.”

Elira stared at them both, her voice hollow. “I’m just a girl.”

“You’re not,” Maelis said gently. “You never were.”

The knight folded his arms. “My name is Kael. I served the Thornwatch—a brotherhood that protected the Rooted Places. Until they were slaughtered.”

Elira’s eyes widened. “By what?”

Kael’s expression darkened. “They call themselves the Hollow Court. Creatures born of rot and ruin. They feed on dying things—old magic, fallen kingdoms, forgotten gods. And now they know you live.”

Elira’s heart pounded. “Why now? I’ve been here my whole life.”

Maelis shook her head. “The mark has been dormant. But something must have awakened it. Perhaps your dreams… or something worse.”

Kael nodded grimly. “The creature that came for you—Ashwraith. A scout. The real ones won’t be far behind.”

“So what do I do?” Elira whispered. “Run? Hide?”

“No,” Kael said. “You learn.”

Maelis stood slowly. “There’s an old sanctuary in the Wyrmwood. A place the Hollow Court can’t touch—not yet. That’s where you’ll begin.”

“Begin what?”

Kael’s voice was steady. “Your blooming.”

Elira flinched at the word. It sounded lovely and terrifying all at once. “I’ve never even left the village.”

“Then it’s time,” Maelis said softly. “You were never meant to stay here forever.”

A long silence fell.

Then Elira asked, “When?”

“Tomorrow,” Kael said. “At dawn.”

---

The night passed in restless fragments.

Elira lay in bed, the blankets twisted around her legs, staring at the ceiling beams. Outside, the wind had returned—but now it sang softly through the trees, almost like a lullaby. The willow leaves rustled like distant whispers.

Her mark pulsed faintly, not with pain but with something stranger. A call. Like something beneath the soil knew her name.

She thought of her dreams—the golden field, the voice, the sudden ashfall.

And the words.

The roots remember.

She whispered it aloud. “What do you remember?”

No answer came. Only the wind.

---

Dawn broke pale and grey. Mist clung to the fields as Elira stood at the edge of the village, her satchel packed and the wooden bird tucked safely inside. Maelis handed her a small leather pouch of herbs and a necklace bearing a stone carved with the same flower shape as her mark.

“For luck?” Elira asked.

“For protection,” Maelis replied, voice tight.

“I’m coming back,” Elira said, trying to smile.

Maelis didn’t smile. “I know. But not as the same girl who left.”

Kael waited a few paces away, already astride a lean dapple-grey mare. A second horse stood nearby, saddled and ready.

Elira hesitated one last time—then turned away from the only home she’d ever known.

They rode in silence at first, the hooves muffled by the damp forest path. Birds watched from the trees, and strange, rust-colored mushrooms dotted the roots.

“Is the forest always this quiet?” she finally asked.

“No,” Kael said. “Which means something’s watching us.”

Elira’s grip on the reins tightened.

---

By midday, the trees had grown denser, their trunks twisted and gnarled like knuckles. Vines dangled from the canopy, and the path turned narrow and dark.

Kael stopped suddenly, raising a hand. “Off the trail.”

“What?”

“Now.”

They dismounted quickly, hiding the horses behind a thick thicket of ferns. Kael drew his blade, motioning for Elira to stay behind him.

Then they heard it.

A sound like dry leaves scraping stone. Followed by laughter—thin and wrong, like a puppet being made to speak.

Shapes moved in the shadows. Pale limbs. Eyes like moth-light.

“Hollowlings,” Kael muttered.

Elira ducked low, heart in her throat.

The creatures passed—small, skeletal things wrapped in rags and smoke, sniffing the air. One stopped. Turned.

Elira held her breath.

Kael shifted slightly—barely a movement.

The creature shrieked suddenly and leapt forward.

Kael moved like a storm, blade flashing. One hollowling fell in a blur of ash and broken sound.

Another lunged. Elira raised her hand—instinct, nothing more—and light burst from her palm.

Green-gold, wild and blinding. The creature screamed as its form disintegrated.

When the light faded, Kael was staring at her, stunned.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” Elira whispered.

“You couldn’t,” he said. “Not before now.”

She looked down at her palm. The mark glowed bright. Her heart raced, but there was something else beneath the fear: a thrum of power.

Kael exhaled slowly. “The forest is listening to you.”

---

They reached the edge of the Wyrmwood by dusk.

The trees here were enormous, ancient—some with trunks wider than cottages, their bark etched with old runes. The air shimmered faintly with magic.

Kael led her to a clearing where a low stone altar stood, half-swallowed by moss. Small white flowers bloomed in a perfect circle around it.

“This is a Rooted Place,” he said. “The magic here is wild, but pure.”

Elira approached the altar, her skin tingling as if the air had turned electric.

“What do I do?”

Kael stepped back. “Kneel. Place your hand on the stone.”

She did.

At once, visions burst behind her eyes.

She saw forests in flame. Towers crumbling. A tree the size of a mountain weeping golden sap. A woman with eyes like moons placing a flower in a newborn’s hand.

“You are the last bloom of the first garden,” the vision whispered. “Remember what we forgot.”

Elira gasped, her body jolting as energy surged through her. The mark on her wrist glowed white-hot—then cooled.

When she opened her eyes, the flowers around the altar had grown—now bright, glowing softly like stars.

Kael watched in silence. “It’s begun.”

Elira rose slowly, her legs weak. “What now?”

He pointed deeper into the forest. “Now we go to the Sanctuary. And you learn what it means to be Verdalis.”

She nodded, though the weight of everything pressed heavy on her chest.

“I’m afraid,” she admitted.

Kael didn’t smile, but his voice softened. “Good. That means you’ll be careful.”

Elira looked at the flowers—living proof that something ancient had awoken.

The roots remembered.

And now, so would she.