Chương 20: Chapter 16: Echoes Beneath the Roots- Part III

The grove remains quiet around us after Vael finishes speaking. Wind moves steadily through the silverwood branches overhead while mana continues flowing beneath the training circle in slow living currents. The sensation settles differently inside me now that I stop resisting it. Earlier the power surrounding the grove felt distant, almost overwhelming in its familiarity. Now it simply feels present. Alive beneath the roots. Alive beneath the stone. Alive beneath the old memories woven through Elarion's forests.

I stand near the center of the training grounds and listen to it properly for the first time in years. Just living mana moving through an ancient grove. The realization leaves an uncomfortable ache somewhere beneath my ribs. Vael is right, I did forget this feeling. Somewhere after Elarion burned, every memory tied to power became tangled with fear. Mana stopped resembling growth or balance in my mind. I remembered only destruction, cursed steel and the endless pressure of containment.

The grove beneath my feet feels nothing like that. Vael watches the understanding settle across my face quietly.

"You spent too long treating all strength like contamination," he says. I exhale slowly through my nose.

"It seemed safer."

"Yes," he replies calmly.

"Fear usually does." The old master steps closer afterward, the end of his staff brushing lightly against moss-covered stone while silver-green currents continue moving beneath the roots surrounding the clearing.

"Close your eyes," he says. I obey. The moment my focus settles inward, the grove answers. Mana rises gradually through the roots beneath the training grounds and spreads into the old channels resting inside my body. Pain follows almost immediately where damaged pathways resist the smooth flow out of long habit. The ache sharpens along my arms and chest before slowly easing as the current softens around the strain instead of forcing through it. The difference catches me off guard.

On the few occasions I had drawn the cursed sword, I noticed, Nemain always presses, consumes, demands and pushes harder against resistance. The grove does not. The mana flowing through the roots feels patient. It moves around old damage naturally, settling into places left hollow through years of neglect without trying to tear them open wider. Warmth spreads slowly beneath my skin afterward. Not enough to fully heal the old fractures running through the channels. The damage remains there, deep and familiar.

But the emptiness surrounding them loosens slightly for the first time in years. I feel the forest around me more clearly afterward. Water flowing through deeper roots beyond the clearing. Wind crossing high branches overhead. Countless living things connected quietly beneath the soil together. The sensation almost feels overwhelming after so many years spent alone and somewhere within that living current, another presence begins threading itself through the dream. Younger roots, smaller, familiar.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I open my eyes slowly. The training grounds remain unchanged at first glance; ancient stone circles beneath silverwood trees older than kingdoms. Yet new roots now spread quietly through the edges of the clearing beneath the older forest. Heartwood roots. Fallowspire! The younger grove has reached into the dream somehow through the connection resting inside me.

Thin strands of silver-green mana move between both forests now, weaving through older roots without disturbing them. The sight stills me completely. Elarion and Fallowspire feel connected for a brief impossible moment. Vael notices where my attention settles.

"The grove recognizes you," he says quietly.

"And now you finally remember how to answer." The younger roots continue spreading slowly beneath the training grounds while silverwood leaves drift softly through the clearing overhead. The old forest no longer feels entirely separate from the grove waiting beyond sleep. Past and present rest beside one another naturally beneath the mana flowing through both roots together. The realization feels strangely fragile and hopeful. Vael studies the younger roots for several moments before speaking again.

"Growth rarely returns all at once," he says.

"Most forests begin quietly." I nod slowly, because I understand now that he is no longer speaking only about the grove. The dream begins shifting around us afterward. The silverwood canopy overhead grows thinner while distant edges of the forest soften into pale mist beneath the approaching dawn. The training grounds remain stable beneath my feet, but the connection holding the dream together weakens gradually with every passing breath. I feel myself beginning to wake. Vael notices too.

For a while neither of us speaks. The old master eventually reaches into his robes and removes something small from within the folds of dark fabric. A seed rests in his palm. Silver-white beneath the fading grove light, smooth and older than any heartwood seed I have ever seen. Mana gathers quietly around it, deep enough that the roots beneath the clearing seem to hum faintly in response. Vael places it into my hand. The seed feels warm and alive.

I study it silently for several moments before looking back toward him.

"What is it?"

"A beginning," he replies. That sounds exactly like something he would say instead of answering properly. The faint irritation almost pulls a tired smile from me. I understand now, how Garrick must feel at my responses. Vael notices immediately.

"Encouraging," he says dryly. The dream continues loosening around us afterward while silverwood leaves drift through thinning strands of morning light beyond the clearing. I tighten my fingers slightly around the seed.

"Will I see you again?" I ask quietly. Vael studies me for several moments before answering.

"The grove is older than death, Kaelen." His gaze shifts briefly toward the roots surrounding the clearing.

"Listen carefully enough and memory tends to linger." The answer settles heavily through the fading dream. Then the old master looks toward me one final time.

"Stop just surviving your life," he says quietly. The training grounds dissolve slowly afterward. Silverwood branches fade into pale light above the clearing while the roots beneath my feet loosen into warmth and distant birdsong. The dream falls away gently rather than breaking apart, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient forests with it.

Then I wake beneath the heartwood canopy of Fallowspire Grove just as dawn arrives at the horizon, the lingering warmth of living mana still resting quietly beneath my ribs.