Chương 93: Chapter 3: Echoes of Fallen Groves

Silence settled between us once more. Not the uneasy silence of strangers searching for words, but something heavier. Something born from the shared understanding that neither of us had expected this moment to exist. For years I had carried the memory of Elarion alone, believing there was no one left alive who could truly understand what had been lost. Now another druid stood before me, and despite everything I wanted to ask, I found myself unable to choose where to begin. Lorcan spared me the decision.

"I know that look," he said quietly. I frowned.

"The questions?"

"The disbelief." A faint smile touched his face before fading almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"I remember wearing it myself." The squirrel was gone now. Lorcan appeared no older than twenty, though appearances meant little among druids. Beside my own robes, woven with living leaves and vines, his simple travelling clothes spoke of an entirely different life. There were no symbols of office or ceremonial regalia, only garments worn smooth by years beneath the open sky, as though the wilderness itself had shaped him as surely as any master.

"You've lived among beasts," I said. His eyebrows rose slightly.

"You noticed."

"The scent." He blinked.

"You can smell it?" I shrugged.

"Bears, wolves, elk, a hawk, perhaps." I paused before adding, "And squirrel." A genuine laugh escaped him then, rich enough that even Elyrion looked mildly surprised.

"I had forgotten some circles trained their senses so thoroughly."

"And I had forgotten there were other ways to train." His laughter softened into something thoughtful.

"There were." The word lingered. Were, not are. I looked past him toward the Silverwood. Moonlight filtered through its vast branches, painting silver patterns across the roots beneath our feet. For a long moment none of us spoke. Finally, I asked the question that had been pressing against my thoughts since he'd revealed himself.

"Which Circle?" Lorcan's expression changed. The warmth left his eyes.

"Tir Faolan." The name meant nothing to me. He seemed to read that realization immediately.

"I didn't expect you to know it. We kept to the western forests. Few outside our neighboring Circles ever visited."

"I've heard of many Circles," I admitted.

"But not yours."

"There were dozens once." His voice remained calm, but there was an ache beneath it.

"Some tended the great marshes. Others watched mountain passes. Some wandered with the great herds across the northern plains. Every Circle found its own place in the balance."

"And Tir Faolan?"

"We walked beside the wild rather than guarding it from afar." He rested a hand against the rough bark of the Silverwood.

"Your people became caretakers of sacred groves. Mine became companions to the creatures that called those forests home." I thought back to the squirrel perched so comfortably upon Elyrion's shoulder.

"The transformation." He nodded.

"It was more than a spell to us."

"You lived as them." A flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"You understand faster than most." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"I've spent enough time listening to wolves to know the difference between borrowing a form and belonging within it. As children, we were encouraged to spend entire seasons in a chosen form. Not to master magic..." His gaze drifted toward the surrounding forest.

"... but to remember humility." I found myself imagining young apprentices darting through branches as squirrels, soaring above canopies as hawks, sleeping beneath winter snow as foxes. A different kind of Circle.

"I would have liked to see it."

"So would I." His answer came so softly I could feel the sadness behind it. The silence that followed felt different now. No longer filled with curiosity but with grief. I lowered myself onto one of the broad roots surrounding the Silverwood, gesturing for Lorcan to do the same. Elyrion remained respectfully a few paces away, leaning against the trunk without interrupting. Whatever story had brought the elf here, he seemed to understand instinctively that this conversation belonged to druids.

After a moment I asked another question, I had been avoiding.

"What happened to Tir Faolan?" Lorcan's eyes remained fixed upon the moonlit roots. For several heartbeats he said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice had become distant.

"It was spring, forty-one summers ago." His fingers brushed absently across the bark beneath his palm.

"The pups had only just begun following the wolves from their dens." He smiled faintly at the memory.

"I remember complaining because my master insisted I spend another week living as a pine marten. I wanted to return before the spring gathering." His smile disappeared.

"I never made it back in time." He fell silent once more. I didn't interrupt. Some memories could only be approached at the pace they chose. At last, he drew a slow breath.

"When I returned..." He closed his eyes.

"... the forest had gone quiet." He fell quiet again. No bird called from the branches overhead. No rustle of small creatures disturbed the undergrowth surrounding the grove. Even the evening breeze seemed reluctant to interrupt the memory.

"I had spent nearly three weeks beyond our borders." His voice remained steady, but there was a distance behind it that spoke of old wounds rather than healed ones.

"My master believed every apprentice should learn to survive alone before taking their vows. No magic beyond what necessity demanded. No relying on the Circle." I nodded. Every Circle tested its apprentices. The lessons differed. The purpose rarely did.

"I thought I would return to celebration." A faint smile crossed his face before fading.

"Instead..." His eyes lowered.

"The forest was empty." I frowned.

"Empty?"

"There were no birds. No squirrels crossing the branches. No deer trails. Even the insects had gone. I should have turned back."

"But you didn't," I said softly.

"No." His answer came without hesitation.

"I thought perhaps some great predator had wandered into our lands. Something the Circle would need help driving away." A weary breath escaped him.

"I was still young enough to believe I could help." His gaze drifted somewhere beyond the Silverwood.

"I found the first body beside one of the boundary stones. It was one of our wardens." His voice never wavered. That somehow made it worse.

"I called his name. Silence. I called again, still no reply. I remember thinking everyone must already be gathered at the Grove." His expression hardened with resignation.

"So, I ran. I smelled the smoke before I saw the grove." Every druid knew that scent from nightmares. Living Grove burned differently from ordinary timber. It carried with it the fragrance of sap, earth, and something older, something sacred.

"I reached the clearing and there was almost nothing left. Our halls had collapsed, the gardens were burning, the Grove..." He stopped. For several heartbeats he couldn't continue. When he finally spoke again, his voice had grown quieter.

"... had fallen." I closed my eyes. I could almost see Elarion. Flames reaching higher than the canopy, the smell of scorched bark, voices disappearing one by one. I forced the memories back before they could take hold.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I searched. I convinced myself someone must have survived. I searched until nightfall. Then again, the next morning. And the day after that. I buried everyone I could. There were... not as many as there should have been." I looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"The grove was full of blood. But many of the bodies were simply... gone." Neither Elyrion nor I spoke.

"I spent months searching the surrounding forests. I found broken trees, craters, scorched earth but never another survivor." His shoulders rose and fell in a slow breath.

"Eventually, I accepted that I was alone." The words settled over us. Alone. For decades I had believed exactly the same. Without thinking, I asked the question that had haunted me since he revealed himself.

"Do you know what attacked your Circle?" Lorcan was silent for a long time. When he finally answered, he gave a small shake of his head.

"No, I've spent years asking that question. I've followed old rumors, hunted monsters, spoken with hermits who claimed to remember impossible things. Every trail ended the same way, with nothing." He lifted his eyes to meet mine.

"Whoever destroyed Tir Faolan vanished without leaving an answer." My chest tightened. I understood that feeling better than I wished I did. For years I had searched for answers of my own. The only difference between us was that I had been there. Lorcan had not. The realization left an unexpected weight upon my heart. He had never even been given the chance to fight beside those he loved. He had simply returned home too late, too late to save them, too late to say goodbye.

And then, for nearly four decades, too late to discover he had not been the last druid after all.