The silver branches of the Eldertree trembled as Ryen pressed his palm to the bark, whispering the ancestral words. The air hummed as veins of light coursed through the ancient wood. Somewhere deep within the Gloomlands, the Shadowkin stirred—he had little time.
With a sharp breath, he lifted his staff, its crystal pulsing as the Eldertree answered his call. Roots coiled, forming a bridge over the chasm that separated him from the shattered Heartstone. On the far side, wraiths emerged, their hollow eyes fixed upon him.
Ryen stepped forward, channeling the tree’s power. Vines lashed out, seizing the creatures before they could reach him. He surged ahead, seizing the Heartstone just as the bridge crumbled. Power flared within him, the Eldertree’s blessing rekindled.
The wraiths shrieked as golden light erupted, banishing them. As the forest exhaled in relief, Ryen knew—he had saved the land, but the Shadowkin would return. And next time, he might not be enough.
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