The silver trees of Eldrien hummed with power as Lyara pressed her palm to the bark. The roots pulsed, answering her call. Behind her, the warlock-priests of Malgrith surged forward, their dark chants twisting the air.
Lyara thrust her hand downward. The trees awakened, their branches unfurling like blades. Vines lashed out, ensnaring the priests. One spat a curse, and violet fire erupted toward her. She dove as the flames scorched the roots, pain searing through the bond she shared with the forest.
The Heartbloom lay ahead, its petals glowing like captured dawn—a relic that could cleanse the land of Malgrith’s corruption. Lyara sprinted for it, but the High Priest broke free, dark steel in hand.
She had only one choice. Calling the last of her strength, she wove her essence into the roots. The trees roared to life, swallowing the priest in a cage of wood. As she grasped the Heartbloom, golden light engulfed her. The land sighed in relief.
But as the vines withered, she knew—she had given a part of herself to the forest forever.
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