POV: Ember Wellesley.
The wind had changed.
It wasn’t just moving—it was guiding.
Ember stepped to the edge of the ridge, eyes half-closed, the crystal in her palm humming in rhythm with her pulse. Below them, the valley stirred with unseen movement—roots twitching, stones shifting, like an old creature stretching awake.
**ASHER (watching her)**
It’s responding to you.
She opened her eyes. For the first time, she wasn’t afraid of the pull.
**EMBER**
No. It’s recognizing me.
Suddenly—**a sharp click** echoed from above. Asher turned too late.
**THWIP.**
A dart shot toward Ember, fast and precise.
**ASHER**
Ember!
But she didn’t flinch. Her hand lifted instinctively, glowing faintly—like heat shimmering above a flame.
The tranquilizer dart stopped inches from her chest.
