Aria’s POV
It started at the edge.
One night the mint stayed where we planted it. The next morning, a single green shoot was outside the stone circle.
Then two. By the third morning, a thin line of mint ran from the circle down the slope, like the ridge was drawing a path with leaves.
No one planted it. No one watered it past the stones. The ridge just… reached.
Tui saw it first. He was sitting where the cloth had sunk, bowl empty in his lap. Waiting for his mother.
“It’s leaving,” he said, not sad. Awe. “The mint wants more room.”
Ridah knelt, pressed her palm to the new shoot. Soil cool. Root strong.
“Steel slept here for ten years,” she said. “Now mint is waking up the rest of the ridge.”
Coren the Warden walked the line. Didn’t cut. Didn’t pull. Just measured with his
