The Grove did not roar or collapse. It sighed.
As Luna, Knox, Mira, and Saffy emerged from the broken sanctum, the ancient trees bent as if exhaling centuries of secrets. The ground was damp with dew and ash. Even the moss underfoot had changed—brighter, almost pulsing with new life.
“Are we really free?” Saffy whispered.
Mira glanced up, then around. The trees weren’t humming the Council’s tune anymore. They whispered in unfamiliar harmonies, like the forest was learning a new language.
“We’re not under the Council,” Luna said. “But freedom comes with its own price.”
A low growl echoed nearby. Not hostile. Familiar.
Knox turned sharply. A massive shadow emerged from between two great willows. A wolf, sleek and dark with ember-red eyes. One of the elder Grove Sentinels—creatures once
