Chapter 15: The Grove of Remembrance

Rael stood still as the vines withdrew.

The glade had changed. The air was richer, heavy with the scent of earth and blooming things long thought extinct. The twisted, deadened forest outside this pocket of life no longer pressed in. Within the grove, time felt… suspended.

The sky above glowed with no sun, yet offered gentle light. Petals drifted through the air like glowing embers, caught in an unseen breeze. The silver-barked tree at the grove's center pulsed with soft luminescence, and its leaves whispered as they shimmered like burning sapphires.

Nyssira's hand dropped from Rael's chest. She stepped back, but her luminous eyes never left him.

"You are not what they remember," she said softly.

Rael tilted his head. "And what do you remember?"

Nyssira turned toward the tree and rested her palm upon its bark. A tremor passed through the grove, as if the roots below stirred in recognition.

"I remember a boy born in flame who would not scream, even when the gods tried to carve obedience into his soul. I remember silence in the heavens the day he refused. And I remember… the grove mourning when he fell."

Rael's gaze dropped to the forest floor.

"You've come far," she continued, "but you carry the wound of memory like a blade still turning inward. You have become a pyre. But even fire needs roots, Rael Vayashura. Or it will collapse into ash."

Selene stepped forward, crossing her arms with a tight smile. "And here I thought I was the poetic one. Let me guess—you're here to help him heal through cryptic metaphors?"

Nyssira's gaze shifted toward her. "The flame has its tongue. But it burns even its jesters if left untempered."

Selene's smirk faltered, but she said nothing.

"I mean no harm," Nyssira added, softer. "But what lies beneath this grove is not a weapon to be wielded lightly. It is memory. Raw. Untamed. Divine and broken all at once. And it will test the one who seeks it."

"Test how?" Caelaris asked, stepping forward. Her armor creaked faintly, the frost-mark still visible on her pauldron.

Nyssira's fingers trailed along a vine. "There is a seed buried deep beneath the grove. Planted during the first rebellion, long before the Pantheon ruled alone. It was meant to carry a truth forward—a truth the gods tried to uproot."

She turned back to Rael.

"If you wish to claim it, you must face what you buried within yourself. The grove does not open to force. It opens to recognition."

Rael nodded once. "Then open it."

Nyssira smiled faintly. "It already has."

The glade vanished.

One blink, and the world bent around him.

Rael stood in a hollow devoid of warmth. The sky was pale and unmoving, like painted glass. Trees surrounded him—black, gnarled, and pulsing faintly. Their bark bore faces—twisted, screaming, laughing. Echoes of judgment.

The ground beneath his feet was soft, black soil. And in the center of this circle stood a younger version of himself.

Barefoot, unarmored, wearing simple robes. Eyes brighter. Voice untouched by war.

"You found your way back," the boy said.

Rael narrowed his gaze. "This isn't real."

"No," the boy replied. "It's worse. It's you. The version you tried to forget."

Rael said nothing.

"You remember the first soul you burned, don't you?" the boy asked. "She begged. You didn't even hesitate."

Rael's jaw clenched.

"You tell yourself it was war. That it was justice. That it was necessary. But deep down, Rael… part of you liked it."

"Enough," Rael growled.

The boy stepped forward, his expression solemn. "You were broken. But instead of healing, you set yourself on fire and called it freedom."

Rael lunged.

But the moment he touched the boy's throat, he saw his own hands—smaller, bloodied, trembling.

The memory was real.

The grove shuddered.

He gasped and fell to his knees.

Back in the glade. Light returned, but his limbs were heavy. His throat was dry. His heart pounded as if it had been torn open and stitched shut by invisible vines.

Selene dropped beside him. "Rael! What happened?"

Rael didn't speak at first. He let the sensation pass. The pressure. The weight of memory.

"I saw it," he finally said. "I saw what they turned me into."

Nyssira approached quietly. "Then the seed is yours."

She knelt at the base of the silver-flame tree. A bloom opened between its roots—its petals like crystalized twilight. From within, she drew a black orb, smooth and warm to the touch, pulsing with deep resonance.

"The Seed of Remembrance," she said. "It holds echoes of the old rebellion, and the truths your mother and the Pantheon tried to erase. But know this—once planted, it changes you. It cannot be unlearned."

Rael rose slowly and took the orb.

It pulsed in his hand like a heartbeat.

"I'm already changed," he murmured.

He turned to leave—but Nyssira did not move.

Instead, her eyes lingered on him.

And then on the women who followed.

"You've all seen his flame," she said. "But have you seen the shadow beneath it?"

Caelaris straightened. "We've fought beside him."

Aelthaea stepped closer. "We've bled for him."

Nyssira nodded. "Then you have seen it. And you remain."

She looked to Rael again.

"Then I must decide."

Selene crossed her arms. "Let me guess. Whether you're staying in this little enchanted tree-house or following him?"

Nyssira's expression softened. "This is more than a sanctuary. This grove is my soul. It breathes because I remain. But I remember a time when I watched flames move not only to destroy—but to create."

Rael met her gaze. "You wish to come?"

"I do not wish anything," she said gently. "But I am… drawn. The forest called you back. Now it pushes me forward."

A pause.

Selene stepped closer. "I don't like this place. It's too quiet. Too… reverent. But you? You're different."

Nyssira tilted her head. "As are you, Trickster."

Aelthaea spoke next. "You're not afraid of Rael. Why?"

"Because I've already seen what he can become," Nyssira said. "Long ago. In dreams shaped by roots deeper than the world."

Rael looked at her for a long moment.

"If you come with me," he said, "there is no peace. There will be war. Blood. Loss."

"I am not made of peace," Nyssira replied. "I am made of memory. And I choose to carry it forward, not hide it."

Caelaris stepped forward slowly, giving Rael a questioning glance.

He nodded once.

Nyssira turned to the tree and touched its bark one last time. The petals dimmed. The grove trembled.

And then… the forest let go.

The path behind them closed.

No one spoke for a while as they walked back into the withered forest beyond the glade. The rot had returned. The silence pressed in again.

But something was different.

Rael held the seed in one hand.

And Nyssira walked beside him.

Not behind.

Not ahead.

Beside.