Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Awakening Sigil

The sigil glowed faintly even days after it was carved. Etched in roots, shadow, and something that pulsed beneath the ground like a second heartbeat, it had become a warning—and a challenge.

Elira stood over it with Mora and the Keepers, each of them cloaked in greenlight runes for protection. Even so, the air felt thick with ancient dread.

"It's still drawing energy," Elira murmured, her fingers twitching toward her sword. "Like it's feeding off the Hollow itself."

Caelum knelt beside the marking, his claws brushing the soil. "And the creatures near it… they're changing. Twisting."

A squirrel that had wandered too close days before now sat just beyond the circle's edge. Its eyes were coal black. Its fur shifted like leaves in a wind that wasn't there.

"They're becoming part of it," Mora said.

Elira rose. "We have to act before it spreads."

She turned to Caelum. "There's an old shrine to the east—The Warden's Edge. I remember Father saying it once housed the Sigil Seers. They used to communicate between realms."

"You think they can help?" he asked.

"I think they're our only chance."

The journey east took three days.

Along the way, the signs worsened.

Trees now bent toward the west, as if drawn to the sigil's pull. Birds no longer sang. Even the wind grew colder, cutting through fur and cloak alike.

On the second night, they camped beside an ancient moonwell.

As Elira stared into the pool, a ripple disturbed its surface—and a face rose in the water.

Her face. But aged. Eyes filled with sorrow and fire.

"Elira," the reflection spoke, "they will come for your heart."

She blinked—and it was gone.

Caelum stood behind her. "More visions?"

She nodded. "It's getting harder to tell what's real."

He knelt beside her. "Then let's make sure reality doesn't lose."

On the third day, they reached the ruins of Warden's Edge.

It had once been a tall spire of living stone, shaped by generations of elemental shamans. Now, it lay half-sunken into the earth, covered in moss and memory.

As they stepped inside, they found carvings on the walls—spirals, stars, and one repeating symbol:

🌑—a dark circle surrounded by thorns.

Elira recognized it from the sigil.

"We're in the right place," she said.

As they descended into the lower chambers, they heard chanting.

Voices. Alive.

Caelum raised his claws, ready—but Elira stopped him.

From the shadows stepped three figures—cloaked in white bark, their eyes glowing gold.

"You followed the Whispering Root," the tallest said. "So the seal has indeed broken."

Elira stepped forward. "You're Seers?"

"We are what remains," the figure said. "We have waited. And we have watched."

"For what?" Caelum asked.

"For the time when the Rootborn would rise again."

Elira showed them the shard. "We found the seed. We shattered it to stop what was inside."

The Seers turned grim. "Then you shattered hope as well."

"What?"

"The seed was not just a prison," one of them said. "It was an anchor. Its cracking awakened not just one—but three Rootborn."

Elira's chest tightened. "We've only seen one."

"You will soon see more."

The tallest Seer raised a staff. "We can show you where the next sigil is forming. But it will cost you."

Elira didn't flinch. "What do you want?"

The Seer stepped closer, touching her forehead.

"Memories."

In a blink, Elira was somewhere else—

—Running through fire.

—Holding her father's dying hand.

—Kissing Caelum under the moonlight.

When she opened her eyes again, a map had formed in the stone at her feet—glowing in red and silver.

"Abyss Hollow," the Seer whispered. "Where nightmares nest."

That night, Elira sat by the fire, silent.

Caelum sat beside her, gently brushing her hair away from her eyes. "What did they take?"

She looked at him, pain hidden in her smile. "My first memory of you."

He froze. "You… forgot?"

"No. I remember the moment," she said. "But I can't feel it anymore. Like the warmth is gone."

His jaw clenched. "Then we'll make new ones."

She leaned into him.

"We'll need them."

Far away, at the edge of Abyss Hollow, the second sigil pulsed.

And beneath it… something breathed.

A second Rootborn was awakening.

Not of shadow.

Not of mist.

But of flesh.

And it remembered Elira's name.