Chapter Eight: Circlefall
The creature that had once been her brother-in-Circle stood before her, barely recognizable beneath bark, rot, and time.
His form towered over the other Wildlings, limbs overgrown with living root-armor. Where his heart once beat, now pulsed a cluster of thorns, black and gold, wrapped in cracked runes that whispered in tongues long forgotten.
He tilted his head slowly, like a tree creaking in heavy wind.
"Leafweaver."
The word was not a greeting.
It was a charge.
A memory laced with betrayal.
Kaelen tensed beside her. "Friend of yours?"
The Druid's mouth was dry. "He was called Merran. One of the three who stood with me at the sealing of the Verdant Gate. I thought he… burned."
Kaelen's grip on her daggers tightened. "He did."
The Wildling took a step forward—roots from its feet latching into the ground like anchors. The remaining Wildlings shuddered in its wake, as though tethered to its will.
"I stayed," it hissed in a voice laced with wind and rot. "You fled. You sealed the truth. You abandoned us."
The Druid's heart ached.
Memories flashed:
— Merran chanting beside her as the Gate cracked.
— The panic. The impossible choice.
— Her own voice screaming, "There's no time—seal it now!"
She thought he had died.
But the Mirror hadn't killed him.
It had taken him.
"Merran," she said gently, taking a step forward. "You're not lost. I'm here. We can restore you."
His laugh was dry sap cracking on bark.
"There is no restoring truth."
He reached to his chest—and pulled free the core of thorns glowing at his center. The air around him rippled. Trees bent away. The Wildlings screamed.
"Join me," he whispered. "Let the forest rise as it should have. Let it be wild—without chains. No seals. No lies."
Behind her, Kaelen shouted, "We've got more incoming!"
Dozens more Wildlings burst from the tunnels, swarming toward the Mirror.
The Druid turned to the growing tree she had planted—the half-self seed. It shone brilliantly now, branches arcing over the Mirror like wings.
It was a beacon.
But without protection, it would be consumed.
She stepped between it and Merran.
Voice firm. "You're right. I did seal it. I made a choice. A hard one. But I'm making another now."
Her hand lifted.
Roots surged upward.
Vines wrapped her arms, bark laced her chest. Sporeflowers opened along her shoulders.
Not corrupted.
Awakened.
She wasn't becoming the Other Self.
She was becoming whole.
Merran roared and charged.
Kaelen leapt in from the side, her daggers biting deep into his shoulder bark.
The Wildlings surged with him.
But the Druid had called the Verdant Soul.
She raised her arms—and the entire grove responded.
Flameflowers ignited.
Thorns danced like razors in the wind.
The tree behind her unfurled its crown, and from it burst a chorus of light—seven spectral figures of druids past, memory and magic reborn.
They stood beside her, humming in harmony, raising staffs of root and crystal.
Merran halted.
His expression twisted.
Recognition.
Pain.
Grief.
"You left us," he whispered.
She nodded.
And said gently, "Then let me bring you home."
She stepped forward.
Placed her palm against his chest.
Magic bloomed.
Green. Gold. White.
And slowly… his antlers cracked.
The vines over his eyes peeled back.
And for a heartbeat, Merran's true face returned.
He fell to his knees.
Eyes wide with peace.
"Leafweaver…"
She caught him as he crumbled into ash and seed.
And wept.
The Wildlings, no longer driven, turned to mist.
The ground fell silent.
And the Verdant Soul tree glowed brighter than ever.
Kaelen sheathed her blades. "That was…"
The Druid nodded. "A Circle broken."
She turned toward the tunnel.
"But not forgotten."