Season 2. Chapter 4: Fern suggestion

Chapter: The Next Ground

The moon hung low over the Dwarven Mist Enclave, casting pale silver light over the lush, glimmering woods that surrounded the Traveler outpost. The mist curled gently at everyone's feet—never chilling, never biting, only a constant quiet presence like the breath of something ancient and watching.

The forest around them, born from the joint vita of Fern and Basil, had stabilized. The first wave of structures—wood-steel shelters, filtered water towers, moss-runed lamps—had sprouted like seeds into the misty terrain.

And at its heart stood Hale Eryndor.

His broad frame, cloak covered in dust and elemental markings, leaned against the trunk of a tree as he admired his handiwork. Behind him, a newly finished clearing opened into a smooth arc—complete with earthen platforms, elevated sleeping pods, an amphitheater built from stone and enchanted vines, and pathways that glowed with subtle guidance runes at night.

Hale crossed his arms and nodded. "This'll hold the first few dozen. Maybe more. Water's clean. Air's clean. Vita's circulating. I'd say we're ready for arrivals."

Riven clapped once. "Good work, Hale."

A few others murmured in agreement. The tension of the day, of names and glyphs and sudden momentum, had turned to quiet satisfaction.

But not for Fern.

She stood just outside the main circle, her golden eyes scanning the trees. She could still feel the land breathing—its rhythm, its resistance. And something… was off.

"I'm not sure this will be enough," Fern said suddenly.

Riven turned slightly. "Not enough for now?"

"No," she replied, gaze still on the horizon. "Not enough for August."

Her voice was calm but certain.

Oliver stepped up beside her. "You feel it?"

Fern nodded. "This forest is borrowed. The mist is old Vita —it permits us, but it doesn't claim us. And once too many gather, the land will either reject us or stagnate. We need to find a new grounding point… something permanent."

There was a quiet moment. Riven slowly exhaled and looked toward the stars, the tips of his black coat catching moonlight.

"She's right," he said. "The Traveler movement's gone from a plan to a phenomenon. If that many people start arriving by late July, we won't hold. Come August... we're going to need something bigger."

Hale raised a brow. "You want me to move the whole foundation?"

"No," Fern said. "Not move. Just scout. Somewhere nearby. A proper convergence point, one that doesn't just tolerate us—one that grows with us."

Oliver looked down at the moss beneath his boots, then slowly nodded. "A place we can shape… but also defend. Expand."

"Exactly," Fern confirmed.

Riven walked toward the edge of the clearing and gazed out into the night. The trees danced gently in the distance, as if listening.

"I'll call a shadow cartographer," he said. "And Goldie can help locate geomantic convergence zones. Basil might know an overgrown wild sector too dangerous for guild expansion."

Fern added, "And I'll sense for leyline intersections. Places where the land breathes deeper."

Oliver gave one short nod. "Then we begin tomorrow."

Behind them, the dwarven structures flickered warmly—temporary homes for the broken and the brave. But the future was already rising beyond the mist.

Something larger.

Something living.

The next ground was out there—waiting.

And when August came…

The Travelers would claim it.