Moonmist clung to the water like a whispered secret the night she crossed the old bridge.
Draena, last of the Silver‑Veined Fae, stepped into the clearing where the fire‑spirits gathered. They fluttered around her in soft spirals, recognizing the shimmer in her skin—the ancient magic she carried, the one the forest had been waiting for.
For centuries, the Willowdeep had been fading, its colors dimming, its songs falling silent. But when Draena touched the moss with her bare feet, the ground brightened, as if remembering how to breathe. Branches bowed. The water stilled. Even the wind paused to listen.
She raised her hand, and the fire‑spirits answered, weaving themselves into a glowing path that stretched deeper into the forest’s heart.
There, beneath the hanging boughs, she felt it: the pulse of a world ready to awaken.
And with a quiet smile, Draena stepped forward—knowing she was not just walking into the forest, but into the beginning of its rebirth.
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