The trees part.

Between one step and the next, you pass from the dark, tangled depths of the Thornwood into something else entirely. A clearing, perfectly circular, filled with soft golden light that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. At its center stands a tree—the tree.

The Heart of the Thornwood.

It’s ancient beyond reckoning. Its trunk is wider than a house, its branches reaching so high they vanish into a canopy that looks like the night sky itself, complete with stars. And at its base, kneeling as if in prayer, is a figure made of light.

Thornwen.

Not a spirit, not quite. Something between. A memory preserved in living wood.

Wren appears beside you, her breath catching. “I’ve served the forest my entire life. I’ve never… I’ve never seen her.”

“Because you never needed to.” Thornwen’s voice is the rustle of leaves, the creak of branches, the whisper of wind through ancient boughs. “But this one… this one carries the light of all three. The circle closes at last.”

She rises, turning to face you. Her features are indistinct—now young, now old, now something in between—but her eyes are clear. Green as spring. Warm as summer.

“Child of the binding. You have faced fear and accepted loss. One trial remains.”

The grove shifts. Suddenly you’re surrounded by everything you’ve ever wanted. A future where none of this happened. Where you’re normal. Where the weight of prophecy never touched you.

“This is what you desire,” Thornwen says. “A life unlived. A path untaken. I can give it to you. Let go of the light, and be free.”

The temptation is overwhelming. Just… let go. Be ordinary.

But ordinary won’t save Eldermoor. Ordinary won’t free the founders. Ordinary won’t stop whatever darkness is coming.

“I can’t accept this,” you say. “Not because I don’t want it. But because wanting isn’t enough. The people I love—the world I love—needs me to be more than what I want to be.”

The vision fades.

Thornwen smiles.

“The third trial. Hope. Not the hope that things will be easy, but the hope that your sacrifice matters.” She reaches toward the great tree. “You are worthy.”

A branch descends, bearing a single object. A seed, no larger than your thumb, glowing with soft green light.

“Take it. Plant it when the time is right. From this seed, new growth will come—not just for the forest, but for all of Eldermoor.”