The days passed slowly in Seminah, and for the first time in a long while, Argolaith let them.
No rushing, no monsters, no divine trials clawing at his heels—just mornings of quiet air, evenings of firelight, and long silences that didn't weigh heavy like they once did. Kaelred spent most of his time lounging under the sun or trading sarcastic comments with villagers brave enough to speak with him. Malakar visited the library daily, always returning with old books and older questions.
Argolaith mostly stayed near the cabin.
There was still something waiting in him—some internal pull toward the fourth tree—but it didn't claw yet. It pulsed. Quiet. Patient.
And then one morning, he noticed it.
The seed… was growing.
He had left it on the cabin's windowsill, tucked inside a small bowl for safekeeping. But today, when he approached to open the shutters, he saw thin tendrils of light curling out of it.
Not roots.
Not vines.
