A fortnight had passed since the Living Seed took root, and Aetherion's four realms thrummed with new life. Vineyards burgeoned in Elderglen, skyways shone with fresh canvas, coastal reefs glowed beneath glassy waves, and terraced fields blossomed with living stone. Yet amid this renewal, an uneasy shadow stirred.
As dusk fell over the Whispering Grove, the silver-leaved trees trembled with voices that were no longer the wind's gentle murmur. Corwin, making his nightly rounds, pressed a hand to his conch: the water within it rippled with frantic energy. He hurried through the grove's phosphorescent paths, heart pounding as he sensed the living roots recoiling in alarm.
At the grove's heart stood the half-buried gateway they had opened together—now glazed with a thin sheen of sap. Corwin traced its carved wave-runes and found them cracked, a dark ichor seeping from the fissures.
Meanwhile, under the fractured canopy, Lior and Sylas arrived from opposite roads. Lior's ember-flare cast long shadows, and Sylas's wind-parting swept away drifting leaves so they could see clearly. Bram came last, his staff glowing faintly as he listened to the ground's low hum.
They met at the gateway, worry etched on each face. Corwin held aloft his conch. "The sap's poisoned," he said. "Something seeps up from below—an echo of darkness we thought vanquished."
Sylas frowned, wind rustling his cloak. "The whispering trees warned me as I passed the Silver Brook"—he touched his feather. "There's a fracture in the wards we sealed."
Lior knelt, pressing his flame shard to a sap-stained rune. The fire sputtered and died. "My ember can't cleanse it," he muttered, tossing the shard from his palm. "We're dealing with deep-rooted corruption—one that defies our elements alone."
Bram tapped his staff on the earth. Roots stirred beneath them, but recoiled from the poisoned gateway. "A new force works here—one older than Malrik's corruption," he observed. "The Deep's residue lingers."
Riven emerged from the shadowed grove, lantern casting a soft glow. "Remnants of the Shadow Cult have returned," he explained grimly. "They seek to corrupt the Living Seed's roots—to fracture our unity at its source."
Lior stood, eyes blazing. "Then we stand guard—together." He turned to Sylas. "Your wind can cleanse the poisoned sap."
Sylas nodded, raising his arms. A gale whirled through the gateway, stripping away the dark ichor in spirals of silver mist. Corwin stepped forward, conch to lips, and wove a tide of purifying water that washed the carved runes clean. Bram struck the earth with his staff; living roots burst through the gateway's seams, knitting fresh wood into the stone frame.
Finally, Lior closed with his flame shard. With a single breath, he summoned a phoenix-light that scorched away the last traces of corruption, igniting the sap-laden runoff into harmless embers.
As the four elements wove their magic in unison, the gateway's runes healed, and the grove exhaled a sigh of relief—its silver leaves settling back into their gentle song. Above them, moonlight filtered through the branches, bathing the clearing in serene light.
Riven sheathed his dagger and placed a hand on the Living Seed's nearest shoot. "Let this stand as proof," he said softly, "that unity is neither static nor easily broken. It demands constant vigil—and faith in one another."
Corwin smiled, water droplets glinting on his hair. "Then we will watch the wards, tend the roots, and guard the Seed—always together."
Lior's ember-flare warmed the clearing. "And should darkness ever return, our four hearts will shine brighter still."
Sylas lifted his feather token to the silver boughs. "For wind and vine, fire and stone—one kingdom, one heart."
Bram tapped his staff on the gateway. "And the earth will hold firm beneath our feet."
In the Whispering Grove, under a sky washed with stars, four guardians renewed their vow. Aetherion's future lay not in a single triumph, but in the enduring courage to stand as one—through every nightfall and every dawn to come.