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But this magic wasn’t about tearing down.

It was about restoring.

Delilah laid the final ingredients into the bowl with reverence: a tangle of moonvine, a single phoenix feather glimmering like fire-caught dawn, and the sharp drop of her own blood. It hissed as it hit the mixture, the light flaring—no longer green and gold, but something deeper. Older. Forest-dark and starborn.

She whispered the name that bound them.

“Rollo.”

The forest gasped.

A great wind surged, bending trees, rattling leaves like bones in a cup. The ground beneath her shivered as the grove itself awakened.

And Garrick?

Hescreamed.

A scream not of pain, but ofrage.

“No!” he bellowed, tearing free of the roots that had tried to anchor him. His face twisted into something monstrous as he surged toward her, dark tendrils of magic licking the air behind him like flame.

“You don’t get to rewrite fate!”

But Rollo was faster.

He launched out of the shadows, mid-shift—half man, half bear, all fury—and slammed into Garrick just inches from Delilah. They crashed into a cluster of trees, and the impact cracked like thunder. Bark exploded. Air warped with power.

Delilah’s hands flew over the bowl, chanting faster now, anchoring every line, every word, with heart.

The grove ignited.

Light burst from the ground like an eruption of life itself—roots spiraling up, vines unfurling with purpose. They didn’t just wrap Garrick.

Theyrecognizedhim.

And theywept.

The vines coiled tighter, not with rage—but withmourning.The spirits of the forest knew him once. Knew what he could’ve been. What he had chosen to throw away.

“You did this to yourself,” Delilah said, rising to her feet. Her voice rose over the wind, the light, the wailing song of the forest breaking its silence. “Youchosedestruction. We chose each other.”

Rollo, bruised and bloodied, still held Garrick down.

“You could’ve come home,” he rasped, sweat and magic dripping from his brow. “You could’vebeensomething.”

Garrick gave a bitter, broken laugh. “Home? Home died when they cast me out. And you? You’ll lose her. Just wait. Tie your soul to hers and when it shatters?—”

“It won’t,” Rollo growled. “Because this time, I protect it. Not from fear. But fromfaith.”

Delilah stepped beside him, her palm pressing over Rollo’s heart.

“I chose this,” she said softly, but clearly. “I choseyou.”

The ritual surged.

The bowl cracked once. Then again. A jagged fissure split its side, and light poured out like molten dawn.

The grove howled.