Chapter 19: Inner Forest
Three days had passed since they last ventured into the outer forest. The days were quiet—bright with the warmth of the sun and the hush of a town moving just slowly enough to let hearts breathe.
In the backyard of their home in Veldroth, beneath the shade of a spreading silverbark tree, Alaric lay reclined on a wooden bench, arms folded behind his head, golden eyes half-lidded. He watched.
Not the sky.
Not the dancing leaves.
But the two girls seated cross-legged on the grass before him.
Cellione, her usually mischievous gaze serious for once, hunched forward, whispering instructions to Serineth. Scraps of parchment littered the ground—failed magic circles, early drafts, magical notations far beyond Alaric's grasp.
It was a quiet world, filled only with the scratch of charcoal against paper and the rhythmic pulses of controlled breath.
Serineth frowned, her brows tightly knit as her trembling fingers traced a faint glowing line in the air, trying again to shape the magic circle correctly—something fragile, something hers.
"No, no,"
Cellione interrupted, gently nudging her.
"You're letting the flow bend too early. Hold the intent steady until the third line completes. Like this—"