The next few days blurred like ink in rain.
Joy tried to go about her normal routines—collecting samples, recording field notes, pretending she could still live in the quiet world she came from—but her thoughts always drifted back to the tree, the pool, and the girl in the vision who looked so much like her.
She couldn't ignore it anymore. The forest wasn't just speaking to her—it was remembering her. Calling her back to something unfinished.
James noticed the change too.
"You're quieter," he said one evening as they sat on the steps of her cottage, lantern light flickering between them.
Joy stared out at the tree line. "I don't feel like I'm living my life anymore. It feels like I'm walking through someone else's."
He was quiet for a moment. "Or maybe you're walking through yours. Just one that's been waiting."
She glanced at him. "Do you really believe in all of this? The forest choosing people? Memories passed through roots and stones?"
James didn't hesitate. "I believe the Wildwood remembers more than we do. And I believe it doesn't waste its voice on those who won't listen."
That night, Joy dreamed again.
But this time, it wasn't a whisper or a vision.
It was a memory.
She stood in the same clearing of the standing stones, but the sky above was burning red. A storm raged overhead, winds shrieking through the trees like a cry for help. The Watcher stood before her, arms open.
"You must remember," it said. "Or it begins again."
Joy woke with a start, her hand clenched tightly around her bedsheet, her forehead damp with sweat.
The forest wasn't just calling her anymore.
It was warning her.
She dressed quickly, lit a lantern, and ran. The path to the standing stones felt shorter this time, the forest more alive—branches leaning in, leaves trembling, as if the trees themselves were on edge.
When she arrived at the circle, she froze.
The stones were glowing.
Each one pulsed with faint, silvery light, like heartbeats. In the center, the grass was flattened into a perfect spiral.
And standing there—just as in her dream—was The Watcher.
Not just a vision.
Real. Present. Watching her with eyes that shimmered like starlight on water.
Joy stepped into the circle. She could barely breathe.
"Why me?" she asked aloud.
The Watcher didn't speak—not with words. But something filled the air around her. A feeling. A flood of understanding.
Because you were here before. Because the Wildwood is breaking. And you are the key.
Joy's heart pounded.
Before she could ask more, the figure raised a hand. A single leaf floated from its palm, glowing as it drifted toward her. She caught it.
The moment she did, the vision vanished. The stones dimmed. The forest exhaled.
In her hand, the leaf still glowed faintly. A mark had been etched into it—one of the same symbols from the journal. But this one was new.
And it was hers.