Rain arrived the next morning—soft and steady, like the Wildwood wanted to cleanse the air before the next secret was spoken.
Joy stood beneath the awning of her cottage, watching the mist rise from the earth in lazy tendrils. In her hand was the marked leaf, now pressed flat between the pages of her journal, its glow subdued but steady. The image of the Memory Stone still burned in her mind—the symbols, the vision, the word.
Return.
James arrived wrapped in his old coat, boots damp and face unreadable. "You're sure you're ready for this?"
Joy nodded. "I don't think waiting will make it any easier."
They followed the edge of the forest this time, keeping to higher ground. James said the second stone was rumored to lie beyond a ridge, in a sunken glade no one had dared enter in years.
As they climbed, the forest changed again.
The trees here were taller, but thinner—bending slightly, like they were leaning to hear better. The ground was dotted with mushrooms shaped like stars, and the light filtered in through a fog that never seemed to lift.
They reached the ridge by midday. Below them lay a glade choked with thick mist and tall, swaying grass. The air felt colder, heavier.
"This is it," James murmured. "The second Memory Stone is in there."
Joy stepped down first, each movement careful. The moment her boots hit the glade floor, a hush fell around them—no birdsong, no breeze. Just the sound of her own breath.
At the center, half-buried in moss, stood the stone.
It was taller than the first, darker too, veined with something that looked like obsidian. Joy approached, brushing away the damp moss with trembling fingers.
Her mark was there—again. Waiting.
She pressed her palm against it.
The vision was immediate.
Fire again, but deeper now—underground. Shadows flickering against tunnel walls. The sound of rushing water and whispers rising from the dark. A great door made of roots and stone, sealed with light.
And the girl—her, or someone like her—standing before it with both palms glowing.
Then a voice—not the Watcher this time, but older. Worn like river stones.
"Three stones must remember. Three doors must open. One heart must return."
Joy stumbled back, the echo of the words ringing in her mind.
James steadied her. "What did it say?"
She looked up at him, voice hoarse. "There are three stones. Three doors. And… I think the forest is waiting for me to unlock something."
James was silent for a long moment. "Do you know where the third one is?"
"No," she admitted. "But I think the Watcher does."
They left the glade as the mist thickened around them, the shadows stretching just a little too long, the silence just a little too deep.
Joy knew now: the forest wasn't just testing her.
It was preparing her.
And somewhere, the final piece of the memory was waiting.