That night, Joy couldn't sleep.
The images from the stone circle clung to her like morning fog—soft, but impossible to shake. The vision of The Watcher. Her mother's lullaby. The feeling that something old had stirred deep within her, something not entirely her own.
She lit a candle and opened her notebook, flipping through the sketches. On a fresh page, she began to draw the standing stones from memory. But her hand didn't stop there.
Almost without thinking, her pencil moved in curves and loops, forming symbols she didn't know but somehow remembered. Her fingers worked faster than her thoughts, guided by instinct rather than logic.
When she finally stopped, she stared at the page.
It wasn't just a drawing.
It was a map.
Or at least, part of one.
In the center was the stone circle. Radiating out were paths—some she'd walked, others she hadn't seen yet. One led beneath the roots of an enormous tree drawn in sweeping lines, its trunk split like a doorway.
Joy's breath hitched.
She recognized that tree.
It stood on the far edge of the Wildwood, a gnarled behemoth with a hollowed base wide enough to walk through. She'd seen it once, from a distance, and marked it as a curiosity. But now, it felt like the next step.
She packed her bag before dawn.
By mid-morning, she and James stood before the great tree, staring up into its twisted limbs.
"This is where the old paths used to meet," James said quietly. "The stories say the roots go deeper than memory."
Joy stepped toward the opening. It felt colder here, like the tree guarded its secrets.
"I think there's something under it," she murmured.
"Not just under," James replied. "Within."
She crouched and stepped through the hollow.
At first, it was just dark.
Then the walls around her began to glow faintly, lit by veins of silver light threading through the bark. It wasn't just a tree. It was a vessel—holding something ancient.
They followed the narrow passage until it opened into a small chamber beneath the roots. In the center stood a pool of perfectly still water, reflecting the silvery glow from above.
Joy stepped forward and knelt beside it.
The moment her fingers touched the surface, the water shimmered—and showed her another vision.
A great storm. A fire racing through the forest. The Watcher standing at the heart of the flames, arms raised, shielding something—or someone.
Then came a flash.
A girl.
Not Joy, but someone who looked like her. Eyes full of light. A voice whispering in a forgotten tongue.
The vision vanished.
Joy gasped and pulled her hand back.
James was watching her carefully. "What did you see?"
She shook her head slowly. "I think... I think someone like me came here before. A long time ago. And whatever she did—it mattered. It's tied to the forest. To me."
James crouched beside her. "Then maybe the forest isn't just calling to you. Maybe it's remembering you."
Joy looked at the pool once more, her reflection now rippling with silver light.
For the first time, she wasn't afraid.
Something was awakening. And she was no longer just a visitor.
She was a part of it.