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Not that he’d been planning to share them, but there was no chance now. Not until he knew more. If telling her would hurt her, he’d withhold the words forever.

The bed in the loft was partially made. Jessa must’ve slipped out earlier. The sunlight streaming through the windows meant he’d slept until midday.

He’d promised to join Fennik and Sylvi at the Heart today. The Gladeans were also trying to piece together what happened. Orzen couldn’t solve that part, but he could move rubble.

He gathered his boots and belt, stepping quietly so he wouldn’t wake Wren. She slept in the small bed beside the stove. It was the same place she’d been for the last few days, barely waking to eat. She’d wandered in a daze since they’d returned from the Heartwood, drifting in and out of sleep, so quiet he feared she might never speak again. He let himself watch her for a moment, concern tugging at his chest like a drawn bowstring.

He’d seen it before in kids trying to forget what they’d done in the Pits. Men and women left in the wake of a Brand attack, watching their homes burn. The shock of realizing everything had changed. The overwhelming urge not to feel anything at all.

He’d felt it too, and knew how hard it was to drag himself out of it. So he’d stayed close the last few days, wishing he knew a way to fix her.

He moved closer, hesitating as she shifted on her pillow, hair spilling across her horns. It was different now, strands of silver and darker gray threading through the curls where it hadn’t been before, but it didn’t make her any less beautiful.

The ache was something he was still getting used to.

A strange pull deep in his chest. He’d simply have to carry it. He almost reached out to brush the hair aside but stopped himself. Sleep was the closest thing to peace she’d had in days, and he wouldn’t ruin that.

Instead, he moved to the small table where one of Jessa’s inks still sat from the night before when she’d stayed up scrawling notes late into the night. He tore a small bit of parchment and scribbled a note. The last thing he wanted was for Wren to wake up not knowing where he was.

I’ll be back. Use the stone if you need me.

The Glade was more subdued now—still peaceful but softened, like it was bruised and in need of healing, too. The scent of smoke from Hollis’s rites still drifted through the Glade. His family’s tears had reminded Orzen of the rawness of fresh grief—a wound ripped open, still so bitter it seemed impossible to survive. It wasn’t something he wanted to experience again anytime soon.

Fennik and Sylvi met him beneath the rope bridges at the edge of the clearing. Though her eyes were guarded, Sylvi grinned widely when she saw him. Even grief could not dampen her glow. Her freshly braided hair looked deep plum in the shadows, only adding to her strangeness. When she held out a steaming tin of coffee, he felt a twinge of shame at the thought.

“You’re the best,” he murmured, inhaling the bitter scent.

“Don’t encourage her.” Fennik flashed a grin at his twin. The crimson tips of his hair made him look more foxlike.

“I welcome the encouragement,” Sylvi crooned, stepping lightly, her thick braid swinging behind her back.

They followed her into the trees. The path to the Heartwood had been widened in the last few days, the dirt pressed flat by carts and boots trekking to help clear the wreckage.

It was far less ominous in the light, though his pulse quickened as they drew nearer. They weren’t far from where Silas trapped him. If Velhya hadn’t found him…He shoved the thoughts aside. She had. That’s all that mattered.

The air in the forest was clearer now, the stench of decay drifting further away with each passing day. There was a chill he hadn’t realized he’d missed. It felt like Frosthold now, as it should. Perhaps whatever Velhya and Wren had done at the Heart had truly fixed the Cycle. Somehow, he doubted it was that easy.

Several Gladeans were already working when the broken temple came into view. Garin was busy beside another Earth Weaver—a faun Orzen didn’t know—forming stone scaffolding beside the towering columns.

Jessa stood with another Gladean, a girl around her age. Orzen had met her in passing and heard someone call her Sennah. Her large blue eyes squinted at the symbols carved along the stone as Jessa took notes, a book of parchment balanced in her lap. They didn’t even look up when he passed beneath.

The briar wall, charred and broken open, stood between him and the rest of the Heart. Its edges were still damaged, dark vines twisting in shining tangles like spun glass.

He hadn’t tried using fire again since returning to the Glade. Even now, it waited like a pit of embers beneath his skin and when he flicked his fingers, a small blue flame erupted from them.

He marveled at it.

Fennik patted his shoulder and nodded appreciatively as they passed through the remains of the scorched wall. It was a relief to know he could summon it without strain now, though he still wasn’t sure he fully understood how to use it.

The Heartwood opened up before them. His steps faltered. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it looked nothing like that night now. It hadn’t just changed; it was transformed.

Where Silas’s rifts had torn the earth apart, there were now folicrafted bridges and stone shelves connecting the platforms. Less chance of someone falling in or hurting themselves.

The bodies of the Witherborn were gone, dissolved by whatever Velhya had done at the end. But the remnants of battle remained. Broken weapons. Thorn whips. Scattered stones. Splintered pieces of the Binding Bough. All of it was strewn across the temple like detritus after a storm.

A pit piled with broken branches and crumbling leaves was all that was left of the massive tree. Around the base, tall mushrooms still stood, emitting a gentle glow—less ominous in the daylight. At the center of the pit stood a jagged stump, a path cleared toward it through the debris. Leora and Aelori stood by it as other Gladeans worked to clear the mess around them.

Across the field of broken stone and ash, Velhya’s sapling rose from the cracked earth. It was larger than it’d been when they’d stumbled back toward the Glade. The limbs were bare of leaves now, a sign that Frosthold had truly arrived. Its seams glowed golden, a reminder of the woman who’d sacrificed herself in the place where it now stood.