In the far edges of the Garden, where no foot had wandered in a lifetime, there grew a ring of trees that bore no leaves.
They did not speak.
They did not bloom.
They simply… stood—tall, pale, and watching. Their bark shimmered not with magic, but with stillness. Their roots made no sound beneath the soil.
Some feared them. Others forgot them.
But Rem returned to them often, walking with silence stitched in his shadow.
He called the grove the Hollow Ring.
Not for what it lacked—but for what it remembered in its emptiness.
Once, he brought the frightened child who had asked about the sleeping Grove. The boy's name was Nilo, and he had fire in his blood and too much ache in his hands. He knelt before the Hollow Ring and said nothing. Rem did not speak either.
And when Nilo finally rose, his fists unclenched.
The fire no longer ached.
Only warmed.
They did not call this healing.
They called it becoming unafraid.
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The Rootless Year
