The path twisted in ways Elowen didn't remember.
She had walked this trail as a child, her fingers brushing the ferns, her laughter echoing beneath the green canopy. But now, the forest seemed to shift around her steps—older, quieter, as though holding its breath.
Orielle walked beside her, silent but present, her hand brushing Elowen's once in a while, like she needed to make sure she was real. Neither of them spoke much since the broken ring. Since the magic began to wane.
But today, the forest felt... aware.
"It's watching us," Elowen said, eyes darting up to the branches above.
"It always has," Orielle answered softly. "But now, it remembers."
"Remembers what?"
Orielle paused. "Us. The first time we met here."
Elowen blinked. "You mean the glade?"
"No," Orielle said, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "Before that. You were nine. I was twelve. You had lost your way and were crying beneath the sycamore tree."
A memory stirred in Elowen's chest like a lantern flickering to life.
"You gave me berries," she murmured. "Told me they would keep the sadness away."
"And you asked if I was a forest witch," Orielle said with a quiet laugh.
Elowen chuckled. "You didn't deny it."
"I liked the mystery."
They kept walking. Above them, the trees groaned with age and knowledge. The moss clung to trunks in curious shapes—faces, wings, hearts. It was as though the forest had carved their story into itself.
Elowen stopped at an old oak, its bark split and scarred.
"I carved something here once," she said, reaching out. Her fingertips found the faint edges of a heart, half-erased by time.
"You never finished it," Orielle whispered behind her.
Elowen turned. "You knew?"
"I came back the next day," Orielle said, stepping closer. "I finished it for you. But I never told."
Elowen touched the tree again, smiling. "So it was always you."
"I think… it's always been us."
A soft rustle answered them from the branches overhead. Leaves stirred without wind. The ground gave a low, humming sigh beneath their feet.
"Elowen," Orielle said quietly. "The forest… it remembers love."
A chill brushed Elowen's spine. "How can you be sure?"
"Because it's showing us," Orielle said. "The symbols. The paths shifting. The way it leads us back to our memories."
Elowen glanced down at her feet. Beneath her boot, nestled in the moss, was a single violet—out of season, too delicate for the cold.
She picked it up. "You used to tuck these into my braid," she said.
Orielle smiled. "When you weren't looking."
A pause. The kind that carries weight.
"Elowen," she said, "do you think the forest will forgive us?"
"For what?" Elowen asked. "For loving each other?"
"For bringing change."
Elowen turned to her fully, taking both her hands. "If the forest is alive, then it must understand love. Because what else is it holding on to all these years?"
Orielle nodded slowly. "But it's also ancient. Magic has rules we don't know."
"Then we'll make new ones."
Orielle looked at her like she was both afraid and in awe.
They continued on, deeper into the woods.
At the heart of the forest stood the Circle of Stone—a place whispered about in old tales. A place where the first enchantment was sung, where the wind once bowed to the voice of a girl in love.
It looked different now.
The stones leaned, cracked. Ivy crawled up their sides like sorrow. The clearing was overgrown, the earth furrowed as if something had tried to rise—and failed.
But in the center of the circle stood a sapling.
Small. Delicate. But glowing faintly with silver veins.
Elowen stepped toward it. "This wasn't here before."
"No," Orielle said. "It's new."
They knelt beside it. The silver in its stem pulsed faintly in rhythm with their breath.
"I think," Elowen whispered, "the forest has begun to trust us."
"Because of the love we haven't hidden?"
"Because of the love we've chosen to remember."
Orielle's fingers grazed the leaves. They shimmered at her touch.
"Then we protect this," she said. "No matter what happens next."
Elowen nodded. "We let the forest remember us kindly."
The wind picked up again. But this time, it carried no warnings.
Only the sound of leaves laughing in the trees.