Darkness held her like a cradle.
No breath, no heartbeat, no sound.
Then— a hum. A low, thrumming pulse that stirred something ancient in her bones. She didn't know her name. She didn't know her face. But she knew the Wild. Its pain rippled through her, carried on distant cries of withered trees and starving deer. The forest called to her in dreams, roots reaching into her slumber like fingers through soil.
A flash—sunlight breaking through pine boughs. A whisper—wake... A voice—not her own, not quite—but echoing inside: "The time is near."
She saw visions: mountains cloaked in mist, stone altars swallowed by ivy, three figures standing at the edge of a glade.
And a memory not her own:
A god with horns and moss for hair. A woman crowned in golden wheat. A child held between them, wrapped in ferns and blossom.
Then silence.
===============================================================
Back at Camp Half-Blood, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover stood at the armory, checking their gear.
"Still think this girl's a demigod?" Percy asked, strapping on his watch that turned into a shield.
Annabeth nodded. "More than that. If she's really tied to Pan and Demeter, she could be powerful enough to change everything."
Grover looked pale. "We're not just walking into a forest. We're walking into memory. Wild magic. And if the balance is off…"
"It'll be fine," Percy said, though his tone wasn't confident. "We've done worse."
They packed lightly—satyr charms, celestial bronze, seeds blessed by Demeter's cabin, maps of the High Sierra wilderness. Chiron gave them one final warning:
"Trust the signs. The forest has its own way of speaking."
===============================================================
Far from camp, in a forgotten cradle of Yosemite's ancient heart, the sealed one slept beneath the Dreaming Root. The Heartwood Grove, untouched by mortals, pulsed with quiet life.
The girl's body lay entwined in roots and blooming moss, as though nature itself had woven her cradle. Vines curled protectively around her arms, thorns dulled by centuries of sleep.
Inside her dream, she stirred.
Not yet waking. But listening.
The world trembled. Her time was drawing near.
And in the silence of root and soil, the Wild whispered to her.
Soon.