Elora sat on the cold floor of the school's back stairwell, staring down at her palm.
It wasn't her imagination.
Faint green lines now threaded beneath her skin—tiny, root-like veins glowing just under the surface. They weren't visible all the time. Only when she was still, breathing slowly, listening.
The dream hadn't ended when she woke. It had settled into her, woven itself into her body like a curse or a calling.
"Clove-born," the whisper had said.
And now the earth itself was answering.
After her final class, Elora found herself wandering toward the wooded edge behind the school. No one ever went there. It was overgrown and fenced off with brittle wire and signs that read "KEEP OUT" in peeling red letters.
But the fence didn't stop her.
Something tugged at her.
Like a song she couldn't remember the lyrics to.
She stepped over the fallen wire, brushing past the thick grass, and into the thinning trees. The light dimmed beneath the canopy. The air shifted—cooler, deeper, more alive.
And there, in the clearing just before the real woods began, she saw it:
A single gnarled root, protruding from the ground like the spine of some great creature. It pulsed faintly beneath the moss—green light flickering with each slow throb.
Elora dropped to her knees, hand outstretched.
As her fingers touched the bark, the hum returned—not sound, but vibration. She felt the root recognize her.
Welcome, it seemed to say. You are not forgotten.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Elora?"
She jerked her hand back, stumbling slightly.
Devin stood a few feet away, expression unreadable. He was dressed down—navy hoodie, hands in his pockets—but his eyes were sharp, watching her like she was a riddle he didn't know he'd been trying to solve.
"I—" She scrambled to her feet. "I didn't hear you."
"Didn't mean to sneak up," he said softly. "I just saw you come out here. I've never seen anyone cross the fence before."
"How do you know my name? Elora asked
"Oh I heard your friend call you that " Devin explained
Elora nods in understanding
Elora's heart thudded. "It looks…peaceful."
His gaze drifted to the root behind her, still pulsing faintly. If he saw the glow, he didn't comment.
"Peaceful," he echoed. "Yeah. I come out here sometimes too. It's the only place the school doesn't feel like it's watching."
She tilted her head. "You feel it too?"
He looked at her. "There's a lot I feel. I just don't talk about it."
Silence settled between them—not awkward, but weighty.
Then he stepped forward. His eyes flicked down to her hand.
"You're shaking."
She tucked it behind her back. "It's nothing."
But he frowned. "Are you sure? Your hand—it looked like it was… glowing."
Elora froze.
He saw.
She forced a laugh. "Must've been the light. Or nerves."
He didn't argue. But he didn't believe her either.
"You don't have to tell me," he said. "But… you don't have to lie either."
Her throat tightened. "Why are you being so kind to me?"
He blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You don't know me."
"I'm trying to."
The silence returned, thicker this time.
Then he nodded once and turned to leave.
"See you around, Elora."
She watched him go, the echo of his voice lingering long after his steps faded.
She turned back to the root.
It pulsed once more. Faint. Slow. Waiting.
Like it knew the conversation meant something.
Like it had been listening all along.
That night, in her room, Elora examined the lines in her skin again. Still faint. Still green.
She traced them with her fingertip, remembering the feeling when her hand touched the root.
It wasn't magic. Not the kind from books or fairy tales.
It was older. Wilder.
And it was waking up.
Inside her.
Around her.
And the question clawed at her chest:
When it fully wakes—what will it want?