The forest Lian traveled through next was known as the Weeping Grove, where the trees were rumored to hold memories in their bark. He dismounted, letting his horse graze freely while he knelt before an ancient tree, its trunk gnarled and veined with silver sap.
He pressed a palm against it.
A vision struck like lightning: Aure, standing beneath this same tree years ago, whispering to someone unseen.
"I'll return… when the moon forgets to rise."
The voice echoed, and Lian stumbled back. It wasn't a memory he owned—but one he was being given. The Grove remembered Aure.
Lian stood, spine rigid with new fire. If the land remembered, then Aure's past was still alive.
He would follow it.