Page 88 of The Dryad Storm

Watchers blink into existence—hundreds of them—shimmering to life, bright as starlight, and perched all over the enormous roots.

Gwynn’s breath seizes, a strangled sound of surprise escaping Mavrik’s throat as the Smaragdalfar fall to their knees and perform the complicted Oo’na’s Blessing gesture over their chests. Cael and Rhys simply gape at the vision that Gwynn realizes they all can miraculously see. Both Valasca and Sparrow murmur what sound like Amaz and Uriskal blessings, and Wynter’s wings fan out to their glorious full expanse, the two Agolith Flame Hawks on her shoulders taking joyous flight to land on the Great Tree’s roots amidst the Watchers.

The Verdyllion Wand in Wynter’s hand rays out multicolored light.

“You see the birds, don’t you?” Gwynn says to Mavrik, relief spasming through her as the starlight hue of the ethereal Watchers shifts to a constellation of every color on Erthia—the full spectrum of light power.

Mavrik nods without taking his eyes off the Watchers. “The Ancient One’s birds,” he murmurs, emotion crackling through his power.

“Oo’na’s birds too,” Gwynn offers, tears welling in her eyes, “and the Alfsigr faith’s birds... the birds of the Amaz and Noi goddesses...everyone’sbirds.”

Mavrik turns to her, seeming uncharacteristically overcome. “I wanted to believe again.” He swallows, looking back to the otherworldly scene before them. “When I first turned away from the Magedom, I figured, well, I’m going to all the hells now.” He grows quiet for a moment, his magic crackling with bright feeling. “I missed praying. I missed believing insomething.But I figured, if I was irretrievably lost, I might as well fight for those who might not be so lost. Whostill had something worth believing in.”

Gwynn’s heart tightens, a luminous tide of love for Mavrik shimmering through their power, tears misting her eyes. “I think we were led here,” she says. “By the Wand. And the Watchers. And Oo’na’s Roots.” An expansive rush tingles through Gwynn. It feels revolutionary to name these roots “Oo’na’s”—to embrace the confusing, glorious mingling of Erthia’s faiths.

Seeming to understand the seismic shifting of her thoughts, Mavrik raises their linked hands and kisses the back of hers, multihued sparks flashing through them both as the Tree’s all-encompassing power tugs on their twinned lines.

“Let’s go meet Erthia’s Source Tree,” Mavrik offers.“Together.”

Gwynn nods, scared and confused and ready. Gripping tighter hold of Mavrik’s hand, she meets Wynter’s compassionate silver gaze, and they all set out together toward Erthia’s Great Tree.

“Stop!” Yyzz’ra snarls.

They startle to a halt as Yyzz’ra lunges between them and the Tree’s roots, Gavryyl and Valkyr closing in beside her. The three Smaragdalfar soldiers swiftly unsheathe Varg hilts and flick them out, the sword blades telescoping from the hilts’ emerald runes.

“What’s this?” Valasca demands, low and deadly, as she and Sparrow unsheathe their own smaller blades, Mynx, Cael, and Rhys nocking arrows to bows in a blur.

“Lower your weapons,now,” Cael orders Yyzz’ra, his aim lethally focused.

“Silence, Maggot,” Yyzz’ra snarls. “Alfsigr filth have no place here.” Her combative gaze swings to Valasca and Sparrow beside her. “Disarmright now, or I will activate those runic collars around your necks and choke the breath from your lungs!”

Gavryyl and Valkyr swipe their blades through the air, and a multitude of emerald-glowing Varg daggers blink into existence, suspended before Gwynn and every last one of her allies, the blades’ razor-sharp runic points a hair’s breadth away from each of their throats.

“Yyzz’ra,” Mynx’lia’luure carefully ventures, “what are you doing?”

“What you should be joining us in doing!” Yyzz’ra hurls back at her with a hateful glare at Cael. “This isOo’na’s Tree. Not forVarg’plith!” Yyzz’ra levels a blistering gaze at Wynter and holds out her hand in emphatic demand. “Give me Oo’na’s Shard,Icaral.”

Gwynn flinches at hearingIcaralhurled at Wynter so abusively. Mavrik’s magicblazes through hers, a series of runic sequences flashing through their twinned lines—runes that could be deployed to blast Yyzz’ra and the two Subland Elves off their feet.

Gwynn quietly begins murmuring the Issani spells, the sting of the runes she’s conjuring beginning to tingle against her palms just as Wynter flicks her wings out to their full breadth with such unexpected, compelling force that everyone turns toward her with evident surprise.

Seeming undaunted by the suspended Varg blade aimed at her pale neck, Wynter serenely holds out the Verdyllion to Yyzz’ra. “Take it,” Wynter offers. “And return it to Oo’na’s Sacred Tree.”

Yyzz’ra glares at Wynter, seeming thrown by her calm response. She springs forward and grabs the Verdyllion from Wynter, then steps backward toward the huge roots and beckons Gavryyl and Valkyr to join her with a quick swipe of her hand.

Backing toward the Great Tree’s roots, swords raised, Yyzz’ra, Gavryyl, and Valkyr all reach out their free hands and make contact with the Great Tree.

An explosion of chromatic light rays from their hands, and Gwynn recoils as the suspended Varg blades all blink out of existence and Yyzz’ra, Gavryyl, and Valkyr are absorbed clear into the Great Tree’s roots, along with the Verdyllion in Yyzz’ra’s hand.

Red shock blazes through Gwynn and Mavrik’s power.

Wynter turns and gives them all a beatific smile before she steps toward a colossal root and presses both hands to it in a blasting array of colored light. The Watchers all shimmer out of sight as Wynter, too, is absorbed into the Great Tree.

Wynter is the first to reemerge, close to an hour later—an hour that they all spent in the throes of alarm.

Gwynn’s arm rises reflexively to shield her face as prismatic light blasts from the roots, awe spasming through her as Wynter steps from the light and Gwynn takes in the Icaral’s dramatically altered appearance.

Wynter’s eyes are no longer silver but flashing every prismatic hue, her alabaster complexion tinted to pale green. Her wings ray out silvery light, and two flashing horns that seem made of star-white lightning rise from her head. A Watcher is perched on her shoulder, the translucent bird surrounded by an ethereal green mist.

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