Page 12 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s dormant. There’s a difference.” She repeats my earlier words with a smile.

I try to see what she sees. The grove is a perfect circle of ancient trees, their trunks twisted into fantastical shapes. The ground is carpeted with moss and small white flowers that shouldn’t bloom in this season. A massive oak tree stands in the center, reaching its branches toward the sky.

It is beautiful, in a melancholy way. Like a painting of something once vibrant but now faded with time.

“Come on.” Talia steps across the boundary.

I hesitate, one foot raised. To cross this line again after so long... My stone heart feels unusually heavy.

“Dorian?” She looks back, concern in her eyes. “Are you coming?”

I step across the boundary, and nothing happens. There’s no magical surge, and no recognition from the grove. Just silence. “See?” I gesture around us. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

“We need to go to the center. That’s where the heart of the grove is, right?”

I follow reluctantly and suddenly hear humming again, growing louder as we approach the central tree. I freeze at the sight of the four eggs popping into visibility in front of us before slowly sinking to the ground, settling on a nest of moss. The very same eggs the Heart of Haven absorbed, minus the fifth onethat turned into petals and revealed the riddle leading us here. I groan.

The Heart Oak stands at the center of the clearing. It’s tall and imposing despite its dormant state. Its bark is silvery-gray, etched with patterns that resemble ancient runes. At its base is a circular clearing where, once upon a time, magical ceremonies were held to celebrate the changing seasons.

Talia steps closer to look at the eggs now pulsing with light so bright it hurts my eyes. She looks otherworldly with her dark skin glowing golden, and her eyes wide with wonder. “This is it,” she whispers. “This is where we’re supposed to be.”

I remain at the edge of the clearing, reluctant to fully step into the sacred space I once guarded. “We’ve seen it, so let’s go.”

She ignores me, walking to the very center of the clearing. “Bring the eggs, Dorian. I think they need to be here.”

“Talia—”

“Please. We’ve come this far.”

With a resigned sigh, I stop to pick up the four eggs and join her in the center of the clearing. The moment I step into place beside her, the air grows heavy with potential, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“Do you feel that?” she asks as she takes two of the eggs again.

I nod, unable to deny the shift in energy. Our eggs are again pulsing in perfect synchronization, their light blending together. Hers are golden like sunshine, and mine are silver like moonlight.

“What now?” I ask, suddenly uncertain.

“I think,” She holds out her eggs toward the Heart Oak, “We need to place them at the base of the tree.”

Together, we approach the ancient oak. Its massive roots create natural niches, perfect for placing our eggs. As if guided by instinct, we each select spots. The moment the eggs touchthe tree’s roots, they stop glowing. For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then the earth moves, starting as a tremor beneath our feet. Just a whisper of energy through the air. Then it grows stronger, a pulse of magic so powerful it makes my stone skin vibrate. The ground beneath us shifts with purpose, like a sleeper stirring after a long rest.

“Dorian?” Talia’s voice holds a note of alarm as she reaches for my arm to steady herself.

I instinctively move closer to her, partially unfurling my wings to shield her if necessary. “It’s okay. The grove is responding.”

The pulse continues, rhythmic and strong, like a heartbeat. With each beat, a wave of energy spreads outward from the Heart Oak, rippling through the clearing and beyond. The dormant magic of the Glimmergrove begins to stir.

Talia gasps, lifting her hands to stare at her fingers. “My magic is responding to the grove.”

Tiny motes of golden light dance around her fingertips, awakening her sun witch magic in response to the grove’s pulse. To my shock, I feel an answering surge within my own body. My guardian magic, dormant for as long as the grove itself, stirs restlessly.

“This is incredible.” Her scarf cycles through colors too quickly to track. “The grove isn’t dead. It was just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I ask, though I suspect I know the answer.

“For us.” She turns to me, her face lit with joy and wonder. “For a guardian and a sun witch. For balance.”

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