The moment the seed touched Umbrael's chest, the world held its breath.
There was no explosion. No shockwave. No dramatic unraveling.
Just a silence deeper than death. A hush that reached through every tree, every stone, every breath of wind—as though the forest itself leaned in to listen.
Then… warmth.
Not bright, not blinding, but gentle. Like the feeling of sunlight on closed eyes after a storm. Like the memory of a lullaby once sung long ago.
Umbrael staggered. His shadow-wrapped form cracked, splintering along glowing lines that pulsed from the seed buried inside him. He screamed—not in pain, but in release. Centuries of hatred, grief, and sorrow came pouring out of him like mist evaporating under dawn.
He fell to his knees before Lucky, trembling.
"I remember," he whispered.
And then, softly, like a child remembering his own name, "Auralis."
Lucky reached forward and took his hand.
The darkness did not flee—it transformed. It became softer, quieter. It folded into itself like night yielding to morning.
The Heart of the Forest pulsed in response.
The world was changing.