CHAPTER EIGHT: PULSE AWAKENS (Part four)
Zephryn slowly lowered himself to the base of the tree.
Not with reverence.
Not with weakness.
With intention.
Selka followed, silent as ever, sitting beside him—
not too close,
but not far enough for the wind to forget they were together.
Above them, the branches moved like threads in water.
Petals drifted in slow spirals.
Some landed. Some vanished before they touched the grass.
As if the tree decided what should be remembered,
and what should be let go.
Zephryn stared at the dirt beneath his boots.
"I used to think the hum was a trick."
Selka's head turned slightly.
He didn't stop.
"I thought it was something broken.
Something left behind in my pulse that wasn't supposed to still be there."
The tree responded.
A quiet shimmer.
He looked up.
"It wasn't broken."
Selka's voice came soft.
"You think it was her?"
Zephryn didn't answer right away.
He placed his hand on the bark again—
this time lower, where the spiral had widened into two.
"She used to hum when she thought I was asleep."
He exhaled slowly.
"But I was never asleep."
A pulse moved beneath his palm.
Not warm. Not cold.
Alive.
The pendant around his neck flashed once.
Not silver.
White.
Just for a breath.
Then gone.
Selka turned to him.
Not to ask a question.
To anchor him in the moment.
"You're not broken either."
Zephryn closed his eyes.
The glyph beneath the bark pulsed once more.
And this time, his pulse matched it.