In the chambers of the Eternal Tower's substrate, Serathis felt the trembling change.
The trembling had been the Painter's feeding, then the Painter's uncertainty, then the Painter's attention shifting. Now the trembling was something else. The trembling was the Tower's foundation responding to the true memories rising from the Tree's roots.
Serathis paused in her eating. She had been eating the Tower's flesh for the entire second age, and she had become sensitive to its textures, its shifts, its small intimations of change. The trembling she felt now was not the trembling of the Painter's attention moving. It was the trembling of the Tower's foundation, recognizing that it was no longer alone.
'The Tree is waking up,' Serathis thought. 'The Tree is remembering what it is for.'
