Morning at Castle Zero arrived as it always did. The mist still clung to the blackened trees. Lunethra walked onto the terrace, her footsteps soft, her sandals clicking against the cold stone floor. The clay pots lined the corner where she had planted the seeds from Elarwyn. The sprouts had grown tall now, tiny pale-green leaves unfurling. Lunethra stopped before the first pot. Her eyes scanned the leaves one by one—green, green, green. Still alive.
She moved to the second pot. The same.
The third. The same.
Until she reached the fourth.
A black patch. The size of a palm. It was snaking through the veins of the other leaves.
