The next day, Ash found himself on a sun-dappled terrace of interwoven roots, his hands braced against the rail as a crowd of Murkfen children darted between rope bridges and hollowed trunks.

The layout of Glowfen Glade centered around a cluster of large, gently lit islands, the biggest of which formed a wide play island where the children spent their days.

They had pulled him into their morning game—something Tholn called "the shadow chase," a playful tradition where one plays the prowling hunter and the others try to outwit and surround them.

Tholn patiently showed Ash the rules beforehand, even demonstrating the exaggerated, slow-stalking gait that made the little ones squeal with laughter. Ash, curious and a little amused, had agreed to play along.

Soon he was weaving between root-pillars, feinting left and lunging right as volleys of soft seed-fluff pelted him from every side. The children's gleeful shouts and laughter rang like silver ribbons through the mist, twining with the steady breath of the Glade itself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been surrounded by so much life and joy.

When the "hunt" finally ended in a triumphant tackle that left him buried beneath a giggling pile of small limbs, Ash grinned faintly and let them declare their victory. Tholn stepped in with a chuckle, dispersing the children with a promise of another game later. "We'll take a break," he told them, then glanced at Ash. "Come. I want to show you something."

They left the island together, the children's voices fading behind them as they crossed a narrow boardwalk toward the next island.

The layout of Glowfen Glade unfolded in layers: at its heart, a central island of lantern-lit boardwalks and a timber Main Hall that rose like a beacon, its warm light spilling over the water. Nearby lay the Children's Island, quiet now but still holding the memory of the day's games beneath its broad-canopied trees and makeshift playgrounds. Residential clusters dotted the surrounding smaller islands, each linked by winding bridges and adorned with flower boxes, carved railings, and the soft glow of windows. Encircling them all, the outer boardwalk looped the settlement like a glowing ribbon over dark water, dipping low in some places and arching high in others.

This isle was quieter, its mossy paths lined with soft lanterns and little gardens tilled by careful hands. Beautiful plants and flowers overwhelmed the area, spilling from hanging baskets and crowding the edges of the path in a riot of colors and scents, their arrangements so harmonious they seemed as if they had been shaped by generations of loving hands.

Tholn then led Ash onto a path that wound toward a bridge, and at the end of the bridge was a viewing platform.

The air grew quieter, broken only by the distant calls of swamp birds and the faint creak of the rope underfoot, and beyond lay a broad sweep of the Glade, the golden-green light spilling over winding paths and clustered dwellings.

Ash rested his hands on the rail, scanning the scene below.

For a long moment he simply watched—the way the children ran in looping paths, traded shouts across the terraces, and clustered to share a single drifting spore as if it were treasure. The easy warmth in their voices and the unguarded joy in their movements stirred something in him. He remembered Tholn's words from before about what makes a home, and for the first time he felt like he could see it—not as an idea, but alive in front of him.

Tholn watched Ash in that moment, a faint smile touching his features as he saw the softness and joy in Ash's eyes.

"You weren't wrong," Ash murmured, glancing sideways at Tholn before letting his gaze return to the golden-green bustle below. "It's… warm here, in a way that gets under your skin. I think I can finally see what your home really is—its heartbeat, its people—and it amazes me. It's like every root and bridge hums with something alive."

Tholn's mouth curved slightly. "It hums because we tend it, and because it tends us."

Ash nodded slowly. "I think I am able to feel that now… not just see it."

"It's a rare thing to notice so quickly," Tholn replied, tone thoughtful.

Ash huffed faintly. "Maybe. Or maybe it's because I've been looking for it without knowing."

Tholn's lips quivered, but his gaze stayed on the scene below. "It is warmth bought with care. But it is not without its losses."

Ash glanced at him, thoughtful. "What do you mean?" he asked, before letting his eyes wander back to the many small figures playing and working. The question formed naturally after a pause. "Tholn… why are there so many children here? Where are their parents?"

Tholn's gaze shifted past the children, settling on the ruin perched at the top of the hill in the marsh. A flicker of something unspoken tightened his jaw, the kind of restrained tension that hinted at old, unresolved anger, before he answered.

"The swamp is not gentle, and the years have been cruel," Tholn said, turning to the other side of the platform.

There, the farthest edge of the Glade dissolved into a fringe of reeds, willows, and thick grass, shivering in the night wind. Beyond it, the land rose into a jagged silhouette crowned with bare limbs of dead trees and the crumbling shapes of forgotten stonework.

"This place used to be far more flourishing and lively," Tholn continued, his voice carrying a deep sadness. "Nearly two hundred people once called it home. Now, those ruins are all that remain from the older generation." Ash looked at him, the question rising naturally. "What happened?"

Tholn's gaze followed a pair of little ones as they dove after a drifting spore, but his expression was shadowed, and when he spoke, his voice trembled with restrained grief. "About two years ago, a great beast tide broke through the Glade's edge, the number was in the hundreds… something we had not faced before. Our numbers were not enough so I was sent to ask for help from Elyrra. But by the time I made it back with the helpers, I was too late. That event cost us all of our elders. To buy us time to hide, they defended the glade… And when we came out of hiding, many were dead and more were nowhere to be found."

Ash hesitated, then glanced sidelong at him. "And… your parents?"

"They were among the bodies that were left behind," Tholn said quietly, his words heavy and deliberate, as if each carried a piece of the weight he bore, "They stood their ground so the young could be carried to safety."

His voice softened, the grief more visible now,"Their roots are part of the Nest now. When the wind in the Nest breathes, I like to think it's their breath I feel."

Ash let the words settle, his own breathing unconsciously matching the slow rhythm of the Glade.

After a moment, he looked back at Tholn. "And Mela's parents?"

Tholn's eyes darkened, the sadness there raw.

"When my older brother lost not just our parents, but also my sister-in-law—Mela's mother—she was among the first to be killed when the beast tide struck. I saw the rage take hold of him, blotting out everything else. He went into the forest seeking revenge… and he never returned. No word of him has been heard since."

Ash's gaze drifted from the ruins on the distant hill to Mela, then across the Glade around them. In the warmth of the laughter and the quiet gestures, he could still feel the echo of what Tholn had told him—a history scarred by loss. He spoke softly to himself, almost as if admitting it to the air.

He had never expected Mela to carry such sadness beneath her energy, nor for this place to radiate such warmth after enduring such tragedy.

Turning to Tholn, he said, "I'm amazed… that you all took it from that to this."

Tholn's expression deepened, and his voice carried a steady conviction.

"Hope," he began, "was the lifeline the adults gave us when everything else was gone. They taught us to hold onto it no matter what, to guard it like the last ember of a fire in the cold."

He glanced toward the children playing in the distance.

"It's that hope which allowed us to smile again… even after everything. Without it, this place would have been nothing but ruins and silence."

Then Tholn turned to Ash fully, his gaze steady and intent.

"You mean more to this place than you realise, Ash," he said, the words rich with both gratitude and gravity.

Hearing that, Ash's attention suddenly flew back into his own thoughts.

Tholn seemed to realise the sudden dilation in Ash's eyes and his voice dropped to something almost solemn as he suddenly bowed deeply, catching Ash off-guard, bringing him back to reality.

"I must apologise," he continued, the faint tremor in his tone betraying the depth of what he felt, "I know it must be far too sudden… and you may perhaps feel that it's unfair. I've been observing you from the moment you awoke, and I can see your mind is still struggling to believe that you are the one."

He then raised his head to look at Ash, "We have only been fed stories of hope about your arrival, but seeing you here makes me realise—we may have been wrong in how we imagined the chosen one would appear. Perhaps he would not even know that he is the chosen one. So I can only apologise on behalf of my people."

The words settled between them like mist, seeping in without force.

Ash did not speak at once. He let the moment stretch, his gaze slipping from Tholn to the children, then to the far-off ruins. His mind wandered unbidden—to the fire of betrayal, to the Valens, to every step he had taken since.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady.

"…Thank you for saying that, Tholn. It helps… more than you know."

Tholn lifted his head, and for the first time Ash thought he saw something close to relief in the man's eyes.

"Ash, I want you to know," Tholn said softly, "We do not look to you to bear a burden alone… but because of the hope we've been able to find from your destiny."

Ash's lips curved faintly at the word, "Destiny... huh?"

He let the thought roll in his mind as his gaze drifted for a moment, as if tracing back through his own history.

"I've been scrambling to survive for so long—constantly running into foes stronger than me, always feeling that weight of weakness pressing down. It is hard for me to believe that I am the one in the prophecy, the one that is supposed to save you all when I feel that I still have so much to learn to be able to even help."

He stopped there, the words half-formed, before the wind shifted and carried a sound from far off—

A sharp, urgent cry for help.

The warmth of the Glade faltered in that instant.

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