Dr. Olivia Greenwood knelt in the dead grass and knew she was running out of specimens. She had come to Kauri to revive the withered world-tree at the heart of the land, using a green magic most botanists called a myth. To do that, she needed living plants to study. But the tree was dying, and its sickness was spreading. A grey blight crept from its roots through the soil, and everything it touched turned to ash. She pressed her palm to a fern beside the great tree. The leaves crumbled at her touch. Yesterday it had been green. She pulled her hand back and stared at the grey line advancing across the ground. It moved like frost, slow and certain. Every plant she needed sat inside its path. Her hummingbird darted overhead, teal body flashing, red wings a blur. It landed on her shoulder and chirped, sharp and frightened. Even the small bird sensed the wrongness in the air. Olivia ran for the greenhouse. The white steel frame of the conservatory rose against the sky, its glass panes catching the light. Inside grew the last healthy specimens in Kauri. If the blight reached them, she would have nothing left to work with. She threw open the door. The woodworker was already there, kneeling at the base of the glass wall. Marcus Pinewood had built half the shelves in this study. His grey beard was streaked with sawdust, and his flannel sleeves were rolled to the elbow. He looked up, and his face told her the truth before he spoke. "It's under the foundation," he said. "Came up through the floor overnight." A grey vein ran along the base of the nearest planter. Two potted plants had already withered. Olivia's chest tightened. The blight was inside. She thought fast. The old texts claimed green magic could not heal, but it could feed. She could not stop the blight. But she might pull the healthy plants out of its reach and buy herself time. "Help me lift these," she said. "Every pot that's still green. We carry them to the study and seal the door." Marcus didn't argue. He grabbed the heavy planters two at a time. Olivia cradled the smaller ones against her chest. Her hands shook, but she kept moving. The hummingbird flew ahead through the doorway, guiding them like a spark. They worked until the study floor was crowded with rescued green. Olivia shut the door and packed wet cloth into the gap beneath it. The blight would not cross a threshold it could not reach. She leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The specimens were safe. But through the glass she watched the grey line swallow the last of the conservatory's beds. She had saved the plants. She had not saved the ground. Marcus wiped his hands. "You bought time," he said. "Not much." Olivia nodded. The blight came from the tree. To stop it, she had to reach the tree itself.

The rescued plants filled Olivia's study, but green magic was still only words in old books. She had read every page. She had never once made a leaf answer her. Now she knelt among the sealed pots and pressed her hand to a fern. Nothing stirred. The books said she needed a source to learn the first techniques. She had none. Without that first spark, she could not revive a single stem, let alone the world-tree. Hooves clicked on the study floor. A small reindeer stood in the doorway, grey fur dotted with brown, a blue cloth saddle across its back. It had wandered in from the glass conservatory. Olivia stared. She had left the outer door open. The animal watched her with dark, patient eyes, then lowered its antlers toward a shadowed corner she had never used for plants. She followed its gaze. There, half-hidden behind a shelf Marcus had built, sat a potted tree she had forgotten. Deep purple blossoms crowned its branches. Its leaves were glossy and full, untouched by any grey. She had bought it for its beauty, not its use. The reindeer nosed the pot and huffed, as if to say, here. "You want me to try this one," she said. The animal blinked. Olivia set both palms against the trunk. She closed her eyes and recited the first technique from memory. She pushed her intent into the bark the way the text described, slow and steady, like breathing. For a moment nothing changed. Then warmth spread under her hands. The purple blossoms did not wilt. They opened wider. A thread of feeling passed from the tree into her fingers. It was faint but real, a pulse of life she could grip and pull. This was the source. The lost art was not empty words. The purple tree fed the magic, and the magic answered. She laughed out loud, sharp with relief. She had done it. She had made green magic work. But the pulse she pulled did not renew itself. As she drew on the tree, its glossy leaves dulled at the edges. She stopped, breathing hard, and understood the cost. The revival did not create life from nothing. It moved life from one plant into her work. To feed the dying world-tree, she would have to spend healthy plants. And she had only the few she had saved. The reindeer nudged her shoulder. Olivia touched the fading leaves of the purple tree and did the sum in her head. The world-tree was vast. These pots were small. She had learned the art, but the art demanded fuel she did not have. She needed far more green than a sealed study could hold, and the blight had already eaten the rest of Kauri. She stood. The first technique was hers now. The next problem was where to find enough life to spend.