Kael knelt at the base of the dying tree and pressed his palm against the grey bark. He had been posted here to guard it. He stayed because he believed wounded wonders deserved a sworn order to protect them. But guarding meant nothing if he could not name the sickness eating it from within. His canvas tent sagged a few paces off, ropes weathered from weeks of rain. He had not slept full nights in longer than he wanted to count. Each morning he walked the ring around the trunk and found new proof of his failure. A nearby stump had split open in the night. Pale mushrooms pushed through its blackened wood like teeth. He climbed the wooden watchtower he had claimed as his base and stared down at the spreading rot. From above, he could see the sickness moving outward in a slow, dark ring. He had hesitated for days. He did not know what was killing the tree, and without knowing, any cut he made might kill it faster. A voice called up from below. "You're losing it from the roots." A woman stood at the foot of the ladder. A small bright hatchling clung to her shoulder. She did not wait for permission. She climbed up, knelt by the trunk when he followed her down, and pressed two fingers into the soil. "Dry on the surface. Soft underneath. Something's feeding down there." She looked up at him. "I've seen this before. Not here. Further south." The hatchling chirped and pressed close to her neck. "I'm Mira. You've been guarding the wrong part of the tree." Kael stared at her. For the first time in months, someone had given him a direction instead of a dismissal. He drew his knife and knelt beside her at the roots. The hesitation was gone. Whatever it cost, he would cut where she pointed.