The forest had stopped laughing, and Lumi Sparklewind could no longer make a single flower bloom. She stood at the edge of the withered heart-tree, its bark gray and cracked. Once its magic kept all of Vinehollow blooming and full of joy. Now the branches hung silent. Lumi lifted her hand and whispered a bloom-charm. Nothing came. Her wings, once bright and sparkling, drooped dull against her purple dress. Her magic had grown thin, and she could not fix the tree without power she no longer had. She pressed her palm to the dry roots. "Please," she said. "Just one bud." The soil stayed cold. Lumi sat back on her heels. Whatever magic she had left, it was almost gone. She could keep pushing until she had nothing, or she could rest and gather more. So she chose to rest. Lumi flew home to her family's cottage, where old runes glowed warm along the roof and walls. This was the oldest magic place she knew. Her grandmother always said a night's sleep here filled a tired fairy back up. Lumi climbed into bed while the sun still hung low. She closed her eyes and let the cottage hum around her. She woke early, before the birds. Something felt different. When she stretched, tiny sparks jumped from her fingertips. Her wings glittered again, full and bright. Power buzzed under her skin. The cottage had done its work. Lumi laughed out loud, the first laugh she had made in days. She knew where to send this new magic. Lumi rushed outside to her butterfly, the sparkling creature shaped like a small dragon. He rested on a branch, wings folded and dim, drained just like the forest. He barely opened one green eye when she landed beside him. "Wake up," Lumi said. "The magic's back. I found it." She cupped her glowing hands around his body and let her power flow into him. His luminous wings began to shimmer. Colors spread across them, pink and blue and gold. He lifted his head. He beat his wings once, then again, and rose into the morning air. Everyone in Vinehollow knew what a rejuvenated butterfly could do. He carried magic from bloom to bloom, spreading it through the whole forest. He darted to a bare patch of ground and touched down. Where his feet landed, a cluster of yellow roses burst open, glowing soft and bright. Lumi clapped and spun in the air. But the roses made her stop. She flew closer and stared. Their glow was too much, too wild, brighter than any bloom she remembered. The petals trembled with power she had not meant to give. The butterfly was spreading her magic fast, faster than she could guide it. If she could not steer where all this new power went, it might wake more than flowers. Lumi hovered above the shining roses, thrilled and afraid at once.

The yellow roses glowed too bright below Lumi. Then the ground shook. A rank smell rolled through the trees, sour and wet. Something large crashed toward the wild blooms she had just made. Lumi gripped a branch and stared. The magic in the roses had called this thing here, and it was coming fast. A troll broke through the ferns. He was small but quick, hunched low, with long claws and hungry yellow eyes. He sniffed the air and grinned at the glowing roses. Lumi knew the stories. This was Crim Seeper. He ate magic and twisted it dark. If he reached her cottage runes, or the yellow roses, he would grow stronger. And her cottage stood only a few wingbeats away. "Those aren't yours," Lumi called. She dove down and threw a bloom-charm. Sparks struck the troll's shoulder. He hissed and stumbled, but he did not run. He lunged for the roses instead, jaws wide, ready to swallow their light. Lumi needed help, and she needed it now. She pressed two fingers to her lips and whistled the old warden call her mentor had taught her. "Olly!" she shouted. "He's here! The magic-eater!" Wings beat the dark. A great horned owl dropped from the canopy and landed between Lumi and the troll. Olly Nightfeather wore his rune-carved leathers and a cloak of leaves. He had guarded this forest longer than anyone could count. He fixed the troll with steady amber eyes and did not blink. "You picked a poor garden to raid," Olly said. His voice was calm, almost bored. "I've eaten worse than you for breakfast, Seeper." The troll snarled and swiped. Olly spread his wings and screeched. The sound rattled the leaves. Lumi felt her own courage rise. "Together," Olly said. "Now, Lumi." Lumi flew high and called her butterfly. The little dragon-shaped creature streaked to her hand, wings full of stored magic. Lumi cupped him and pulled his glow into her palms. Then she flung both hands at the troll. A bright wall of light burst outward. Olly drove forward at the same moment, talons flashing. The troll shrieked. The clean magic burned him, and Olly's claws raked his arm. He could not eat light this strong. Crim Seeper turned and fled into the dark trees, crashing away until the ground went still. Lumi dropped to the grass, shaking. The roses still glowed, untouched. "You came," she breathed. "I always come," Olly said. But he did not smile. He looked at the too-bright roses, then at Lumi. "He'll return. His kind always follows loose magic. And your blooms are shouting to the whole forest." He nodded toward the old treehouse in the far branches, where the ancient scrolls were kept. "He'll want what's hidden there next. We must reach the archive before he does."

The yellow roses still glowed too bright the next morning. Lumi tried to calm them alone. She pressed her hands to the petals and hummed her softest charm. The light dimmed, then flared brighter than before. Worse, new shapes moved at the tree line, drawn by the shine. Her magic was not enough. She needed the archive, and she needed a plan for the troll. She whistled the warden call again. Olly dropped from the branches without a sound. He landed on the porch rail of her cottage and studied the roses. "They're louder today," he said. "Every hungry thing in this forest can hear them. We can't wait for Crim Seeper to come to us. We set the trap." "With what bait?" Lumi asked. "The scrolls," Olly said. "He wants the old magic in the archive more than these blooms. We let him think he can reach it." A blue streak cut through the ferns and landed hard beside them. It was Rosie, Lumi's cousin, red curls wild, one eyebrow still missing from an old tracking spell. She had pulled Lumi out of trouble more times than either could count. She looked at the glowing roses and did not smile. "Forty-four," Rosie said. "My spell dragged me here. What did you break this time?" "The whole forest, a little," Lumi said. "But I have help now." "You always say that." Rosie folded her arms. "Then I end up fixing it. What's the plan?" Olly spread a wing toward the treehouse. "Every troll has one weakness. One thing that stops him and sends him back to the rot he crawled from. Crim Seeper's weakness is written in the true scrolls. I know where they're kept." They flew to the archive together. Olly dug through a locked chest and pulled out a cracked scroll. He read fast, beak moving. "Salt-iron and moonlight," he said. "Poured on him at once. It burns the dark magic from his gut." Lumi's heart lifted. "Then we set the bait here. He smells the scrolls. We wait above." Rosie was already gathering salt-iron dust into a cloth pouch. "I brought the salt. Of course I brought the salt." She tossed a second pouch to Lumi. "Don't drop it." They worked through the afternoon. Olly laid a fake scroll in the open window. Lumi called her butterfly and pulled its stored light into a jar to hold as moonlight. Rosie set the salt-iron along the sill. Night came. The ground shook. Crim Seeper crashed toward the archive, jaws wide for the bait. "Now!" Olly screeched. Lumi flung the light. Rosie threw the salt. The troll shrieked as the two struck together. Smoke poured off his skin. He clawed at his own belly, then dropped and sank into the dark earth, gone. The roses below dimmed to a soft, steady glow. The forest went quiet. But the true scroll had said more, and Olly's face had gone grim reading it. "There's a cost," he said. "The salt-iron drains the heart-tree's last strength. We may have saved tonight and doomed the tree."

The troll was gone, but the heart-tree paid for it. Lumi flew to it at dawn with her butterfly trailing behind. The great trunk had gone gray. Its leaves hung dry and curled. She pressed both hands to the bark and pushed her own magic in. The tree drank it, then went still again. She had no more to give. Feed it too fast and she would kill it. Do nothing and it would die anyway. She sank to the roots and did not know which mistake to make. "You're pouring water into a broken cup," a voice said. "It runs right out." Lumi turned. A boy stood among the ferns, dark-haired, a blue cloak clasped at his throat. He was her own height, not a fairy she knew. The air had shifted around him, thick and warm, like the moment before rain. Her breath caught, but she felt no fear. He smiled as if he already knew her. "I'm Gavin Moonbeam," he said. "Sidhe. I felt this forest's magic from under the hills. Then I felt it fading." He crouched by the roots. "You're feeding it your strength. That's the wrong strength." "It's all I have," Lumi said. "No." He nodded at the tree behind her, the old one deeper in the forest, its bark carved with runes that had glowed since before her grandmother was born. "That tree remembers how magic used to move here. Roots talk to roots underground. Bring this dying one what that old one holds, and it won't need your blood." Lumi's heart lifted, then sank. "I can't carry magic between two trees." "You can't." Gavin's eyes went to the butterfly hovering at her shoulder. "But that can. It spread your power once. Let it carry the old tree's power instead." She understood. Her butterfly had flooded the forest before, wild and uncontrolled. This time she would aim it. She flew to the ancient rune-carved tree and set the butterfly on its bark. The runes flared gold. The butterfly's wings filled with that old light, deep and steady, not her own thin spark. "Now," Gavin said. "Slow. Let it drip." Lumi led the butterfly back and touched it to the heart-tree's roots. Light seeped from its wings into the gray bark. She held it there, breathing, keeping the flow thin. The trunk warmed. One branch stirred. A single bud swelled and opened. Its petals glowed with soft orange-gold at the edges. "Almostjoy," Lumi whispered. She had not seen that color since the first brown leaf. The heart-tree lived. But only one bud had opened, and the old rune-tree's light had already dimmed where the butterfly drank. Gavin watched it fade and frowned. "That well isn't bottomless," he said. "You saved the tree tonight. But you're spending the oldest magic in this forest to do it. Something older than me is going to notice."