Norian stood at the edge of the clearing as the ground buckled and split. The ancient site had been dormant for generations, buried beneath roots and soil, but now it tore itself open with a sound like breaking stone. Dust rose in thick clouds. The opening would not last long. He pulled the amulet from beneath his collar. The seal of his house caught the light, and the metal warmed against his palm. His grandmother had worn it the day she taught him his first ward. Now it pulsed in rhythm with something deep below the surface, responding to the magic waking in the earth. He stepped forward. Stone steps descended into darkness. Vines wrapped around a pedestal at the center of the chamber, and atop it sat a book. It glowed faintly, pages open to symbols he recognized from his grandmother's notes. The fertility marks. The binding runes. And beneath them, in careful script, the first threads of soul-work she had never shown him. The air hummed with pressure. Norian reached for the book, and the chamber shuddered. Cracks spread along the walls. He had seconds, maybe less. He pressed his hand to the page, and the symbols flared bright. Knowledge poured into him—not words, but understanding. The site collapsed behind him as he climbed back into sunlight, the book clutched tight. His grandmother's work was no longer unfinished.