Terra pressed her palm against the oak's rough bark and felt nothing. No hum. No pulse of wrong spreading through the roots. Just silence where the tree's sickness used to vibrate against her skin. She stepped back, heart hammering. Either the oak had died in the three days since she'd last checked, or something in the soil had shifted fast enough to kill the rot. Both options meant she'd failed to save it while chasing approval from witches who didn't want her anyway. She knelt and dug her fingers into the dirt near the base, then pulled out the color-changing strip from her jacket pocket. The bands shifted the moment she pressed it into the soil. Deep red bled to orange, then flashed to a sickly yellow-green. The acid level had spiked. Something had flooded the ground here, something sharp enough to burn away disease and roots alike. Terra circled the trunk and stopped. A ring of small crystals jutted from the earth in a perfect loop around the oak, each one catching the light like broken glass. They hadn't been there three days ago. She crouched and touched one. It was warm, and the soil beneath it felt dead in a way that went deeper than dry. Whatever had pushed these formations up had scorched everything living in its path. The oak wasn't dead. The hollow in its trunk still held a few green shoots clinging to the inner wood, and tiny crystals glinted near the opening like frozen tears. But the tree had been changed by whatever came through the ground, and Terra had been too busy practicing useless fire tricks to notice the soil turning toxic. She sat back on her heels and made herself look at what her neglect had cost. If she wanted to prove anything to anyone, it should have started here.