The forest breathed. Not with the rustle of leaves or the sigh of wind through ancient pines, but with a deeper, older rhythm. A pulse felt in the marrow, a vibration humming through the roots that cradled the village of Elderglen like a child in a mossy cradle. To most, it was just the wind, the creak of wood, the song of birds. To Elara, it was a symphony only she could hear, a language of sighs and groans and whispers that spoke of the land's slow, deep sorrow.