Chapter 308: Griffins

Renkai looked up at the massive tree, his golden eyes reflecting the soft blue shimmer still lingering in the air where the mirror had swallowed Lira.

"You sent her far this time," he said, his tail flicking with concern.

The giant tree spirit rustled its canopy, its deep voice rolling through the grove like distant thunder.

"Far, yes. But not beyond her reach. She goes where the Moonvine still breathes— an age before the roots of time tangled. Only she can bring it back."

Thalanir frowned, brushing a leaf from his shoulder.

"An extinct plant? Even for her, that seems impossible."

The ancient tree chuckled softly, bark creaking with amusement.

"You doubt too easily, forest guardian. She has walked among lifetimes and made peace with her shadows. The Moonvine will answer her call."

Serelyth landed lightly from her perch, folding her wings back into her humanoid form. Her silver hair shimmered with dewlight as she gazed at the now-still mirror.

"Still... the air feels different. The path she took bends through forgotten echoes. I can’t see where it leads."

"You’re not meant to," the tree replied. "Her lesson lies in rediscovery. She must feel the past to restore what was lost."

Renkai stepped closer to the mirror, his hand hovering over its cold surface. The reflection that stared back was faint— only the faint glow of his markings and the blurred outline of ancient woods on the other side.

"She’ll manage," he finally said, forcing a small grin. "She always does."

The tree rumbled in gentle agreement.

"Indeed. But you— all of you— must tend to her orchard while she walks the threads of time. The seeds she planted will need your care. The apples of grounding will ripen soon, and they will be needed when she returns."

Thalanir crossed his arms, nodding.

"Then we’ll keep the grove alive until she comes back."

Renkai turned to look at the rows of glowing leaves and the faint shimmer of magic drifting above the soil.

"Alive—and ready. She’ll need a home filled with balance when she returns from the past."

Above them, the giant tree spirit hummed softly, its branches swaying as if whispering an ancient blessing through the air. The mirror pulsed once more, like a heartbeat—

—and then grew still.

Far beyond its surface, in a world that time had forgotten, Lira took her first step into the past.

As Lira stepped through the veil of light, the world on the other side shimmered like water settling after a storm.

The air was thick with life — moss glowing faintly under her boots, vines crawling lazily up trunks that seemed older than time itself. A deep hum of the forest pulsed around her, not of danger, but of sheer, ancient power.

Before her stood another giant tree, vast and alive, with roots spreading like rivers through the soil. Its bark shimmered faintly with gold-green light, and its branches reached so high she could barely see the top through the mist.

The mirror behind her gave one last ripple before shrinking— twisting in on itself until it rested in her palm, now small enough to fit like a pocket mirror, its surface still faintly glowing.

Then came the voice.

"Return here when you wish to go back,"

it said, deep and kind, fading into the rustling of the leaves until only silence remained.

Lira looked around slowly.

There was no sign of a path.

No buildings.

No traces of civilization at all — just the endless forest, breathing softly, watching her.

She tucked the mirror into her belt, her hand brushing the satchel at her side — her space bag, holding all her herbs, vials, and tools.

"So this is the past..." she murmured, gazing upward.

The sunlight filtering through the canopy had a strange hue — warmer, almost golden-orange, as if time itself burned differently here.

But the Moonvine... where could it be?

If it still lived in this era, she would need to follow its trail.

Her memory flickered — in her own time, the Moonvine had been known to grow near places with strong energy flows, where ley lines met under moonlight.

Lira knelt and touched the ground. The soil tingled beneath her fingers, threads of mana drifting upward like mist.

"So... find the strongest pulse, and follow it."

She rose, brushing off her robes, and set off through the towering ferns and glowing mosses.

Each step echoed with the whispers of a world untouched by ruin. Giant mushrooms exhaled faint light, and petals from unseen flowers floated through the air.

Still — a part of her felt watched.

The forest was alive in more ways than one.

"No path," she muttered to herself, glancing around. "Then I’ll make my own."

She raised her hand, drawing small lines of elemental energy — a gentle blend of wind and earth. The wind cleared the thick mist just enough to reveal faint traces of a path, old and half-swallowed by roots.

It was a start.

With quiet determination, she followed it — deeper into the forgotten past, where the air shimmered with the memory of magic long gone from her world.

The path grew thinner as Lira moved deeper into the forest. The air shifted — warmer, filled with the scent of wildflowers and something sharper, almost metallic. She pushed through the last curtain of glowing vines and suddenly stepped out into a vast clearing, where the trees opened to the borders of the ancient woods.

There, in the soft grass and golden light, she saw them.

Griffins.

Dozens of them. Some the size of carriages, their wings folded and feathers catching the sun like molten bronze. Others smaller — young ones, still growing, tumbling in the meadow and chirping at each other in high, bright sounds.

A few were perched on the rocks surrounding the clearing, preening their feathers with regal precision. One dipped its beak into a shallow pool, scattering ripples across the mirrored surface. Another, dark as night, stretched its wings wide — a breathtaking mix of lion’s muscle and eagle’s grace.

Lira froze.

For a heartbeat, she felt like she had stepped into a dream from a forgotten age — creatures of myth alive and moving freely before her eyes.

The closest griffins noticed her.

Their heads lifted, eyes glowing faintly gold, pupils narrowing with quiet curiosity.

One young griffin chirped softly and tilted its head.

Another adult, larger and more cautious, gave a low sound — not a growl, but a warning. Still, none advanced. The forest’s calm was mirrored in them; they were not hostile, only alert.

Lira slowly lowered herself to a crouch, showing her hands, palms open.

"Easy..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "I’m not here to harm you."

The griffins seemed to understand her tone more than her words. The larger ones kept their distance, but the younger ones soon lost interest, returning to their play — rolling in the grass and flapping their wings in bursts of joy.

A small smile crept across Lira’s lips.

"So this was your land once," she murmured. "Before humans ever built towers."

The older griffins — three of them, majestic and steady — continued to observe her. Their feathers caught the faint shimmer of magic that still lingered around her. They knew she was not from their time, though they couldn’t name why.

Lira could feel it too — the raw, balanced mana in the air around them. The Moonvine might have thrived here because of them. The griffins carried harmony in their aura, a perfect equilibrium of air and earth elements.

She slowly reached for the small crystal pendulum she used for sensing ley lines. The crystal swung gently, glowing brighter the closer she turned toward the heart of the griffin meadow.

"So it’s near here..." she whispered.

The largest griffin — feathers silver-white, eyes like molten amber — gave a low, resonant cry that rolled through the clearing. The others lifted their heads in response but did not move. Then, the silver griffin took a slow step toward her.

Lira held her ground.

It circled once, close enough for her to feel the wind from its wings, then lowered its beak near her shoulder, as if smelling the time’s scent still clinging to her. After a long pause, it turned its head toward the deeper end of the clearing — a direction lined with bluish vines and faint mist — and then looked back at her.

A sign.

"You want me to go there?" she asked softly.

The griffin blinked once, slow and deliberate. Then it gave a soft huff, like a breath of approval, before walking back to its kin.

Lira took a step toward the vines.

The ground beneath her shimmered faintly, mana pulsing like a living heartbeat.

Whatever she sought — the Moonvine — waited beyond.

Lira took her first cautious step toward the bluish vines. The air grew denser, almost shimmering, and a faint humming filled her ears — deep and melodic, like a song sung by the forest itself.

Then the hum shifted.

A heavier sound, deliberate, echoed through the clearing — claws against stone.

From behind the mist, a griffin unlike the others emerged.

Its feathers were streaked with silver and midnight blue, eyes bright as polished amber. A faint crown of light shimmered above its head, and every movement carried ancient grace. The other griffins bowed their heads low as it passed — even the silver one that had guided her lowered its wings in respect.