In the last surviving patch of deepwood—where the trees still whisper in the tongue of the old forest—torches of firefly resin flicker to life. The Thorn-Rite begins, a bonding ceremony passed down since the days when Nymara ruled the canopies, before pollution pushed them to the edges of human ruin.

Eldwyn, graceful in his half-form, with russet fur tracing his arms and slitted eyes glowing amber, approaches the heart-tree. He wears no finery—only a wrap of barkcloth and feathers tied by his aunt Mara, and carries a circlet of shaped thorns and driftbone, smeared with moon sap and lined with strands of his own fur. His nest-gift.

Vel lounges in the branches above, tail flicking. “You’d think he was meeting a storm god, not his mate,” she teases.

Rhory appears moments later, his belly beginning to round—a sacred sign. He is the second-strongest of their bond, the nest-builder, and soon the bearer of their next generation. He walks barefoot, shadow-pale, eyes the color of wet bark. His claws are gilded with charcoal—protection for the rite.

“I accept your offering,” Rhory says softly, fitting the circlet to his head.

“Then by fang and forest, we are nest-bound,” Eldwyn replies.

As tradition dictates, they curl together before the gathered kin—an old symbol of mutual trust. Purring rises around them, echoing through the branches. The Nymara do not cheer. They vibrate with joy.

Later that night, Eldwyn leads Rhory through the old paths—deer trails and shadow-tunnels only the bonded would know—until they reach it: a low, flower-choked cave hidden behind a drape of weeping vines. The entrance is nearly invisible, masked in moss and blooming nightlilies, but inside, it opens wide and warm, the walls breathing with the earth.

Rhory steps in first, touching the cool stone with reverence. Soft moss carpets the floor, and above, tiny bioluminescent spores drift like stars. A hollow, yes—but a living one.

“Our nest,” Eldwyn murmurs, stepping in behind him. “It’ll grow with us.”

Rhory smiles, already imagining feathers, petals, bones, and soft cloth tucked in corners. He presses Eldwyn’s hand to his belly.

“And soon, it won’t be just ours.”

Outside, the wind carries the scent of rain and rosemary.

The forest watches, and approves.