Tobias rises carefully, not wanting to disturb the small creature on his knee. The fairy lifts off without a sound — no flutter of wings, just a gentle absence — and drifts ahead like a mote caught on invisible air. He follows, picking between the roots with slow, deliberate steps. The glow deepens as he nears: a rich, living green, not quite light and not quite warmth, something in between. It seeps upward through a gap where two great roots converge, and when Tobias crouches and leans close, he finds a hollow — just wide enough for a small person to fit through — its walls furred with moss that seems to produce the glow itself. The fairy hovers at the lip, violet eyes expectant. From somewhere below, muffled and far off, comes a sound: slow and resonant, almost like breathing — or the careful turning of a very large page.