Veins Of The Forgotten Deep. The Forgotten Grove Chronicles, #12

In the deep stillness beneath the Grove, something had begun to stir. Not with sound, nor tremor - but with memory. Far below the spiral trees, where old tunnels wound like forgotten veins, the land hummed faintly. Creatures once shaped of moonlight and stone slumbered, wrapped in vines older than the stars. And among them, nestled in the very marrow of the Grove's roots, pulsed a strange and flickering heartbeat. It was not alive.  And yet, it remembered. Above ground, no wind stirred the canopy.
The usual whisper of trees was missing, as if the forest held its breath. Leaves stood still on their stems. Branches arched unnaturally inward. And the sky - the sky blinked once, as if uncertain it should remain. The animals felt it first. Rocky lifted his head from a dreamless sleep, sensing a call that had no voice. Garfield sat still in the dark, tail flicking once - not in irritation, but in recognition.
Siri froze mid-step. Dunmore growled softly, though nothing stood before him. In the heart of the spiral, beneath soil layered in centuries of memory, a forgotten door shifted slightly in its sleep. It would open soon.  And when it did, the Grove would no longer be the same.