The ground shuddered, and Linelor City tipped into upheaval, as if sky and soil had switched places.

People thought it was an earthquake. They rushed out, then froze—strange plants had burst from the streets. (Not truly strange, just unfamiliar to everyone.)

The quiet night blew its lid, a pot suddenly at full boil.

Kids ran out bright-eyed, eager to climb trunk and leaf like ladders.

Adults felt fear first. They yanked the kids back, then gripped batons and blades, wary of monsters wearing plant skins.

Girls lifted cameras, catching blossoms burning softly in the dark like stars.

Boys whooped already, sure school would cancel like a breeze blowing through rules.

Shock, delight, panic, and daze spread like wind through the city; even off-hours, the Lindream Council’s chairroom door flew open under a girl’s hand.

“Madam Chair! Plants are sprouting all over Linelor City!”

She had chestnut hair and clear eyes like spring water, poised and bright.

Dongfang Chen would have been struck speechless if he were here; the girl was his former class monitor, Zixin.

“Mm. I know.”

The reply came from an older woman. She sat in a black wheelchair, simple reading glasses gleaming faintly, head bowed to some quiet thing.

The room was dim, no electric lights—one white candle on a stand breathed a steady flame. Half her shape sank into its shadow like dusk.

“A very complex spell. Not one of Dreamwood Star’s old rites. The traces won’t name the caster. But to do this—only her, I’d say.”

By candlelight, Zixin finally saw what the Chair studied: a regular dodecahedral magic cube, exhaling a soft amber sheen in her hands.

“M-Madam Chair?”

Nerves first—Zixin tested her voice. The Chair’s calm felt like deep water, unexpected and still.

“What is it, little Xin?”

“Madam Chair... Should we alert police and special units, help people evacuate? If roots touch foundations, buildings might fail.”

That fear pressed on Zixin like weight in the chest. No injuries yet, but if the growth kept on, accidents would stalk the streets.

“Little Xin, no need…”

The elder set the cube down, lifted her head, and met the chestnut-haired girl with a kind gaze, warm as ember.

“The caster is this planet’s World Tree Maiden, and a very advanced mage. These plants will rise only on empty buildings and streets. They won’t harm citizens.”

“A W-World Tree Maiden?! Dreamwood Star... has one?”

Zixin’s eyes widened like moonlit pools. She’d learned the lore at school, but believed a World Tree Maiden lived thousands of spheres away.

“We did... at least once... we did.”

She smiled faintly, turned the wheelchair’s rims, and rolled to the wall of books like a slow tide.

“Your legs—let me handle this.”

“Thanks, little Xin. Third row, second.”

“Got it!”

On tiptoes, Zixin drew out a thick, timeworn hardcover that smelled of old paper and rain.

She held it with both hands and passed it carefully to the old Chair, steady as a ceremony.

“Madam Chair, this is…”

“An old... photo album.”

“Do you need me to... bring the candlestick over?”

“No need. I can see clearly here.”

The old Chair shook her head, set the book on her lap like a sleeping bird, and didn’t open it.

“Madam Chair, anything else I should do?”

“Little Xin... issue a notice. Tell the citizens there’s no need to panic.”

“Mm! I got it!”

Zixin nodded and slipped into her work as the Chair’s secretary, like a river finding its course.