Finn stood in a stone circle on a small hill, his boots sinking into soft earth, his heart still racing. The mist that had carried him from Duncliffe had dissolved, revealing a vast valley of endless green. On either side, forests of towering oak and ash and elm stretched away, their massive trunks disappearing into a layered canopy so dense it seemed to swallow the light. The air itself hummed, a vibration that resonated deep in his chest, syncing with his heartbeat.
Before him spread a blend of stone and timber structures, a breathtaking fusion of nature and architecture unlike anything Finn had ever seen before. The sprawling complex seemed to emerge from the ground, like a natural extension of earth itself, following the natural contours of the land, more grown from it than built on it.
Towers of weathered granite, etched with Celtic knots, rose alongside others grown entirely from ancient, ivy-crowned oaks. Living branches had been coaxed into arched hallways and domed chambers, connecting courtyards where torches burned with warm, orange flames and where bubbling fountains, tranquil reflecting pools, and small streams meandered next to winding paths of smooth river stones and thick, deep green moss. At the heart of it all stood an immense oak, its trunk wider than a house, its branches forming a natural cathedral ceiling over the main courtyard. The air felt different here, cleaner, more vibrant, charged with something that made Finn's skin tingle. Scents of pine, apple blossom, and herbs he never smelled before mingled with the earthier aromas of wood and stone. People, some younger than Finn, others his age, others older than him, moved between the buildings, a few of them waving what looked like sparklers. Finn's damp jacket clung to his thin frame, but he felt neither wet nor cold, his eyes darting everywhere, from the towers to the courtyards to the people and back to the towers. Morrigan stood beside him, her staff tapping the soft earth as she studied him with sharp eyes.
"The Grove welcomes you, Finn," she said, gesturing towards the structures and buildings below.
"But here, welcomes must be earned. You're a Weaver, still raw as green wood, and the Aether's no gentle teacher. It will test you, as it tests all."
Finn swallowed, his mind struggling to process the impossible, beautiful reality of it all. The will-o'-the-wisp now hovered near his shoulder.
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves and low howls of a valley breeze. The stone circle they were standing in was different from the Witches Henge in Duncliffe, and he had never seen a forest even a quarter of the size of this one anywhere close to Duncliffe or any of its neighboring villages.
"The Grove Academy," Morrigan said and pointed her staff toward a wide path leading into the valley, "Come. We don't want to be late for dinner."
Finn had no choice but to follow, the wisp darting ahead, as he tried to keep up with the Warden's long strides. After a few hundred meters of stumbling along, Finn could better make out individual buildings of the Academy. Low halls of grey stone with moss-thatched roofs stood beside tall towers with stained glass windows in shades of green and blue, some of them partly covered by ivy, its tendrils forming patterns that seemed to shift when Finn wasn't looking directly at them.
We must have somehow teleported to the Wicklow Mountains, or Glenveagh National Park, maybe? "But where in Ireland are we?" he asked again.
"We are both in Eire and not in Eire," Morrigan replied.
"This is Tír nan Draoi - the Land of the Druids. A realm that exists parallel to the mortal world, occupying the same space but vibrating on a different frequency within the Aether."
She stopped, turned around, and gestured to the stone circle they had emerged from.
"Ancient places of power - stone circles, cairns, henges - serve as portals between realms for those with the ability to awaken them. The Witch's Henge in Duncliffe is one such portal, as are hundreds of others scattered across the old lands." Her staff traced a pattern in the air that briefly shimmered with green light.
"What appears as ruins or curious monuments to the Duine - regular humans - is, to us, a threshold between worlds."
Finn looked back at the monoliths.
"So are we... in another dimension?"
"More or less," Morrigan nodded. "Tír nan Draoi exists in the space between the mortal realm and the Otherworld, where the Tuatha Dé Danann now dwell. It allows us to hone our arts without interference from those who would not understand, while we remain connected to both worlds."
She turned back towards the Academy and gestured for him to follow. They soon reached the Academy's outer edge. Some of the courtyards were paved with ogham-carved flagstones, others carpeted with wildflowers that swayed despite the absence of breeze and wind. The children he had seen from the hill - other Weavers, he now realized - moved through these spaces wearing cloaks of various earth tones. Some traced patterns in the air that left trails of light; others seemed to be speaking to plants or shaping water into impossible, gravity-defying forms.
"How many Weavers are here?" Finn asked, stunned by the realization that the lights he'd seen from afar weren't sparklers.
"Less than two hundred," Morrigan replied without breaking stride.
"From every corner of the world, though the Aether calls strongest where the old ways linger. Most come young like you, few others when their gifts wake later in life. All learn, or leave."
Her last words made Finn's stomach clench. Leave for where? Back to Duncliffe?
"What are they - I mean, we - what are we learning for?" Finn asked.
"Some who come to the Grove are Guardians, learning to honor and fulfill destinies that have been passed down through generations of their bloodlines." Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. "But most of us learn simply to not forget the old arts. To not lose the gift the Tuatha Dé Danann gave us: the ability to weave Aether and to protect the earth's Aether from unraveling."
For every question she answered, her words raised a thousand more.
Guardians? Unravelling?
But Morrigan had increased her pace, and he decided to focus on keeping up instead of pestering her with more questions. Those surely would be answered once they arrived at the Academy. As they continued toward the main buildings, the energy pulsing in Finn's chest intensified, stronger than what he'd felt at the Henge. Morrigan glanced at him.
"The Grove's Aether is stronger than almost anywhere in the mortal world. It takes getting used to, or it can run wild, especially for new Weavers."
They passed a courtyard where a handful of older students practiced under the guidance of a grey-haired woman in a russet cloak. She raised her hand, summoning a swirling gust that lifted fallen leaves into a faintly glowing spiral. The students mimicked her movements with varying success, threads of light flickering around their fingers. Finn felt a wave of heat spread through his body, and he couldn't decide whether to feel excited or terrified by what he'd just seen.
Morrigan led him to a stone archway crowned with a spiral-carved keystone. As they stepped through, an immense hall opened up before them. The cavernous space, a breathtaking composition of natural growth and ancient craftsmanship, felt like the inside of a living cathedral. Massive oak beams, their surfaces inscribed with ogham script that glimmered with a faint golden light, arched overhead like the ribs of some colossal beast. The hall's walls rose in a blend of living wood and fitted stone and tapestries hung between towering windows of stained glass, depicting scenes resembling those of Finn's books: ancient celts arriving on misty shores, Cernunnos in his forest grove, Danu creating the first rivers. The floor was hardened earth, smooth as marble, with an enormous Celtic knot of polished stone inlaid at its center.
Torches lined the walls at regular intervals, their flames dancing without smoke or flicker, casting a warm glow that accentuated the hall's natural colors. Near the ceiling, orbs of softer light hovered like captured stars, occasionally drifting down before rising again as if pulled by invisible strings. At the hall's far end, elevated on a dais formed of roots that had been coaxed up from the floor, rested a high table. Beside it, only a few paces away, stood a harp, tall as a man, its dark wooden frame looking as if it had been crafted from three massive branches and its strings gleaming as if spun of pure gold. Behind the dais, an enormous twining tree grew, its vines thick as tree trunks, reaching all the way to the ceiling and spreading across the oak beams, thick clusters of drooping flowers and leaves forming a canopy of green and a deep purple that glowed with inner light in the deepening evening.
Long wooden tables, each carved from a single tree and polished to a warm glow, spread across the hall. The aroma of the food sitting on them made Finn suddenly, painfully aware of his hunger. He could make out trays of roasted meats garnished with juniper berries and platters of fish dressed with lemon and mysterious blue salt crystals. Wooden boards were laden with cheeses, dried fruits, bright green and deep purple grapes and nuts and baskets filled with golden-crusted loaves of bread that steamed gently when broken open sat next to crocks of churned butter. Platters of roasted vegetables glistened with honey-glazed parsnips, carrots, and strange tubers in colors Finn had never seen before, and bowls of sautéed mushrooms and great tureens of stew formed a mosaic of deliciousness that seemed to have no end. Weavers of all ages filled the benches, their voices creating a steady, warm hum of conversation punctuated by laughter. Finn's heart pounded as his boots scuffed against the floor. The hall was warm and alive, nothing like the Hargrove's cold, quiet kitchen. But as the other Weavers glanced at him - some with curiosity, others with brief indifference - the warmth faded, and he wanted to disappear inside his jacket.
"This is Dagda Hall," Morrigan said.
"Here, the Grove's weavers take their meals. And while the kitchens lack a true Coire Ansic - a Cauldron of Plenty - you will find that they've come quite close. Most students just call it the 'Grand Hall'."
She tapped her staff once against the floor. The sharp, echoing boom was surprisingly loud for a quick tap and quieted the hall almost immediately, as every head turned towards them.
"Finn Madden," she announced, her voice carrying easily through the vast cavernous space, "a new Weaver, called by the Aether. Please welcome him, as the Grove has welcomed you."
A murmur rippled through the gathered students. Some nodded politely while others whispered behind their hands. Finn's palms began to sweat, his heart hammering in his throat as he fought the overwhelming urge to turn and bolt for the door.
Morrigan's hand rested briefly on his shoulder.
"Find a seat," she said quietly. "By the end of the evening, you'll have found a friend or two, I'm sure."
With that, she strode toward the dais, leaving him standing alone.
The wisp hovering over his head suddenly felt less like comforting and more like a spotlight. Each table seemed like a fortress of strangers. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, acutely aware of the sound of his own footsteps. At the nearest table, a broad-shouldered boy with a smirk reminding him of Liam, nudged his friend and whispered something that provoked snickers. To Finn's relief, the hall's buzz returned as students resumed the conversations Morrigan had interrupted. He kept walking, trying to ignore the funny feeling in his stomach, hell-bent on avoiding eye contact with anyone. Isn't there a table for new joiners? Why did the Warden leave me alone like this?
"Hey, you! New kid! Over here!"
The voice, bright and upbeat, cut through Finn's anxiety. He looked up, unsure if the invitation had been aimed at him. As he let his eyes drift over the tables and countless faces, he recognized a girl around his age waving from a table near the center of the hall. Her dark hair was braided with beads that clinked as she moved, and her green cloak had slipped off one shoulder. The space on the bench beside her looked like the most welcoming sight in the world. Finn hesitated, but the girl waved more insistently.
"Come on, don't just stand there gawking!" she called, her accent softer than what Finn was used to hearing in Duncliffe. "You're Finn, right? I'm Sophie. You look like you need to sit down before you trip over your own feet."
Finn couldn't hold back a lopsided smile. There was something infectious about that girl's energy. He made his way over and dropped onto the bench next to her, the wisp settling on his shoulder.
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"Hi...Yeah, I'm Finn," he said. "How'd you know?"
"Morrigan said your name," Sophie replied with an eye roll, pushing a plate of bread and apples toward him.
"Besides, you've got that new-Weaver look, half-scared, half-starstruck. I was the same when I got here this summer." She looked him over critically. "Eat. You look like you haven't had a decent meal in ages."
The scent of fresh-baked bread made his mouth water. He took a piece, surprised by the warmth of the crust. The taste was unlike anything in Duncliffe, rich and earthy with a touch of sweetness. He forced himself to chew slowly, watching Sophie talk to the girl next to her, her hands moving constantly as if conducting her own words.
"So, where're you from?" she asked, biting into an apple. "I'm from Kerry, little village called Dingle. Aether woke me up when I accidentally made a rosebush bloom in winter. Ma and Da were so happy. What's your story? Bet it's a good one."
Finn swallowed, searching for the right words. His weird moments seemed trivial compared to a winter-blooming rose.
I'm definitely not gonna mention the crab.
"Duncliffe," he said. "Small town on the coast. I... things just happened sometimes. Water moving...I mean exploding." He felt heat rushing to his cheeks. All of this sounded so silly now that he tried to explain it to Sophie.
"Plants... respond to me, sometimes. I think I made the grass glow at an old stone circle. And then this." He nodded at the wisp on his shoulder. "I didn't know what any of it meant."
Finn paused. "And still don't really, to be honest."
"That's Aether, Finn! It speaks to you, responds to you. It's what makes us Weavers." She looked at him, tilting her head. "Didn't your parents tell you?"
"Not really..." muttered Finn, the bread in his mouth suddenly losing its taste. He didn't feel like sharing his life story with someone he just met, but this whole situation felt more like a fever dream than reality, and Sophie seemed so nice and welcoming.
"I mean, I never met them. My parents. I grew up in foster care," he added, staring at his plate.
"Bet you scared some people, yeah? I made a whole field of daisies dance once. Da thought it was pixies." She laughed.
"Don't worry. The Grove will teach you how to control it and how to get better at it. It's tough here, but it's unlike anything else. Like a home away from home."
Finn nodded. The word "home" felt strange, like a concept he'd read about but never experienced. Still, he thought, it can't possibly be any worse than Willow Lane. The bread's already better than anything I ever had in Duncliffe.
"Word spreads fast here," Sophie added with a knowing look. "Morrigan personally bringing you in? That's unusual. The older Weavers are already whispering about some kid making grass glow at a henge. Bet Bran's heard it too. He's got ears like a bat."
Finn wasn't sure he liked the thought of people discussing him. Back at his school in Duncliffe, standing out usually meant a rendezvous with Paddy O'Brien and his gang. But Sophie's casual wink was reassuring, and so he took another bite of bread and let himself relax as she chatted about Kerry's cliffs, her first Aether lesson, and a teacher who could part a lake like Moses the Red Sea. When he reached for the cup in front of him to wash down his last bite, he realized that it hadn't been filled yet.
"Honeyglow"? Sophie asked, holding a pitcher filled with a golden drink that seemed to glow from within.
"Apple juice"? Finn asked sheepishly, assuming that this was some brand he hadn't heard of.
"Apple juice? Honeyglow is Honeyglow. Nothing else like it. It's an ancient beverage that dates back to the first Druids." She poured the luminescent golden liquid into his cup, and Finn watched, fascinated, as tiny motes of light danced on its surface like fireflies before dissipating.
"They make it with heather honey from bees that only pollinate flowers in the stone circles, pressed apple cider from enchanted orchards, nine sacred herbs, and a bunch of other ingredients, including a few pinches of powdered amber. Maybe it was seven sacred herbs, but who cares? It tastes amazing!" She nudged the cup toward him.
"Go on, try it. It's a tradition at the Grove. We drink it after Ramball matches, during winter celebrations, actually anytime there is something to celebrate."
Finn took a cautious sip and was rewarded with a complex explosion of flavors: sweet honey and fresh apple at first, followed by comforting cinnamon and roasted hazelnut, with mysterious undertones of herbs that shifted with each sip. A pleasant warmth spread from his chest to his fingertips, and a subtle tingling lingered on his tongue. Even stranger was the visual sensation that followed. The orange of the carrots, the yellow of the churned butter - all the colors in the hall seemed to intensify, just a bit, but unmistakably - and the contours of everything around him felt a bit sharper.
"Good, right?" Sophie grinned. The conversations around them halted at the sharp sound of hands clapping together. On the dais stood a tall elderly man draped in a sage green cloak, whose very presence commanded the hall's attention. His long silver hair flowed past his shoulders like liquid moonlight, and he wore an impressive wreath of antlers that added to his imposing height. Most striking of all was his thick white beard, which had been gathered and bound with a single silver bead large enough to wrap around Finn's wrist, the precious metal embossed with a convoluted Celtic knot.
"Weavers!" Though his lips barely moved, his voice seemed to reach every corner of the hall with the same intensity.
"The Aether binds us, and tonight, we welcome a new thread to our weave."
Finn felt the old man's eyes rest on him. "Finn Madden!"
The hall erupted in applause, this time louder than when Morrigan had introduced him. Finn was sure that his face had taken on an intense cherry red, but Sophie nudged him encouragingly.
"That's Master Oisin," she whispered. "Head of the Academy. He's strict but fair, like a granda who sees too much."
Oisin raised a hand, and the hall fell silent.
"Finn, like all of you, will have to prove his place." His gaze felt heavier and more probing than just a moment ago.
"The Grove is more than an academy. It is a sanctuary, a forge, and a shield. And if you let it, the Grove will help you understand the Aether. The greatest gift we possess, and the heaviest burden we bear."
Finn's momentary comfort faded under the old man's words. Burden? Forge? He glanced at Sophie, a piece of bread lodged between his cheek and gums, and received another reassuring nod. When the meal ended, Morrigan appeared at Finn's side, her presence hushing nearby conversations.
"Come," she said. "Your chambers await, and tomorrow your training begins." She glanced at Sophie with subtle approval.
"You've found a friend, it seems. I'd call that a successful first day at the Grove. The Aether rewards those who weave together."
Sophie jumped to her feet, grinning. "I'll show him the ropes, Warden. Won't let him get lost." She tugged at Finn's sleeve, pulling him toward a corridor lit by what looked like countless flower-shaped lamps. "Come on, you'll love the dorms. Hope you don't snore."
Finn followed, the wisp trailing behind them. Despite Oisin's mysterious and slightly unsettling words, he felt lighter than he had in years. The corridor wound deep into the Academy, its walls carved with scenes of Weavers in various activities, battling strange creatures, crafting magical objects, dancing beneath starlit skies. The air smelled as if they were walking through a lush forest, the fresh tang of spring pine needles mixing with the earthy scent of loose, rich soil and a trace of countryside summer breezes carrying whiffs of flowers and grass. And, instead of torches, the walls and ceiling and floor around them were illuminated by lamps that - upon closer inspection - were actual, real flowers, their petals and their stamen and carpels glowing with a soft, warm light. Sophie pointed out details as they walked - a hidden symbol here, a vine that shifted position there - her enthusiastic commentary filling the stone passage when they finally stopped in front of a wooden door etched with a spiral pattern.
"Put your palm on the center of the spiral," she instructed, stepping aside.
Finn stepped forward and pressed his palm against the carved wood, feeling the smooth grain beneath his fingers. The center of the spiral began to glow with a soft blue light that instantly spread outward, tracing each curve until the entire pattern blazed briefly. A subtle click followed, and the light faded.
"The chamber doors will only open to the Aether signature of their occupants," Sophie explained, pushing the door open to guide him inside.
Finn's eyes were immediately drawn to a wide window with leaded glass panes offering a breathtaking view of ancient trees, their colossal branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. A window seat, cushioned in quilted, forest-green wool, sat beneath it. To either side of the window sat a bed draped in quilts of the same green wool as the window seat cushions, embroidered with silver-threaded patterns that reminded Finn of flowing water. At the foot of each bed sat a wooden chest for personal belongings, the lids inlaid with the same spiral motif that adorned the door. On either side of the beds, shelves had been carved directly into the walls, each with a wooden desk and chair set beneath it. A hearth occupied the left wall, where flames flickered over logs that never seemed to burn. The mantelpiece above was carved from a single slab of pale granite, etched with ogham script that Finn couldn't decipher. Two comfortable-looking, worn leather armchairs flanked it, creating a cozy area for conversation or quiet study. Brass sconces mounted on the walls held glowing orbs rather than traditional candles, casting a warm, steady light throughout the chamber, and a woven rug in shades of green, blue, and silver covered most of the floor.
To the right, another door opened into what looked like a small, natural oasis. A small waterfall streamed quietly over a stone ledge into a polished basin that looked like a hollowed-out tree trunk, seamlessly integrated into the floor.
"This is you," Sophie said, dropping onto one of the beds. "I'm across the hall with my roommate, Elva. Your roommate's Kai, but he's in Japan for some family thing. He should be back by tomorrow morning. Get some rest, Finn. Tomorrow's Aether-weaving, and the first classes can be a little confusing."
Finn flung his jacket on the other bed, watching as the wisp settled over the hearth.
"Thanks, Sophie," he said, "for... showing me around. And everything else."
Sophie's perpetual grin widened. "Pay it forward." She paused at the door. "And don't worry about what Oisin said. You've got Aether in you, same as everyone else here. You'll figure it out."
After she left, Finn sat on the edge of his bed, watching the firelight play across the walls. The chamber was quiet except for the occasional whisper of rustling leaves outside the window. His thoughts wandered back to Willow Lane, but Duncliffe already felt distant, its grey monotony replaced by the Grove's vivid colors.
What is this place?
The tide pool, the oak, the herbs, the glowing grass didn't seem so strange anymore. Now, the whole world felt strange. Was he going to wake up in a slime-filled pod like Neo? Or back on his lumpy mattress in Willow Lane?
As he lay in bed, his fingers brushed the acorn in his pocket. Its spiral marking felt warm. He could feel the Aether stir within him, a gentle, almost imperceptible hum that already felt natural.
Weavers, he thought. If I'm really one of them, then this is probably the only place to find out who I really am.
Sleep came quickly, heavy and deep, carrying him into dreams filled with glowing trees, chanting voices, and at their center, the cauldron pulsing with blue-silver light, like a beating heart.
In the foster house on Willow Lane, Mrs. Hargrove returned from the market, her boots tracking mud across the kitchen floor. She frowned at the sink where a single plate remained unwashed, the sponge abandoned beside it.
"Finn!" she called, her voice echoing through the house. "Where's that boy got to?"
Liam glanced up from his phone, a smirk playing across his face. "Probably off to his stupid stones. Weirdo's always sneaking out."
Mrs. Hargrove checked Finn's room, her scowl deepening.
"Run off," she muttered, clutching her purse. "Ungrateful boy."
Upstairs, Sarah paused her music, earbuds dangling as she looked out toward the hill in the distance. She'd seen Finn heading that way earlier, a dark shape against the rain, but hadn't said anything. The hill stood empty now, the stones silent witnesses against the grey sky.
