The ritual

The air changed first.

Warmer. Heavier. Charged in a way I could not quite place.

The two druids slowed.

“You will want to be present for this,” one of them said casually, as if commenting on the weather.
“For what exactly?” I asked.

They did not answer, stepping aside instead.

The forest opened into a circular amphitheatre carved not by hands, but by time and repetition. Moss-covered stones rose in tiers, and at the centre lay a wide basin of still water reflecting the canopy above like a second sky. Around it stood more druids than I had first realized were in the valley.

And they were… unguarded in every sense.

Not just unclothed, but unhidden. Unfiltered. Some leaned against trees in relaxed conversation, their bodies entirely at ease in ways that made my own awareness of myself feel suddenly loud. Others moved through the space with slow, deliberate grace, as if even their walking was part of a language I had never learned.

A few of them noticed me immediately, but it was not surprise that coloured their faces. It was recognition.

One of them smiled in a way that was entirely too direct for my upbringing - open, assessing, almost amused. He said something to another druid beside him, who glanced at me and laughed under his breath.

I felt my throat tighten for reasons I did not fully understand.

My guides brought me to the edge of the basin.

“This is not a ritual you watch,” one of them said.
“What is it, then?”
“A remembering.”
“Of what?”
“You shall see.”

They gestured for me to go in the amphitheatre as the ones within opened their arms as if to embrace me. I was confused, utterly confused, yet I was curious enough to venture forward.