Jerrick sat beneath the sprawling elm tree, its ancient branches casting long shadows across the gravesite. The night was still, save for the occasional whisper of wind rustling through the leaves.
He had been coming here for weeks, hoping—no, desperate—to receive some guidance from his ancestor, Brennan Theodulf. Jessamyn had prophetic visions that guided her, giving her insights into their uncertain future. But for Jerrick, there was nothing—no dreams, no visions, no voices from beyond. Just silence.
He stared at the tree, its gnarled bark a testament to centuries of existence. The elm was unlike any other in the kingdom. Its trunk was taller than usual, with short side branches every foot or so—a peculiar growth pattern that reflected the Theodulf family line. Each branch represented a single heir, stretching back over generations.
