Page 13 of Eternal Thorns

“What covenant? What price?” The key pulsed against Silas's chest like a second heartbeat.

“Your return to this place can mean only one thing - the time of reckoning has come. The old magic stirs, demanding either restoration or destruction.” Frost patterns spiraled across the walls as Thorne spoke. “If you truly know nothing of your family's crimes, I grant you until the next full moon to discover the truth.”

More pounding on the door. “Silas, I swear to god, if you're dead in there”

“And then what?” Silas demanded, finding courage in Kai's familiar voice and the key's steady warmth.

“Then you have a choice.” Thorne's form began to dissolve, moonlight showing through his increasingly transparent shape. “Step into the forest willingly to face judgment, or wait for the grove to claim what it is owed. The old powers are waking, Ashworth. They remember what your blood forgot.”

The temperature dropped further, frost crackling across every surface. Yet Thorne's next words carried a heat that made Silas's skin prickle: “The key you wear was forged in trust andbroken by betrayal. Its power recognizes both its master and its thief.” His eyes flared like trapped stars. “Choose wisely which you will be.”

The door burst open with a crash, Kai stumbling through with a candlestick raised like a weapon. “I swear if some ghost is eating my friend”

But the room held only Silas, frost-covered furniture, and the lingering scent of winter woods. The key's light faded slowly, leaving bright spots dancing in his vision. Outside, the Eldergrove loomed darker than before, its ancient trees standing like sentinels beneath the moon.

“Holy shit,” Kai breathed, taking in the ice-covered walls and the unnatural cold. “What happened? I felt something wrong, like the whole house was holding its breath, and then your door wouldn't open, and” He stopped, finally registering Silas's expression. “Are you okay?”

Silas looked down at the key in his hand, still warm despite the freezing air. Terror and determination warred in his chest as Thorne's words echoed in his mind. A sacred covenant broken. Blood oaths shattered. A price still unpaid.

“No,” he said honestly. “I don't think I am. But I need to tell you what just happened, and then I need your help finding some answers.” His fingers closed around the key, feeling its power respond to his touch. “We have until the full moon to uncover what my family tried to bury. And I have a feeling we're not going to like what we find.”

Kai lowered his makeshift weapon, his usual humor replaced by rare seriousness. “Start from the beginning. And maybe we should build up that fire again, because whatever was in here left one hell of a chill.”

As Silas began to explain, the carved figures on his bed posts settled into their original positions. But now, in the corner of his eye, he could swear they were smiling.

5

ANCIENT ECHOES

Thorne's return to his sacred grove was less a graceful materialization and more an undignified collapse. His form wavered between shadow and substance, refusing to settle into either shape. Power leaked from him like sap from a wounded tree, leaving traces of frost and starlight in the air.

“Fuck,” he snarled, the human curse feeling appropriate for once. The twilight flowers around him pulsed with frantic light, their eternal blooms responding to his chaotic energy. Some closed their petals entirely, trying to shield themselves from his turbulent magic.

He examined the places where the key's light had touched him. Silvery burns marked his spectral flesh. The key shouldn't have been able to harm him. He was the Guardian, ancient and powerful, bound to the forest's deepest magic. Yet that familiar radiance had cut through his defenses like they were morning mist.

A young dryad peeked around a nearby tree, drawn by his distress. When he turned his gaze toward her, she squeaked and vanished into her bark. Similar reactions rippled throughthe grove as lesser spirits scattered, sensing the dangerous instability of his power.

The Elder Willow's branches swayed toward him, trying to offer comfort through their ancient connection. He shoved the tendrils of her magic away, earning a reproachful rustle of leaves.

“Don't,” he warned. “Not now.”

But it was too late. Silas’ face kept surfacing in his mind, overlaying memories he'd thought safely buried. Gray eyes wide with confusion and determination. That stubborn set to his jaw, so like another young noble who had once stood in this very grove. Who had once held that same key, had once looked at Thorne with eyes that promised forever and delivered betrayal instead.

Marcus, his heart whispered traitorously.He looks so much like Marcus.

The grove's magic responded to his pain, swirling in chaotic patterns that sent the remaining spirits fleeing. Frost crept across the luminous flowers, making them chime discordantly. Shadow and moonlight warred in the air around him, unable to settle just as his form refused to stabilize.

“This changes nothing,” he told the empty grove, but the words rang hollow. The key's reaction changed everything. It had recognized him - not as an enemy, but as its original wielder. The other half of a pair forged to bridge two worlds.

He looked down at his hands, watching them flicker between flesh and shadow. The silvery burns still gleamed, proof that some part of the old magic remembered what he had been. What they had all been, before pride and fear had shattered everything.

A memory rose unbidden: Marcus standing in this grove, holding out the newly-forged key like an offering.“With this, we can ensure peace between our peoples. No more suspicion,no more barriers. Just trust.”His smile had been so bright, so earnest.“I swear to you, Thorne. This time will be different.”

Thorne's power lashed out, shattering a nearby crystal formation. The pieces fell like tears, each one catching and reflecting his own conflicted expression.

Silas truly seemed to know nothing of his family's crimes. That ignorance should have made Thorne's task simpler. The forest demanded justice, after all. What better revenge than to let the last Ashworth stumble blindly into destruction?

But the key had awakened. Ancient magic stirred in response to Ashworth blood, magic that remembered older oaths than vengeance. The very barriers Thorne had spent centuries maintaining were beginning to shift, responding to possibilities he'd thought forever lost.

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