Page 14 of Eternal Thorns

“No,” he growled, forcing his form to solidify. “I will not be swayed by an echo of his face. By some cosmic joke that gave his descendant his eyes.”

The Elder Willow's branches rustled again, a sound that managed to convey deep skepticism.

“The Ashworth has until the full moon,” Thorne continued, ignoring her. “Let him discover the truth of his heritage. Let him understand exactly what price his family's ambition demanded.”

And then?The wind seemed to ask.When he stands before you, wearing his ancestor's face and carrying your other half's power, what will you do?

Thorne had no answer. The burns on his spectral flesh pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a rhythm that felt disturbingly like the key's own resonance. Something old and powerful was waking, and he wasn't entirely sure he could control its direction.

“You were meant to watch, not wage war.” The Elder Willow's voice cut through his brooding as she materialized fully, her bark-skin form radiating disapproval. Behind her,Rowan emerged from his ancient oak, his moss-covered armor glinting in the grove's strange light. Other ancient spirits followed - tree shepherds, earth weavers, keepers of old magic who rarely bothered with physical form.

“He carries one of the seven keys,” Thorne said, straightening despite his unstable form. “That changes everything.”

“Does it?” Rowan's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. “Or did you simply see what you wanted to see?” He stepped closer, centuries of friendship giving him the right to press harder. “Tell me truly, old friend - did you see him, or did you see his ancestor?”

The question hit like a physical blow. The surrounding trees groaned as Thorne's power lashed out defensively, causing several younger saplings to wither and blacken. Briar darted between the affected trees, her small hands glowing as she worked to contain the magical backlash.

“How dare you”

“He dares because he speaks truth,” the Elder Willow cut in. “The prophecy was clear, Thorne. The curse can only be broken by an Ashworth's choice - freely made, not coerced by fear or forced by vengeance.”

“Prophecies,” Thorne spat. “Pretty words that mean nothing against centuries of betrayal.”

“Yet you gave him until the full moon.” Rowan's knowing look made Thorne's form flicker again. “Why show such mercy if you truly believe him beyond redemption?”

The council waited in heavy silence. Even the twilight flowers seemed to hold their breath, their glow dimming to almost nothing.

“Leave me,” Thorne finally ground out. “I know my duty.”

“Do you?” The Elder Willow's roots shifted beneath her. “Or do you know only your pain?”

They departed gradually, fading back into their natural forms until only Rowan lingered. “We've been friends since before the betrayal,” he said quietly. “I remember how you were then. How you both were.”

“Don't.”

“Just remember - sometimes the hardest curses to break are the ones we place on ourselves.” With that, he merged back into his oak, leaving Thorne alone with memories he couldn't keep contained.

He reached for the forest's heart, trying to ground himself in the pure magic that had sustained him for centuries. Instead, the lingering resonance of the key's power cracked something in his carefully maintained defenses. Memories flooded in like spring thaw breaking winter ice.

Marcus, young and earnest, stumbling over the proper gestures for a simple growth charm. “Like this?” he'd ask, gray eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Show me again?”

The careful forging of the keys, power flowing from both human and fey sources, binding their magics together in perfect harmony. Marcus's hand steady in his as they shaped the metal, their combined power creating something entirely new.

Laughter in this very grove, sharing stories and dreams of a future where their peoples lived as one. The way Marcus's smile could make flowers bloom out of season, could make Thorne's ancient heart feel young again.

The pain of these memories sent Thorne's power surging out of control. Ancient trees creaked and bent like saplings in a storm. Magical barriers rippled and fluctuated across the forest. Lesser spirits cried out in alarm as their homes shuddered under the magical onslaught.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Briar's voice barely penetrated his haze. She'd thrown up a hasty shield of sprite-light, trying to protectthe younger growth from his emotional storm. “You're hurting them!”

The genuine fear in her voice helped him drag back control. Centuries of discipline reasserted themselves as he forced his power back into its proper channels. When his vision cleared, he found his grove marked by frost and shadow, though Briar's quick action had prevented lasting damage.

The young sprite watched him from a safe distance, her freckles flickering with concern. “Do you want me to get the Elder Willow?”

“No.” Thorne's voice came out rougher than intended. “No, I just need”

What did he need? The question had no safe answer. Not with Marcus's eyes haunting him in a younger face. Not with the key's power still burning in his spectral flesh, calling to something he'd thought long dead.

“I need to think,” he managed finally. “Tell the others I'm not to be disturbed.”

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