Page 22 of Eternal Thorns

Through the sparrow's eyes, he watched Silas handle the bark-bound journal. His touch wasn't possessive or triumphant - instead, his fingers traced the living cover with gentle reverence, the same way Marcus had once handled sacred texts in Thorne'sown grove. The parallel struck too deep. Thorne retreated further into shadow, letting the darkness cool his burning thoughts.

“Some magics are older than vengeance,” Agnes was saying, and Thorne wanted to scream at the hypocrisy of it. What did she know of vengeance? Of watching everything you'd built together crumble under the weight of human ambition?

But his bitter thoughts scattered as something else brushed against his magical awareness. A presence that didn't belong to his forest, that felt wrong in ways that made his ancient power recoil. It lingered at the edges of his perception, watching Silas with an interest that sent warning signals through every fiber of Thorne's being.

When he tried to focus on it directly, the presence slipped away like oil on water. But it left behind impressions that made his form destabilize completely.

The sensation tugged at his memory, reminding him of that final confrontation when everything fell apart. There had been something else present that night, something born from the breaking of sacred oaths and the shattering of trust. A consequence he'd thought safely contained by the very wards now failing around Thornhaven.

Horror crept through him like frost. The weakening barriers weren't just awakening old forest magic - they were creating gaps where older, darker things could slip through. Things that remembered the first betrayal, the first breaking, the first price paid.

Shadows that weren't his gathered at the forest's edge. They moved wrong, felt wrong, whispered in voices that sounded disturbingly like his own grief given form. But twisted, corrupted, turned to purposes that had nothing to do with justice or protection.

This was why the Elder Willow had urged caution. Why the prophecy spoke of either healing or final breaking. The very power he'd used to seal the forest after the betrayal had created something unexpected.

And now it watched Silas with calculating patience, as if he was the final piece in a game Thorne hadn't even known was being played.

The shadow's presence seemed to mock his growing concern, whispering in voices that echoed his own bitterness back at him.

Did you think you were the only one shaped by betrayal, Guardian? The only one who remembered the taste of broken oaths?

Through his forest network, Thorne watched Silas touch the key that should have been destroyed centuries ago. Watched him handle forest magic with innate understanding that should have been lost to his bloodline. Watched him unknowingly step closer to a destiny that suddenly seemed far more complex than simple vengeance or redemption.

The oak's branches swayed with his unease, and for once, the ancient tree offered no rebuke. It felt the wrongness too, the sense of ancient powers stirring that cared nothing for the delicate balance between human and fey realms.

Thorne had intended to test Silas, to judge whether this Ashworth might be different from his ancestor. Now he wondered if they were both being tested by something far older and darker than mere family legacy.

The shadow's whispers followed him as he withdrew deeper into his forest.

Watch carefully, Guardian. Your grief gave us form, but his choice will give us purpose.

For the first time in centuries, Thorne felt something dangerously close to fear.

Thorne materializedin the Elder Willow's grove already preparing his arguments. The dark presence he'd sensed should take priority over any discussion of Silas Ashworth or ancient prophecies. But the words died in his throat at the sight of what awaited him.

The Elder Willow stood in her most ancient form, bark-skin gleaming with inner light. Beside her, Rowan held something that made Thorne's power pulse with recognition - a mirror of polished obsidian, its surface rippling like black water. He hadn't seen that particular artifact since the night of the betrayal.

“Look,” the Elder Willow commanded, no trace of her usual gentle wisdom.

Thorne wanted to refuse, but ancient magic compelled him forward. The mirror's surface cleared, and he nearly recoiled at what it showed.

“Interesting,” Rowan said, studying the reflection. “Your true self bleeds through more strongly each time you interact with young Ashworth.”

“He's nothing like Marcus,” Thorne snapped, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

“No?” Rowan's moss-covered armor clinked as he shifted. “I watched him through the forest eyes too, old friend. The way he handles magical artifacts with instinctive respect. How he approaches power with determination tempered by compassion. Even that stubborn set to his jaw when faced with impossible tasks.”

“Coincidence.”

“You know better.” The Elder Willow's roots shifted beneath her. “The resemblance goes deeper than mere features. Or have you forgotten how Marcus was before ambition poisoned everything?”

Thorne's form wavered again, and the mirror caught the change - moments when his power shimmered with colors beyond shadow and frost, when ancient joy threatened to crack through his carefully maintained bitterness.

“This meeting isn't about him,” Thorne tried. “There's something darker awakening”

“All things connect.” The Elder Willow gestured, and the grove's canopy parted to reveal the heart of the forest. There, set in living stone, the prophecy rocks pulsed with silver light. “The stones wake for the first time in centuries. Their message is clear, for those willing to see it.”

Thorne approached despite himself. The glowing symbols carved into ancient rock spoke of twin paths. But new marks had appeared, patterns that made his power resonate with uncomfortable recognition.

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