“Now you choose what comes next.” Agnes stood, moving toward the door. “Your grandmother laid groundwork. But how you use that foundation - that's your choice entirely.”
She paused at the threshold. “Read the journal. Learn what she hoped for. Then decide if you're ready to help build the world she imagined - one where power flows through all levels of society, balanced by understanding rather than birth.”
Left alone in the study, Kai began to read. His grandmother's words painted pictures of a future where magic knew no class boundaries. Where friendship like his and Silas's wasn't exception but foundation for a new way of seeing power.
The Eldergrove's magic sang to him now, no longer foreign or forbidden. Perhaps this had always been his inheritance - not noble blood or common birth, but the ability to stand between worlds and help build bridges across ancient divides.
11
MEMORY'S PRICE
Thorne's return to his physical form felt like being dragged through ice. His power scattered like leaves in a storm, refusing to coalesce properly. When he finally managed to materialize in his sacred grove, the effort nearly brought him to his knees.
“Shit,” he gasped, bracing himself against the nearest tree. The twilight flowers dimmed around him, responding to his weakened state. Some closed their petals entirely, as if trying to hide from the chaotic energy rolling off their guardian in waves.
He'd known dream-walking would be dangerous. Had prepared for the drain on his power, the challenge of controlling shared memories. What he hadn't expected was how it would feel to relive those moments in perfect, excruciating detail.
Every scrap of hope and trust he'd carefully buried for centuries came rushing back. Teaching Marcus about forest magic. Watching wonder bloom in eyes so similar to Silas's. Feeling the pure joy of their powers working in harmony, when everything seemed possible and the future stretched bright before them.
But worse than his own memories was feeling Silas's responses through their temporary connection. His instinctive grasp of forest magic's nature. The way his whole being had lit up witnessing what Thornhaven was meant to be.
And then that shadow. Thorne hadn't meant to show that part, hadn't wanted to reveal how early the darkness had begun weaving its influence. But once the memory started flowing, he couldn't control every detail.
The sound of cautious footsteps pulled him from his spiral. Briar approached with a crystal vial of luminous liquid. But one look at Thorne's face sent her retreating back into the shadows.
“Leave it,” he managed. His voice sounded wrong, rougher than usual, like he'd been screaming though he knew he hadn't made a sound.
The grove's magic pulsed around him, picking up echoes of the shared memory. Fragments of power from that earlier time still clung to the air.
His carefully maintained walls were cracking. Centuries of practiced detachment crumbled under the weight of remembering not just what was lost, but how it had felt to have it. To believe in something larger than power or pride. To trust another being so completely.
“Damn it all,” he snarled, his form flickering violently between shadow and substance. The twilight flowers trembled, and somewhere in the darkness, he heard Briar squeak in alarm.
But he couldn't stop the memories now. They played through his mind like water through cupped hands.
Silas's responses colored everything with new perspective. Where Marcus's ambition had flared hot and hungry, his descendant's wonder remained pure. Where the ancestor had reached for power, the younger Ashworth reached for understanding.
The grove's magic swirled chaotically, responding to its guardian's turbulent emotions. And for the first time in centuries, Thorne found himself unable to bring it back under control.
He'd meant to test Silas. Instead, he might have just tested himself.
“Your magic's all wrong,” Briar said, creeping closer despite her obvious nerves. “Like a tapestry unraveling. Here.” She thrust the vial of moonflower essence toward him. “Before you accidentally kill all my favorite flowers.”
Thorne wanted to snap at her, but the young sprite's concern was genuine. His power leaked from him in uncontrolled waves, making the grove's magic shudder.
“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he muttered, accepting the vial.
“What wasn't? The dream-walking or the fact that you actually like him?”
“Briar.”
“Sorry.” She didn't sound sorry at all. “But I felt the resonance too. When you were sharing memories? It was like watching two instruments tune to the same note.”
She was right, damn her. He'd revealed far more than intended in that dream. Not just the past's bright possibility, but his own desperate longing for that lost harmony. Worse, he'd felt Silas's natural affinity for forest magic - stronger even than Marcus' had been.
“The connection wasn't supposed to go both ways,” he said, more to himself than Briar. “It was meant to be controlled, directed”
“Since when has magic ever worked the way we intend?” The Elder Willow's voice drifted through the grove as she materialized beside them. Her knowing look suggested she'danticipated exactly this outcome. “The truth, dear Guardian, often reveals itself in both directions.”