Page 29 of Eternal Thorns

“Don't start with your riddles”

“They're only riddles to those who refuse to see clearly.” She gestured at his unstable form. “Your magic recognizes something in young Silas, just as his responds to you. Fighting that recognition won't make it less true.”

Another wave of memory crashed over him before he could argue - teaching Marcus this exact lesson about magical resonance. How some connections couldn't be forced or denied, only accepted and understood.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and Briar giggled at hearing her usually formal mentor swear.

But the amusement died as darkness crept into the grove's edges. That presence he'd sensed before slid closer, stronger now after the dream-sharing. It seemed to feed on his emotional turbulence, growing more distinct with each pulse of remembered pain.

Through his weakened magical senses, Thorne finally caught clear impressions of its true nature. This wasn't just shadow, but concentrated grief and betrayal given form over centuries. His own past pain, twisted and corrupted into something malevolent.

Did you think those feelings simply disappeared?The entity's voice used his own memories to mock him.That centuries of bitterness would have no consequence?

Images flashed through his mind: history repeating, another Ashworth's betrayal, a final devastating revenge. But this time the visions carried the weight of prophecy, as if the entity could shape reality through sheer malevolent will.

“Guardian?” Briar's voice seemed to come from very far away. “Your magic's going dark.”

The grove's protective wards flared to life, driving the presence back. But not before Thorne recognized the full danger of what he'd done. In seeking to test Silas, he'd made himself vulnerable to an enemy born from his own past choices.

“I need to go,” he said abruptly, pushing away from the tree he'd been leaning against. His form stabilized slightly, fueled by urgent purpose.

“But you're not recovered” Briar protested.

“The dream-walking was a mistake.” He cut off her objection with a sharp gesture. “It created connections that need to be severed before”

“Before you admit you care what happens to him?” the Elder Willow asked softly.

“Before that thing uses those connections to hurt him,” Thorne snapped. “You felt it too, don't pretend you didn't. Whatever's been waiting in the shadows, I just gave it a perfect path to both realms.”

The Elder Willow's expression softened with something dangerous like compassion. “Perhaps what was born of pain can only be healed through connection, not isolation.”

“Or perhaps some mistakes shouldn't be repeated.” Thorne gathered his power, preparing to withdraw deeper into the forest. Away from memories, away from dangerous possibilities, away from eyes too much like ones he'd once trusted completely.

But as he fled, the entity's whispers followed him.

Run all you want, Guardian. You've already shown him your heart. Now let's see how much it hurts when history repeats itself.

Summoningthe council drained what little power Thorne had recovered, but there was no choice. The natural amphitheater at the heart of the Eldergrove filled quickly as ancient spirits answered his call. Root-carved seats that had stood empty for decades now held beings of myth and power, their forms shifting between natural and humanoid shapes as they settled.

Rowan arrived first, his moss armor gleaming with pre-dawn dew. The dryad queens followed, their bark-skin bodies adorned with the first spring buds despite the winter season. Last came the elemental lords - beings of earth and air who rarely bothered with physical form at all. Their presence alone spoke volumes about the situation's gravity.

The Elder Willow materialized at the center, her manifestation more solid than Thorne had seen in years. No gentle tree-woman now.

“Speak, Guardian,” she commanded. “Show us what has prompted this gathering.”

Thorne moved to the speaking stone, his unstable form a visible testament to the night's events. “The dream-walking revealed more than intended. There's something in our realm that shouldn't exist - a being formed from grief and betrayal, twisted into purpose over centuries.”

“Your grief?” Rowan asked quietly. “Your betrayal?”

“Yes.” The admission cost him, but honesty was required here. “When Marcus broke faith, my pain became something tangible. I thought I'd contained it, but instead it's been growing, feeding on every shadow of sorrow in our realm.”

Concerned whispers rustled through the gathered spirits like wind through dead leaves. Several of the dryad queens exchanged significant looks.

“We've felt disturbances,” said Oak Queen, her voice deep as ancient heartwood. “Patches of darkness that consume light. Places where joy simply dies.”

“The earth itself remembers old sorrows,” rumbled Stone Lord, his crystalline form catching the first hint of dawn. “Grief echoes through the deep places, growing stronger.”

“The wind carries whispers,” added Air Lady, her form shimmering like heat waves. “Old songs twisted into laments. My sprites return from their rounds weeping for sorrows they never knew.”

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