Page 36 of Eternal Thorns

“The border guardians are getting restless,” Rowan reported, emerging from his oak. “They say it feels like the old days, when the boundaries were gates rather than barriers.”

“The old days led to betrayal,” Thorne reminded him sharply, but his own words felt hollow.

“And before the betrayal?” Rowan pressed. “Have you forgotten what those gates enabled? How many lives were saved because humans and fey could work together? The healers who could cross freely during plagues, the knowledge shared that protected both realms?”

“I haven't forgotten anything.” Frost crept across nearby leaves as Thorne's control slipped. “I remember exactly how beautiful the partnership was. That's what made the betrayal cut so deep.”

“Then you should also remember it wasn't just Marcus who believed in that partnership.” Rowan's voice gentled. “You believed too. And watching you now, old friend, I see that same belief trying to wake up.”

“Don't.”

“You're scared,” Rowan observed. “Not of Silas's power, but of how naturally he embodies everything you and Marcus once tried to build. He doesn't just carry the blood and the key - he carries the original vision, untainted by ambition.”

Thorne's form flickered violently. “Hope is a more potent poison than fear.”

“Is it?” Rowan gestured toward the manor. “Look how he touches the old magic. Not seeking to possess or control, but to understand and restore. Even you must see the difference.”

“What I see,” Thorne said bitterly, “is another chance for everything to go wrong. Another Ashworth whose good intentions might very well destroy us all.”

“Or save us.” Rowan met his friend's stormy gaze steadily. “You're so focused on preventing another betrayal that you might miss the chance for actual healing. The forest sees it - that's why the boundaries respond to him differently. Maybe it's time you did too.”

The ancient oak they stood beneath creaked in apparent agreement, making Thorne glare upward. “Traitors, all of you.”

But he couldn't quite keep the uncertainty from his voice, and Rowan's knowing look suggested he heard it clearly.

A particularly troubling report came from the grove's heart. The twilight flowers, which had closed their petals to all but Thorne for centuries, were beginning to stir and open whenever Silas's magic resonated through the grounds.

“Guardian,” Briar ventured carefully, “what if he really is different?”

“It doesn't matter.” But even as Thorne spoke, he felt his own carefully buried hopes beginning to stir, like seeds long dormant feeling the first touch of spring.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The dream-sharing was meant to test Silas's intentions, not awaken such profound responses in both manor and forest. Not stir such dangerous possibilities in Thorne's own ancient heart.

Through his sentinels' collective sight, he watched Silas handle each magical artifact with instinctive understanding. His magic carried echoes of Marcus's power, yes, but tempered bysomething his ancestor had lacked - genuine humility before powers greater than himself.

“Well,” Rowan said quietly, “this complicates things.”

Thorne couldn't argue. Every report, every observation, every resonance between Silas's magic and the forest's own power threatened the bitter certainty he'd maintained for centuries.

“You're brooding again,” Briar pointed out, her freckles pulsing with nervous light. “The twilight flowers are starting to wilt.”

She wasn't wrong. The delicate blooms around his feet had begun curling inward, responding to the turmoil in his magic. Thorne forced his power back under control, though the effort felt like trying to contain a storm in a glass jar.

“I don't brood,” he muttered. “I contemplate.”

Rowan's laugh rumbled like distant thunder. “You've been 'contemplating' so hard the younger spirits are hiding in their trees.”

Through his network of forest eyes, Thorne watched Agnes approach Thornhaven's gates. The witch moved with deliberate purpose, scattering what looked like simple dried leaves in her wake. But his enhanced sight revealed the truth - each leaf carried subtle enchantments, tiny tests woven into seemingly random patterns.

“Interfering old woman,” he growled, but there was less heat in it than he'd intended.

“You know what she's doing, don't you?” Rowan moved closer, his moss-covered armor catching the filtered sunlight. “She's proving what you refuse to see.”

Inside the manor, Silas had already noticed the witch's magical breadcrumbs. Through a particularly attentive crow's eyes, Thorne watched the young noble pause mid-step, head tilting like someone hearing distant music.

He watched Silas navigate a particularly complex glamour Agnes had woven across the manor's threshold. Silas’ magic reached out instinctively, not trying to dispel the illusion but working with it, guiding it into more harmonious patterns.

Agnes turned then, looking directly at Thorne's crow messenger.

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