Page 39 of Eternal Thorns

“Interesting,” the Elder Willow murmured. “It fears your hope more than your bitterness.”

Thorne realized. The entity fed on possibility, yes, but it seemed to prefer darker potentials. His pain and suspicion gave it strength, while genuine hope made it recoil.

Through his forest network, he felt Silas studying the map with that same careful reverence he brought to all magical discoveries. The young noble's fingers traced paths that hadonce connected realms, and Thorne felt ancient magic respond to his touch. Not awakening this time, but remembering.

“I can't stop him from coming,” Thorne said finally. “Not without becoming exactly what that thing wants me to be.”

The shadow's presence twisted with barely contained rage.

Then we will show him what you truly are. The monster grief made you. The bitter spirit who chose vengeance over healing.

“Will you?” The Elder Willow's question held genuine curiosity.

The prophecy stones pulsed one final time, their paths merging briefly to show a single possibility - neither pure light nor pure shadow, but something between. Something new that could only exist through genuine trust.

Thorne touched the burns on his spectral flesh where Silas's key had marked him. They resonated with the map's awakening magic, reminding him of what those paths had originally meant. Not just routes through the forest, but proof that two realms could work together in harmony.

“So what will you do?” the Elder Willow asked, though her tone suggested she already knew his answer.

Silas stood at his bedroom window in Thornhaven, one hand pressed against the glass while the other gripped the awakened key. His magical signature pulsed with quiet resolve, lacking the desperate ambition that had colored Marcus's every action.

“The dream-walking isn't enough anymore,” Thorne admitted. “Not with that thing twisting every memory it touches.”

“Guardian.” Rowan's voice cut through his thoughts as the ancient spirit materialized from his oak. Moss armor clung to his form in disarray, suggesting urgent travel through the forest network. “We have trouble.”

“When don't we?”

“This is different.” Rowan's usual humor had vanished. “The shadow entity, it's manifesting throughout the forest. Not just whispers or impressions. Actual forms.”

Thorne's power flared with alarm. “Where?”

“Everywhere. It pulls shapes from both human and spirit memories. The border guardians report seeing lost travelers who never existed. The dryads swear they've glimpsed versions of you from before the betrayal, teaching magic to phantom students.”

“Fuck.” Frost spread from Thorne's feet as implications crashed through him. “How long?”

“That's the concerning part.” Rowan exchanged glances with the Elder Willow. “Each manifestation corresponds to moments when Silas makes progress understanding his heritage. When he found the map just now? Three new shadowforms appeared in the twilight grove.”

The Elder Willow's roots shifted beneath her. “It feeds on revelation. On potential made manifest.”

“Which makes any indirect communication dangerous,” Thorne finished. “Every dream-memory I share gives it more material to corrupt.”

“He means to enter the forest.” It wasn't a question. Thorne could read the intention in every line of Silas's posture.

“Yes.” The Elder Willow's voice held ancient certainty. “The only question is whether you'll meet him as guardian or adversary.”

“It's not just about the forest's secrets anymore, is it?” Rowan asked quietly. “You're afraid of having to interact with him directly. Of having to face how different he is from Marcus without the buffer of dreams between you.”

“Stay out of my head.”

“I don't need to be in your head to see the obvious.” Rowan's expression softened. “Every test you've set, every challengeyou've created, has been about maintaining distance. But that's exactly what feeds the shadow's power - the space between trust and suspicion, between what could be and what we fear will be.”

The entity's presence swirled closer, as if summoned by Rowan's words.

Such delicious irony,it whispered.The great Guardian, paralyzed by the very thing he once championed. Shall we show young Silas exactly what became of the last spirit who dared trust an Ashworth?

“Get out,” Thorne snarled, but the shadow only laughed.

We are what you made us,it reminded him.Every bitter memory, every moment of betrayal, given form and purpose. The more you hide from genuine connection, the stronger we become.

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