Page 56 of Eternal Thorns

“You know,” Briar's voice came gently from nearby, “it's okay to admit you're happy.”

Thorne turned to find his apprentice hovering with uncharacteristic care, a crystal vial of moonflower essence heldout like a peace offering. Her knowing look suggested she understood far too much about his current state.

“I'm not” he started, then stopped at her raised eyebrow. “This is dangerous.”

“More dangerous than centuries of isolation?” She pressed the vial into his hands.

New growth sprouted around his feet. Night-blooming flowers opening months before their season, luminous vines reaching toward Thornhaven's distant lights. His own magic had taken on warmer tones, frost giving way to something that felt suspiciously like spring.

“You're different with him,” Briar continued, her freckles pulsing with gentle light. “Not just your form, though finally seeing you without all that dramatic shadow is nice. But your whole energy has changed. You're more like... you.”

“That's what worries me.” Thorne uncapped the vial, grateful for something to do with his hands. “I haven't been that person in centuries. Haven't wanted to be.”

“Haven't let yourself be,” she corrected. “There's a difference.”

The moonflower essence should have helped settle his magic, but instead it seemed to enhance every sensation.

“He touches me like I'm not something to fear,” Thorne said quietly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “Like centuries of bitter history don't matter.”

“Maybe they don't. To him.” Briar settled on a nearby branch, watching more flowers bloom out of season. “He sees you now, not who you were or what happened before.”

Thorne's form flickered slightly, but even this attempt at hiding failed. His true nature remained stubbornly visible, refusing to be concealed behind frost and shadow any longer.

“The Elder Willow says this was always possible,” Briar ventured. “That the prophecy wasn't just about healing thebreach between realms, but about healing hearts that forgot how to trust.”

“Since when do you listen to prophecies?”

“Since they started making you smile again.” She grinned at his startled look. “Oh yes, I noticed. We all noticed. The whole forest is practically dancing because its guardian finally remembered joy exists.”

As if proving her point, more vines spiraled up nearby trees, their flowers glowing with colors Thorne hadn't manifested in centuries. His own magic responded unconsciously, adding warm gold to his usual silver patterns.

“I'm scared, Briar,” he admitted finally. “Not of him, but of how easily he breaks through every wall I've built. Of how much I want to let him.”

“Good.” She darted closer, her glow brightening. “Being scared means it matters. Being vulnerable means it's real.” Her expression softened. “And for what it's worth? He looks at you like you're something precious, not just powerful. That's worth a little fear.”

The grove's magic swirled around them, carrying echoes of that earlier connection. Thorne caught himself touching his cheek again, remembering how naturally Silas had reached for him, how completely he had understood.

After Briar left, Thorne tried to fall into his usual meditation routine. But every time he closed his eyes, Silas filled his thoughts - not as a shadow of Marcus anymore, but vibrantly, uniquely himself.

He saw again how Silas's eyes had lit up examining the sacred chamber's symbols, wonder untainted by any hunger for power. The careful way he'd handled ancient texts mixed with unexpected flashes of humor. That unconscious grace in working with forest magic, as if his soul remembered what his mind was just beginning to understand.

Most dangerous were the memories of how Silas looked at him. No one had looked at him that way in centuries, seeing past the powerful guardian to the being beneath.

“You're going to wear a path through my roots if you keep this up,” the Elder Willow's amused voice drifted through his consciousness.

“This isn't funny.” His form flickered between light and shadow, unable to settle.

“Isn’t it?” Her presence brushed his mind like gentle leaves. “Or are you simply unused to feeling something beyond duty and bitterness?”

Before he could respond, darkness gathered at the grove's edge. The shadow entity had arrived, drawn by his emotional turmoil.

Such precious vulnerability,it whispered, wearing Marcus's voice like an ill-fitting mask.He makes you weakEvery touch, every moment of understanding, creates new ways to hurt you.

“No,” Thorne said quietly, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. “He makes me remember what strength felt like before fear twisted it.”

Then you are a fool,the shadow snarled.Connection breeds vulnerability. Love makes even ancient powers blind.

The word 'love' destabilized his form completely, power scattering like startled birds before reforming.

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