The canyon's collapse left the Ash Plains choked with dust, the air thick enough to drown in. Ethan staggered behind Varyn, the Eldertree seed burning in his palm like a coal. Its warmth pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a fragile rhythm against the cacophony of pursuit. Blackthorn horns echoed in the distance, their dissonant blare slicing through the haze.
Lira crouched atop a fractured boulder, her bowstring taut. "Varsak's splitting his forces. Half circle east, the rest flank the ridge. They'll pin us against the Frostspire cliffs."
Varyn spat blood, his knuckles raw from punching through stone. "Cliffs mean caves. We disappear, regroup."
"Caves mean traps," Lira countered. "Cedric's men know these passes better than rats."
Ethan stared at the seed. *Wake them*, Eryndor's voice had pleaded in his dreams. But the seed was silent now, its light dimming. "We don't need caves," he said, tightening his grip. "We need a storm."
They ran west, the Frostspire Mountains clawing at the horizon. Varsak's scouts harried them—shadowy figures on horseback, their crossbows peppering the rocks. Ethan's aura flickered, unstable. **Earth** steadied his footing, **wind** propelled him forward, but **sunlight** and **water** warred in his veins, scorching and soothing in turns.
"Focus, boy!" Varyn barked, deflecting a bolt with a stone shield. "Aura's no use if it cooks you alive!"
Ethan gritted his teeth. The seed's pulse quickened, its warmth spreading up his arm. He risked a glance—a hairline crack had split the seed's shell, amber light bleeding through.
"Down!" Lira tackled him as a volley of bolts thudded into the ground. One grazed her shoulder, the tip glistening with Widow's Bane.
"Lira—"
"Don't," she snapped, snapping the bolt's shaft. "Keep moving."
They reached the cliffs as dusk bled into night. Varsak's forces closed in, torches bobbing like fireflies in the dark. The assassin himself stood at the vanguard, his twin blades catching the moonlight.
"You've led me a fine chase, Mudborn," he called, his voice silk over steel. "But even storms tire."
Ethan's aura surged, unrestrained. **Earth** shook the ground, **wind** howled, **sunlight** ignited his branch, and **water** coiled around him like a serpent. The elements clashed—a maelstrom of gold, blue, and brown.
Varsak laughed. "Four elements. A pity you'll die before mastering them."
He lunged, blades a blur. Ethan parried, the clash ringing like a bell. Behind him, Lira's arrows found throats, and Varyn's stone fists shattered shields. But Varsak was relentless, his shadow aura dissolving Ethan's strikes.
"You're a flicker," Varsak taunted, driving Ethan toward the cliff's edge. "Cedric's gone, but his legacy? It'll bury you."
The seed *screamed*.
Not in Ethan's mind—in his hand. The crack widened, roots exploding from the shell. They burrowed into the cliffside, splitting stone as the Eldertree's aura erupted. Light flooded the pass, blinding.
Varsak recoiled, his shadows withering. "What—?"
The roots surged, ensnaring his legs. His blades hacked futilely, but the Eldertree's power was ancient, hungry. It dragged him toward the cliff's edge.
"Ethan!" Lira shouted. "The seed—it's killing you!"
He looked down. The roots had fused with his arm, his veins glowing amber. The elements raged inside him—too much, too wild.
"Let go!" Varyn roared.
But Ethan couldn't. The tree's voice filled him, deafening. *Wake us. Wake us all.*
With a final roar, the cliff face crumbled. Varsak vanished into the abyss, his curses swallowed by the dark. The roots retracted, the seed's light dimming to an ember.
Ethan collapsed, his arm scorched and bloody. The seed lay in his palm, whole again.
Lira knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she bound his wounds. "You're a fool."
"But alive," Varyn said, eyeing the seed. "And that… that's a problem for Cedric's heirs."
At dawn, they found shelter in a smuggler's den—a hollowed-out ruin reeking of stale ale and desperation. Lira lit a fire, her gaze distant.
"My brother tried to revive an Eldertree," she said quietly. "Cedric burned it. Burned *him*."
Ethan turned the seed in his hands. "Why?"
"Because Cedric knew," Varyn said. "The trees don't just hold aura. They hold *memory*. Truth. And truth is a threat to tyrants."
The seed pulsed, faint but defiant.
A raven found them at midday, its feathers singed. Princess Elara's seal—a phoenix clutching a sword—adorned the scroll.
*"The Blackthorns retreat, but Vostra's armies march. Plant the seed in Valenhold's heart. Win the tournament. Burn the thorns."*
But as Ethan read, the seed stirred. Roots brushed his mind, whispering a warning:
*"Beware the crown. It knows your name."*
Varsak clawed his way out of the fissure, his armor shattered and one eye seared shut. The Mudborn's face burned in his mind. "You'll scream," he vowed, snapping a scout's neck for his horse. "Before the end."