The path to the second gate was a road forgotten by time.
It wound through the Hollow Vale, past sleeping stones and the skeletons of ancient trees—trees that once whispered but now only wept sap. The roots beneath their feet twisted like old bones, and the branches above blocked out even the thought of sunlight. The air was colder here, soaked with sorrow.
Elowen's steps grew heavier the farther they walked. Each footfall echoed like a heartbeat, or perhaps a warning. Her breath fogged in the air, though no frost touched the ground.
Even Ashen was quieter than usual.
"What are we looking for exactly?" he asked at last, voice hushed as though afraid of waking something.
Elowen didn't stop walking. "A gate that doesn't open with keys or hands. Only pain."
Ashen frowned. "Pain?"
She nodded. "That's what the memories keep telling me. To awaken the bloodline, something must be lost. Not just something, but something real. Something old."
They walked in silence until the path ended.
Before them stretched a glade where the sunlight didn't touch the ground. Not even the wind stirred here. The air was still and thick.
In its center stood an archway of thorns, black and knotted, taller than the trees around it. Vines choked the space between the pillars. Dark red sap oozed from the bark, almost like blood.
It wasn't connected to anything—no door, no wall.
Just the gate.
And it breathed.
Elowen approached it carefully. The star fragment around her neck pulsed at her chest like a second heart, matching the rhythm of the thorns' breath.
As she neared, the thorns twisted, pulling apart to form a jagged opening. Beyond it lay only thick mist that writhed like it was alive.
A voice echoed from within:
Daughter of Stillness...
If you wish to pass, offer the wound that never healed.
Ashen stepped forward, alarmed. "What does that mean?"
Elowen's eyes shimmered, but her face was steady. "It means I have to remember."
She turned to him. "Wait here."
Before he could protest, she stepped through the gate.
Pain.
Instant and raw.
It wasn't her body that hurt—it was her spirit.
Memories pierced her like blades:
The night her mother vanished in a rain of fire.
Her father's blood staining the palace floor.
The cold hands that dragged her from her cradle.
The sound of guards laughing as she screamed.
The cage.
The silence.
The years in darkness.
The loneliness.
She curled inward as the past tore her open. It wasn't just remembering—it was reliving.
And deeper still, a wound that had never closed—
The knowledge that no one came for her.
Not until now.
Elowen fell to her knees inside the mist. "I remember," she whispered. "I never forgot."
Her voice cracked. Her heart did too.
A pulse of magic surged from her chest. The star fragment blazed like moonlight caught in flame.
The mist screamed.
It turned to glass, then shattered into dust.
She stood, shaking.
Around her, the air grew clearer. The thorns of the gate rustled as if sighing in relief. The gate no longer loomed—it had quieted.
She had passed.
On the other side, the forest looked... different.
The trees were taller, darker. Their bark pulsed with strange veins of silver. The ground was soft with ash and petals that had no color. The sky above was violet and swollen with cloud. Lightning flickered silently beyond the branches.
Ashen ran to her side as she stepped out. "Elowen—are you okay?"
She nodded, slowly. "The second gate is behind us."
He looked at her differently now. "And you—you look older."
She didn't respond.
Because she had changed.
Something deep in her had awakened. Not just power—but memory. She now carried more than sorrow. She carried purpose.
Far above, in a place beyond mortal reach, the god Aeron stirred.
He saw the girl pass through the Thorn-Faced Gate.
And he whispered to himself, voice made of wind and ruin:
She is coming.
And I am not ready.