The storm didn't touch Eldermere.
Not truly.
Not yet.
But over Serene's cottage, the clouds stirred in strange rhythms, slow and deliberate, holding something unspoken.
Maria sat alone. The apothecary was quiet, herbs half-bundled on the table. The fire crackled softly. The candlelight flickered too fast, like it was afraid of the dark outside the glass.
Serene had gone to tend a fevered child on the outlying ridge. She wouldn't return till dawn.
Maria should have gone to bed.
But she didn't.
She hummed.
A melody she didn't know, yet it knew her.
Her fingers traced the rim of a ceramic cup, spinning it idly. A wind passed the window, and every bottle on the shelf clinked at once not violently. Almost rhythmically.
And then she saw it.
A single white flower, resting on the doorstep. Star-shaped, petals curling at the tips.
She opened the door. No one stood beyond.
But she knew this flower.
She'd seen it once, in a book. It grew only in Thornspire.
"No…" she whispered.
Her hand reached for it anyway.
The moment her fingers brushed the stem, the wind stilled. The world fell silent. And then a hum rose from inside her chest, low and silver-toned. Not from outside. From within.
The ground beneath her dissolved.
She blinked. She was standing.
She wasn't.
Darkness curled around her vision, tight as a vice. The forest rose to meet her.
It smelled of ash and wet stone, metallic and sharp. The air tasted of iron. Her lungs filled with it anyway.
Somewhere above the stars, a throne of fire and mercy long stilled lay empty. Petals of scorched glass drifted like slow ash.
She stumbled forward. Barefoot. Her feet sank into the black moss.
The trees were endless. Black bark, silver mist curling through the branches. No wind. No stars. Only silence.
And then the watching began.
Figures unfolded from the roots. Skeletal faces crowned in antlers, long limbs bending like broken shadows.
The Thorn-borne.
They whispered without sound; their heads cocked in cruel curiosity.
Maria froze.
Then they laughed. Not with voices but with the way the forest twisted around her, the soundless mockery pressing in on every nerve.
Her heartbeat hammered.
"No… no… stay back! Stay away!" she screamed, arms flailing.
The Thorn-borne shifted, circling her. Every step they took left faint cracks in the silver mist, and their eyes hollow moons locked on hers.
She ran.
Her legs moved fast, but the forest didn't yield. Roots twisted beneath her feet. Branches snagged her hair. Mist thickened, blinding her.
"I can't… I can't move! Why won't it let me go?!"
She tripped, arms flailing, palms scraping bark. Pain lanced up her arms.
"Somebody help me! Anyone!"
But there was no help here. Only the trees, bending toward her, watching, waiting.
From the shadows, a massive serpent emerged, scales like rusted gold, eyes hollow moons wide with memory. It coiled around the ancient tree trunks, looming above her. Its mouth opened not in hunger, but recognition, and something primal stirred in the pit of her chest.
Maria screamed. Her chest burned. Her hands clawed at the earth.
"No! No! I'm nothing! I'm no one!"
The Tear pulsed inside her. Heat flared, wild and bright, like molten silver. The serpent recoiled, startled. The Thorn-borne faltered. The illusion trembled, cracked.
She staggered, gasping, body shaking.
The creatures laughed louder now not voices, but in the twisting air and warped light.
"Why me? Why now?!" she yelled.
Branches snapped underfoot. Mist coiled like snakes around her legs. She lashed out with fists, kicking roots, screaming into the emptiness.
The forest itself seemed alive, mocking her desperation. She ran blindly, twisting through impossible paths, the Thorn-borne circling like predators, each step a taunt, each shadow a threat.
She stumbled into a clearing. The serpent followed, massive and silent, eyes burning in her vision. She screamed, falling, scrabbling over jagged roots.
"I… I can't! I… I"
Her strength failed. Her chest heaved. Tears streamed down her face.
Then the forest hesitated. The mist thinned. The serpent paused. The air hummed against her ribcage.
Maria's eyes widened. The pulse in her chest surged once more, and a shimmer of silver fire erupted around her. The Thorn-borne twisted, recoiling. The illusion cracked further.
Exhaustion took her next. She collapsed to her knees, trembling, gasping, shaking. Pain, fear, adrenaline all of it crashing down like a tide.
Her vision blurred. Her cries became sobs.
And then darkness claimed her.
Maria wakes slowly, every limb aching. Sunlight cuts through the shutters, but it feels harsh and unfamiliar. She presses her palms to her cheeks, trying to convince herself it was just a nightmare.
Serene hovers near her side, hands warm but trembling slightly, unsure how to comfort her daughter.
"You were… gone," Serene whispers. "Your bed was empty. Your shoes… and yet…"
Maria swallows, clutching the locket. "It pulsed… like it was alive. Something… followed me."
A shiver runs down her spine as she glances toward the window. There, just beyond the garden, a figure stands at the edge of the hedge, tall, still, watching. It doesn't move when she blinks.
Her heart leaps. The world feels too quiet, the air too sharp. She reaches for her mother's hand, trembling.
But when she blinks again, the figure is gone.
Maria exhales shakily. Was it real? Or the echo of the forest reaching into the day?
And somewhere deep in the garden, a white feather flutters to the ground, untouched by wind.