đź“–
The forest had no name.
Or perhaps, it had once, but the years had swallowed it whole.
No birdsong echoed in its trees. No sunlight pierced its tangled canopy. The leaves were ashen. The soil tasted of rust and magic. To enter this place was to step outside time itself—a place where memories whispered from the bark and shadows moved of their own will.
It was called the Forest of Forgotten Echoes.
And it was the last place a Seer had spoken Lucien's true name.
Elara adjusted her cloak as they passed under the twisted boughs. Daniel walked beside her, still pale from his recovery, while Adira moved ahead like a scout, blades always half-drawn.
"This forest," Daniel muttered, glancing around, "feels like it wants to eat us."
"It probably does," Adira replied, not turning. "It remembers who betrayed it."
"You speak like it's alive," Elara said.
Adira stopped.
"It is."
A gust of wind moved through the trees like breath, carrying with it distant whispers and the scent of burnt ink. Elara reached out instinctively, letting her own magic stir in her fingertips. The ink beneath her skin pulsed like a heartbeat, vibrating in tune with the unnatural rhythm of the forest.
They moved cautiously, guided by Adira through narrow paths and forgotten ruins half-consumed by moss and time. Elara could feel the ancient power pressing against her soul—it knew her. Recognized the ink she carried. And it did not approve.
"How much farther?" Daniel asked.
Adira glanced back. "We're close. The Seer doesn't stay in one place. She walks with the ghosts."
"Cryptic," Daniel muttered.
"Necessary," Adira replied. "She was once Lucien's Oracle. She saw too much and spoke too freely. He cut out her tongue and cursed her to wander here."
"How does she speak to us, then?"
Adira stopped beside a moss-covered archway that led into a sunken clearing. In the center stood a stone monolith covered in runes. At its base, a woman sat cross-legged, eyes closed, head bowed.
Her hair was white, flowing like river foam. Her skin, etched with glowing scars that moved as though alive. No mouth. Just smooth skin where lips should be.
"She doesn't need a tongue," Adira said quietly. "She speaks in visions."
Elara stepped forward. The woman opened her eyes.
They were silver.
Not reflective—radiant.
Like mirrors forged from moonlight.
The moment their eyes met, the world exploded.
--
VISION
Elara stood in a burning city.
Towers of ink and bone crumbled around her. The skies wept black rain. Demons walked the streets. And at the center, atop a throne of chained souls, sat Lucien—but not as she knew him.
This version of him was monstrous. Wings of smoke. Horns of obsidian. Eyes like suns.
She wore a crown.
Of thorns.
She stood before him, blade drawn, trembling.
He smiled.
"You always come back to me," he said. "Because you were made for me."
She lunged—
And he caught her.
Stabbed her with her own sword.
As she fell, she saw Daniel—chained beside the throne, broken. Screaming without sound.
Her blood spilled across the ground—and from it, ink grew.
Chains. Circles. Sigils.
A new contract, written in her death.
A world enslaved.
--
REALITY
Elara screamed.
Daniel caught her as she collapsed. Her nose bled. Her eyes rolled.
Adira knelt, checking her pulse. "It's the future. One of many. The Seer doesn't lie—she shows what will be if no one changes the course."
Elara gasped for breath. Her voice shook. "He kills me. He wins."
The Seer stood, floating an inch above the forest floor. She extended her hands—black flame in one, white ink in the other.
A choice.
A path.
"She wants to know," Adira said softly, interpreting. "Will you bind yourself to light, or to darkness? Will you fight him from the shadows, or in the open?"
"What's the difference?" Daniel asked.
Adira answered, "One path gives you power. The other gives you freedom. Never both."
Elara stood, wiping the blood from her nose.
"What happens if I refuse both?" she asked.
The Seer tilted her head. Her silver eyes blinked once.
And suddenly, Elara felt her.
In her mind.
You already did, child. That's why he fears you.
Elara gasped.
"She spoke to me."
Adira frowned. "That's never happened before."
The Seer walked forward and pressed something into Elara's hand.
A key.
Not metal. Not wood. A construct of pure memory—glowing with the fire of a forgotten name.
Go to the Archive of Thorns. Learn what was erased. Only then will you understand why the ink chose you.
The forest began to darken again.
The Seer stepped back into the shadows, her silver eyes the last thing to vanish.
They stood in silence.
Then Adira exhaled. "She gave you the key to the Archive. That place is forbidden even to Lucien."
"What is it?" Elara asked.
"A library of unspoken truths," Adira said. "Buried beneath the Ashen Spire. Protected by memory wraiths and cursed guardians. No one who's entered has returned whole."
Daniel cleared his throat. "Sounds like a fun weekend getaway."
Elara turned the key over in her hand. It pulsed with warmth.
Learn what was erased.
She looked at the others. "We go at dawn."
Adira looked impressed. "You're choosing the harder path."
"I always do," Elara replied.
Daniel took her hand. "Then I'm with you."
The trees whispered above them.
The forest had given its warning.
Now came the reckoning.