Morning came to Eldermere without warmth.
A pale mist clung to the ground, curling through the narrow paths like something alive. Jax had not slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the blue light again — felt it pulsing beneath his skin, waiting.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his forearm.
The mark was still there.
It no longer glowed, but it looked… different. Sharper. As if the symbol had settled into its true shape after years of pretending to be harmless. When Jax brushed his fingers across it, a faint hum answered, deep and quiet, like a distant echo.
The world was listening.
Rowan stood outside, sharpening his blade.
That alone told Jax something was wrong.
Rowan never carried weapons. He believed walls and silence kept danger away. Yet now the old man moved with urgency, eyes scanning the tree line as though expecting something to step out of the forest at any moment.
"You're awake," Rowan said without turning.
"I never slept," Jax replied.
Rowan nodded, as if he had expected that. "Then it's time."
"For what?" Jax asked.
"For the truth I should have told you long ago."
They walked beyond the village, toward the edge of Whisperwood. The trees there were massive, their roots breaking stone, their branches blocking the sky. The air felt heavier with every step, charged with something unseen.
Rowan stopped before an ancient stone half-buried in moss.
He placed his palm against it.
The stone responded.
Symbols flared faintly — the same blue as Jax's mark.
Jax staggered back. "You said magic was gone."
"I said people forgot it," Rowan answered quietly. "That's not the same thing."
Rowan turned to face him, shoulders heavy with years of regret.
"You were born during the last breaking," he said. "When the world tried to bind power forever. Some forces cannot be chained — only hidden. You are one of them."
Jax's chest tightened. "What am I?"
Rowan hesitated.
"Unbound," he finally said.
The word struck like thunder.
Rowan explained slowly — of an ancient order that once shaped reality itself, of power that answered no crown, no law, no fate. When rulers feared losing control, they hunted the Unbound until only stories remained.
"Your mark is a key," Rowan said. "Not to a throne… but to choice."
A sudden snap echoed through the trees.
Rowan's hand went to his sword.
Figures emerged from the mist — cloaked, silent, their eyes reflecting the same blue light.
"Too late," Rowan whispered. "They felt you awaken."
Jax's mark burned again.
But this time, he didn't fall.
The wind bent toward him. The ground trembled beneath his feet. And for the first time in his life, Jax did not feel wrong.
He felt ready.
Rowan looked at him, pride and fear mixing in his gaze.
"Run," he said. "And whatever happens… never let them bind you."
The forest roared.
And Jax stepped into his legacy.