Sorrel yanked her shirt back down the second Erythos's attention flicked from the glowing mark to her face. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the rune still pulsing faintly beneath her skin like it had a mind of its own.
He didn't step back.
Of course he didn't.
He stood there, too close, too tall, too intense, silver eyes fixed on her like she was a puzzle he intended to take apart with his bare hands.
"What," he said slowly, "are you?"
Sorrel swallowed hard. "I told you. I'm just—"
"Don't lie."
She flinched.
His voice wasn't loud. It wasn't angry. It was worse — low, certain, edged with something sharp and dangerous.
"I'm not lying," she insisted. "I don't know what that thing is. I don't know why it glows. I don't know why your—your tattoo is reacting to it."
"It's not a tattoo," he muttered.
"Whatever it is," she snapped, "I didn't ask for it."
Erythos's jaw flexed. "Magic doesn't care what you ask for."
Sorrel pressed her back harder against the tree, trying to put even an inch more distance between them. It didn't help. He was still right there, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that the forest seemed to lean in around them.
"Move," she whispered.
"No."
Her breath caught. "Erythos—"
"You crossed my boundary," he said, voice low. "You opened it. Humans don't do that. Humans can't do that."
"I didn't mean to!"
"That's not the point."
He braced one hand beside her head, leaning in just enough that she had to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact.
"Something in you opened the Veilwood," he said. "Something old. Something powerful. Something that shouldn't exist."
Sorrel's stomach twisted. "I'm not powerful."
"You're glowing," he said flatly. "You're very much something."
She hated the way her cheeks heated. "It's not— I don't— I didn't know it was there."
He studied her face, searching for something she couldn't name.
"Show me again," he said.
"No."
His eyes narrowed. "Sorrel."
"No," she repeated, louder this time. "You already saw it."
"I didn't see enough."
"That sounds like a you problem."
His lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to make her pulse jump.
"You're mouthy," he murmured.
"You're invasive."
"Only when necessary."
"That wasn't necessary!"
"It was," he said simply. "My mark burned. It hasn't burned in decades. And then you appear, glowing like a damn beacon."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He wasn't wrong.
But she wasn't about to admit that.
Erythos finally stepped back — not far, but enough that she could breathe again. The forest seemed to exhale with her, the air loosening around them.
He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath in a language she didn't recognize.
Then he looked at her again.
"Come with me."
Sorrel stiffened. "No."
"That wasn't a request."
"Well, it wasn't an answer."
He blinked, clearly not used to being told no twice in one night.
"Sorrel," he said slowly, "you can't stay here."
"Why not?"
"Because the Veilwood is alive," he said. "And it's reacting to you."
As if on cue, the leaves overhead rustled — though there was no wind.
Sorrel shivered. "Reacting how?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I intend to find out."
"And if I don't want you to?"
He stepped closer again, not touching her, but close enough that she felt the heat of him.
"You crossed into my forest," he said. "You opened my boundary. You woke my mark. You don't get to walk away from that."
Her breath hitched. "I didn't mean to do any of that."
"Intent doesn't matter," he said. "Magic doesn't care about intent."
She hugged her arms around herself. "I just want to go home."
"You can't."
The words hit her like a blow.
"Why not?" she whispered.
"Because the boundary closed behind you," he said. "And it won't open again until it wants to."
"Until it wants to?" she echoed. "It's a forest, not a person."
Erythos's expression didn't change. "The Veilwood is older than people."
She stared at him, heart pounding. "So I'm trapped."
"You're protected," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"It doesn't feel like one."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he extended a hand — not touching her, but offering.
"Come," he said. "You need shelter. And answers."
"I don't trust you."
"You don't have to," he said. "You just have to walk."
She hesitated.
The forest hummed — low, steady, almost encouraging.
Sorrel took a shaky breath.
Then she stepped forward.
Erythos didn't smile, but something in his shoulders loosened.
He turned, cloak brushing the moss, and the forest parted for him.
Sorrel followed.
They walked in silence for a while, the Veilwood shifting around them — glowing leaves, whispering branches, roots that moved just enough to guide their steps.
Finally, Sorrel spoke.
"Does your mark always burn like that?"
"No."
"Has it ever burned for a human before?"
"No."
"Does that mean something?"
"Yes."
She waited.
He didn't elaborate.
She groaned. "You're impossible."
"And you're loud."
"I'm traumatized!"
"Then be traumatized quietly."
She glared at the back of his head. "You're a jerk."
"Correct."
She blinked. "You're not even denying it?"
"Why would I?"
Sorrel opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He was impossible.
And confusing.
And infuriating.
And—
The ground trembled.
Erythos stopped instantly, one arm snapping out to block her path.
"Don't move."
Sorrel froze.
The forest went silent.
Too silent.
Erythos's eyes narrowed, silver irises glowing faintly.
"Something woke up," he murmured.
"What something?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't need to.
A pulse of magic rippled through the Veilwood — distant, sharp, unmistakable.
Erythos's mark burned.
Sorrel's rune pulsed.
And somewhere deep in the forest…
another mark answered.