Chapter 24
Aspen
Something is wrong.
No — not wrong. Different.
I’ve been walking near the back of the group, tracking Kaia’s movements, tracking Kieran’s tension, tracking the weight Torric and Malrik are carrying between them. Callum’s unconscious body sways with every step, and I keep waiting for him to wake up and start screaming prophecies again.
But that’s not what’s making my skin prickle.
My ice spikes.
Not a flare of danger. Not fear. Not the oily wrongness of corruption pressing against my senses.
A pull.
A tug beneath my sternum — quiet but undeniable — like something in the land is whispering here.
I slow without meaning to.
The ground underfoot has changed. I didn’t notice it happening, but now I can’t unsee it.
The dark, corrupted soil is giving way to something else.
A faint blue glimmer beneath the dead leaves.
Frost-mist rising in delicate curls. Tiny flecks of pale light drifting through the air like snow motes, like stars fallen to earth.
And flowers.
Blue-luminescent flowers pushing through the rot, their petals soft and glowing, impossibly alive in a land that’s been dying for centuries.
I stop walking entirely.
“Aspen?”
Malrik’s voice cuts through the haze. I blink, realizing the group has continued on without me. They’ve stopped a few paces ahead, all of them turning to look at me with varying degrees of confusion.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Malrik says.
I shake my head slowly, like waking from a trance. “No. We have to go this way.”
Kieran tenses immediately. “Aspen, we can’t. We have to get Callum somewhere safe—”
“It’s not far.” The words come out sharper than I intend. I rub my temple, frustrated by the pull I can’t explain. “I just… I need to see.”
Kieran opens his mouth to argue.
“Please.” I don’t beg. I never beg. But this is important. I can feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the frost crackling at my fingertips. “Trust me.”
Kaia is watching me with that careful, empathetic attention that always makes me feel too exposed. Like she can see past my calm exterior to the chaos underneath.
“We follow him,” she says quietly.
No one argues.
When I ask for things, they listen. Because I don’t ask lightly.
The corruption thins as we walk.
It’s subtle at first — the air less heavy, the wrongness less present. But then the change accelerates.
The blue flowers multiply, opening like they’re waking up. Wisps of frost drift upward, glittering in the strange half-light. The ground beneath our feet begins to gleam, dark earth shot through with veins of pale luminescence.
Pink motes of light drift past us like lazy fireflies. The air grows cooler but not biting — gentle winter, soft as a held breath.
Linda drifts closer to Kaia, curious. Carl tumbles past my ankles, nearly tripping me, clearly fascinated by the glowing flowers.
And then we see it.
“What the hell,” Finn breathes.
The tree.
It rises from the earth like something from a dream — massive, ancient, withered but beautiful. The trunk is as wide as four people standing arm-to-arm, bark gnarled and pale, shot through with frost that traces delicate fractals like veins of light.
It should be dead. Everything in Absentia is dead or dying.
But this tree… this tree is something else entirely.
No one speaks.
Kaia moves first, stepping closer with wonder written across her face. “How did we not see this?”
“Where the hell did this come from?” Finn echoes his earlier comment, but softer now. Almost reverent.
Torric shifts Callum’s weight, staring up at the branches. “Is this… normal Absentia shit, or—?”
Malrik steps forward, his eyes wide, his voice dropping to something low and awed.
“It can’t be…”
Kieran inhales sharply beside him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Malrik nods once.
“Japti.”
The word settles over us like snowfall.
Finn raises a hand. “Okay, so… anyone want to translate the big dramatic word?”
Malrik doesn’t look away from the tree. “It’s ancient. I didn’t think any still existed.”
Kaia moves toward the trunk like she’s being drawn too.
Her hand reaches out, fingers brushing the bark, tracing the pale frost, the glowing veins beneath. The tree reacts subtly — frost glimmers brighter where she touches, spreading outward in delicate spirals.
The small shadows cluster around her ankles, calm and curious. Walter drifts closer, pulsing faintly with that strange starlight he carries.
A soft hum rises from somewhere deep within the wood. Like distant wind through hollow branches. Like the tree is breathing.
“It’s a safe place, isn’t it?” Kaia whispers.
Malrik’s eyes soften. “Yes. Japti means safety.”
The knowing hits me like a wave. I don’t know why, but it’s a need I can’t ignore.
This is why I felt it. This is what was calling me.
“We need to go inside.”
Kaia blinks, turning to look at me. “…Inside?”
I rub my forehead. The certainty is giving me a headache — pressing against my skull like something trying to get out. “I don’t know how I know. I just do.”
I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not with my ice, not with my connection to Absentia, not with anything. It’s like something inside me is waking up. Reaching toward the tree like it recognizes home.
Kaia doesn’t question me. She just nods and turns back to the trunk.
She circles it slowly, her hand trailing along the bark. The shadows follow her — Linda hovering at her shoulder, Carl tumbling at her feet.
Then Bob appears.
He materializes at the base of the trunk, posture rigid, edges sharp with purpose. He’s not guarding. He’s… directing.
He nudges Kaia’s hand. Insistent. Specific.
She follows his guidance, her palm sliding across the bark until it finds something beneath the frost.
A rune.
A spiral shape carved deep into the wood, frosted over but faintly glowing. Her palm fits perfectly against it, like it was made for her.
She looks at me.
I nod.
She presses.
The entire trunk shifts.
A seam appears in the bark — hairline at first, then widening. Frost cracks and falls away like shed skin. The wood splits open in a soft gasp of cold air, ancient and clean.
A doorway forms.
Wide. Dark. Descending.
Spiral stairs wind down into the earth, carved from the same pale wood as the tree itself. Blue light flickers along the walls, pulsing gently, alive.
A breath of crisp, winter-clean air rises from within. It smells like snow and stone and something older than memory.
I exhale shakily.
“There,” I whisper. “That’s why I felt it.”
Kaia meets my eyes. There’s no doubt in her expression. No hesitation.
“Then let’s go.”