Chapter Thirteen #3
I blinked, hesitant. My voice came out small. “Why aren’t they moving? My friends…what did you do to them?”
He glanced up with warmth in his eyes. “Nothing they won’t wake from. The grove holds time differently. Only those who are called move forward.”
“Called by what? By whom?”
His smile deepened, and for a moment, he looked impossibly old. “Secrets, my dear! Besides, you already know. Deep down. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He reached beside him and plucked a sprig of golden root from a bundle. “Here, this is for you.” He held it out for me, his gaze fixed on a point just past my shoulder. “It’s out of fear. You carry too much of it in your ribs.”
With my breath hitched, a silent battle raged within as my body was forced to move forward.
I stepped closer, my legs felt like water, but they slowly moved one foot in front of the other.
The tremors began in the hands, a visible quake as I reached for his offering.
The sprig settled into my palm, radiating an unexpected warmth that seemed to steady the tremor in my fingers.
The fox let out a slight sound, a sharp, pained yip, and I turned to see it limping slightly, favoring its paw. Instinct took over. I knelt, drawing it close. It didn’t fight me.
A thorn had snagged the foot.
I worked gently, humming under my breath. My fingers moved almost of their own accord, pulling herbs from my pouch and wrapping a bit of linen. The fox licked my wrist once as I’d finished, then bounded off toward its friend.
“You do not need a flame to burn,” the man said.
My gaze lifted. His pale eyes fixed on mine, his attention unwavering
“Gentleness,” he murmured, “can be the sharpest blade.”
I swallowed hard.
“The flame within you will not burn,” he added, “until you believe it won’t destroy.”
Something fractured open in my chest, a truth too raw to accept acknowledgment.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
“You must get back to your friends.” He smiled faintly, avoiding my question.
Still in shock and unsure what to do, I turned to go. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand across my arm.
I flinched; however, there was no pain. Only warmth.
Pure and golden, like sunlight pressing against my skin.
It wasn't a warmth like fire, but something older, like the patient memory of something ancient finally recognizing a kin spirit. This warmth permeated my skin, seeping into the very marrow, filling my lungs with a soft, steady rhythm.
I gasped softly.
Suddenly, my forearm started to glow.
A flower mark, intricate and delicate, shimmered to life on my skin. It wasn’t etched, carved, or burned, but it was there as if it had been awoken from beneath the surface.
Gold light curled inward like a seed turning in soil, delicate and pulsing. It moved faintly, tuning in to my breathing.
My knees wobbled, threatening to give way beneath the sudden onslaught of emotions.
I clutched my arm, not in pain but in awe, in some nameless knowing. The mark pulsed once more, and then faded, leaving only the memory of its light and the faintest warmth, like a heartbeat echoing beneath the skin.
I looked back up, eyes wide.
But the man had already pivoted, a jaunty whistle erupting as if to dismiss the entire encounter.
He glided back toward his cottage with casual, unbothered steps.
Bran nudged my side gently. I turned, and together we began walking back toward the trail.
The trees closed around us, familiar and real, but something tugged at me—soft and insistent.
I paused. Glanced back over my shoulder.
The man, the cottage, and the garden were all gone. The clearing had unraveled behind me like a dream. Just trees now. Ordinary. Undisturbed. No shrine. No blossoms. No trace of wild pears or golden flowers.
Only birdsong and forest.
I rejoined the group as the light shifted again. The air grew thinner and colder. The bird flew off. At the edge of the path, the deer stood still and surveyed me. It bowed its head once, slowly and solemnly.
Then it turned and vanished into the trees.
Jasira let out a shaky breath. “Wyn…when you left, none of us could move.”
I shifted to face her fully. Her brow plowed a deeper furrow between her widened eyes. “I tried to speak,” she whispered. “To call for you. But it was like my voice…froze.”
“I felt it too,” Alaric muttered, jaw tight. “Something held us still. Something magical.”
Gideon rubbed his arms. “It was like the forest itself told us to wait.”
I glanced at Erindor, expecting doubt, but he was staring at the trees where the deer had disappeared, his gaze dark and unwavering.
Erindor pulled his eyes away and stepped beside me. “Are you alright?”
I nodded slowly. “I feel…lighter.”
I glanced back down the grove one last time. The air shimmered faintly at its edge. Just beyond the trees, far in the distance, I caught a last glimpse of the fox.
It stood perfectly still. Observing me from a distance.
A quiet thread of understanding passed between us, unspoken but sure. I raised my hand slightly.
The fox blinked once and vanished into the brush.
No one spoke as we left the grove.
But something had changed.
In me.
In the air.
And somewhere beneath my skin, something had glowed.