Chapter 1 #2
A few weeks ago, we even tracked the Sage back down.
Traveled four days to their hollow, endured the shifting walls and the writing that tries to drive you mad, and got exactly what I expected: cryptic bullshit.
“The path will reveal itself when the convergence of intention aligns with temporal readiness,” they'd said, bark-rough fingers steepled, eyes like ancient honey.
“You cannot force a river to flow backward, Kaelren. You can only build a dam strong enough to hold the water until it finds its own way home.”
I'd nearly put my fist through the trunk of their living tree.
"There's something else," Sarnyx says, pulling me back to the present.
She taps a small settlement on the eastern edge of the map.
"Willowmere. They've appointed a local leader—a woman named Thessara.
She's been pushing to establish a regional council, something more structured than what the other settlements have managed. She's asked to speak with us."
"With us?"
"With you." Sarnyx's tone is deliberate. "You specifically. Whether you like it or not, you're a symbol to these people. The prince who helped break the cycle."
The word prince leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "I'm not an authority figure, Sarnyx."
"I know. But they don't need you to rule. They need you to listen." She folds her arms, thorns retracting slightly, her version of softening. "Come with me. It's half a day's ride. We'll be back before nightfall."
I don't want to go. Every hour spent on diplomacy is an hour not spent finding a way to reach her. Not spent pouring over archives, not spent reaching through the bond, thin as spider silk, fragile as breath, for any sign that she's still out there navigating her way home.
But the realm she sacrificed herself to save is trying to rebuild. And if I let it crumble while I chase ghosts through ancient texts, then what was any of it for?
"Fine," I say, and the word costs more than it should.
I go back to the fire. The crew has gathered in the loose, organic way they always do, close enough to share warmth, far enough apart to maintain the illusion of independence.
"What's everyone's day look like?" I ask because asking keeps me functional. Routine keeps me moving. Structure is the only thing stopping me from tearing the world apart looking for her.
Bryx raises a hand like an eager student.
"Mora and I are heading through the crossing to check on the Earth realm.
Make sure everything's stable over there.
" He pauses, his compound eyes softening in a way that looks wrong on his insectoid features.
"And we'll check on the house. Elle's grandmother Josephine's place. Make sure it's holding up."
Something clenches behind my sternum. I won't let it crumble.
I know how much it means to her, that small, improbable house where she spent so much of her life, where Josephine planted roots and made it home.
Elle will need something to come back to.
Something that smells like her childhood, that holds the memory of who she was before the marks and the magic and the sacrifice.
I give Bryx a nod. "Be thorough. And be careful."
"Always careful," Bryx says, which is a spectacular lie, but I let it slide.
Vashael approaches me then, and I can tell by the deliberate way she moves that she's about to say something I don't want to hear. She places a hand on my arm, warm, steady, her pollen leaving faint golden residue on my sleeve.
"Kaelren." Her voice is gentle in a way that sets my teeth on edge. "You need to slow down. Elle would not want you running yourself into the ground like this."
I growl before I can stop it, low, instinctive; the corruption flaring dark beneath my skin. "Don't tell me what she would want. Don't you dare speak for her when she can't speak for herself."
Vashael doesn't flinch. She never does. "Nimor and I are going to scout the eastern territories today.
See how the rot is receding and assess where regrowth needs support.
I can accelerate the restoration in areas where the soil is still viable.
" She squeezes my arm once, then lets go. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here."
I don't respond. She didn't expect me to.
Sarnyx and I load up the bees within the hour.
Mine is a dark-banded worker with silver markings that remind me of things I'd rather not think about, and it lifts into the air with the kind of effortless grace that makes riding feel like controlled falling.
The wind is warm, thick with the scent of new blossoms and freshly turned earth.
Wynmire healing itself, slowly, stubbornly, the way all living things do.
The flight to Willowmere takes less time than Sarnyx estimated. The settlement appears through a break in the canopy, a cluster of structures built into and around a grove of ancient willows, their trailing branches forming natural walls and walkways.
The settlement is larger than I expected. Several hundred residents, maybe more, all moving with the organized purpose of people building something from nothing.
We're met at the border by a woman who introduces herself as Thessara. She's tall, lean, with bark-textured skin that marks her as old-growth fae and eyes the color of river moss. She grips my hand with a firmness that says she's not interested in ceremony.
"Thank you for coming," she says, leading us through the settlement toward a central gathering hall—a massive willow hollowed and shaped into something between a council chamber and a cathedral. "I know you're busy."
"Sarnyx said you wanted to discuss a council structure."
"More than that." Thessara gestures to a carved table where maps and documents are spread.
Other community leaders are already gathered, a mix of fae, root-touched, and a few I can't quite categorize.
"The settlements are governing themselves, but we're isolated.
Each one making decisions that affect the others with no coordination.
Trade disputes. Resource allocation. Border disagreements that could turn ugly if we don't get ahead of them. "
She lays out her proposal with the clarity of someone who's been thinking about this longer than the peace has existed. A regional council with elected representatives from each settlement. Shared trade agreements. A rotating mediation system for disputes.
Her plan is smart. Thorough. The kind of governance structure that might actually work if people cooperate, which they historically don't.
I offer what guidance I can. The little I absorbed from years of watching the old court operate, before the corruption and the betrayals made such knowledge useless.
Sarnyx takes over the finer details with her usual precision, her thorns retracting fully as she settles into the rhythm of negotiation and logistics.
I try to stay engaged. I do.
But my mind keeps drifting to the locket against my chest, warm as a heartbeat, pulsing with something that isn't quite presence but isn't quite absence either.
I reach for the bond, that impossible, stretched-thin thread connecting my now to her everywhere, and feel what I always feel.
Fragments. Echoes. The ghost of her consciousness learning things that would unmake a lesser mind.
Still here. Still fighting. Wait for me.
Always.
I'm looking at the map, but my mind is somewhere else when the ground shifts.
Not dramatically. Not at first. A tremor that starts deep and rolls upward, rattling the carved table, sending documents sliding. The willow walls groan, their ancient branches swaying with a violence that has nothing to do with wind.
Around me, the meeting descends into panic. People shout, grab children, stumble for doorways. Thessara barks orders with impressive authority. "Stay calm, move to open ground, away from the structures," but her voice carries an edge of genuine fear.
The tremor lasts maybe fifteen seconds. When it stops, the silence that follows feels heavier than the shaking.
Sarnyx is already on her feet, thorns extended, blood-colored eyes scanning for threats that aren't physical. She finds my gaze and I see the same calculation in her expression that's running through my mind.
"That wasn't natural," she says quietly.
"No," I'm already moving toward the door. "It wasn't."
We tell Thessara to stay safe, that we'll send scouts back to report. She nods, jaw tight, already redirecting her people toward damage assessment. She's capable. Good. Because I can't stay.
The ride back to camp is faster than it should be.
The bees sense urgency, or maybe they sense the wrongness vibrating through the air like a tone just below hearing.
My corruption flares along my arms, the marks twisting with an agitation that isn't mine.
It's reactive. Something is pulling at the fabric of things, and the darkness in my blood can feel it.
When we reach camp, the damage is worse.
Tents are knocked sideways, support poles snapped, supplies scattered across churned ground.
The central fire pit is a mess of kicked embers and overturned pots.
It hit significantly harder here, and the reason doesn't go unnoticed.
Our camp sits closer to the Earth realm border.
The thin place where Wynmire and the human world press against each other like two hands separated by glass.
Whatever just happened, it came from that direction.
I'm barking orders to secure the perimeter, check for injuries, and get those fires contained when I hear it.
The heavy drone of Kevin's wings, louder than usual, frantic.
Bryx and Mora burst into camp like the ground itself is chasing them.
Kevin lands hard, and Bryx practically falls off his back.
Mora's face is pale. The worry evident and written all over her expression.
"Kaelren." Bryx's voice is stripped of its usual humor, his compound eyes wide and dark. "You need to come. Now."
"What happened?"
Bryx and Mora exchange a look containing an entire conversation in a single glance.
"It's the Earth realm," Mora says, and her voice shakes.
"Something is wrong. The crossing—it's destabilizing.
The borders are thinning in places they shouldn't be, and there are fractures spreading through the barrier like—" She swallows hard.
"Like fissures spreading through glass. If we don't stabilize it—"
"How bad?" I cut in.
Bryx looks at me, and for the first time since I've known him, I see genuine fear behind those compound eyes. Not the theatrical alarm he wears for laughs. The real thing.
"Bad enough that Elle's grandmother's house is sitting on top of the worst fracture," he says. "And bad enough that if we don't move right now, there won't be a border left to stabilize."
The locket burns against my chest, hot with the echo of her presence.
I'm already running.