Page 171

Story: Ashes to Ashes

I wakeup in a goddamn tree. Again.

But this time, instead of panic, I feel... grounded. The moss beneath my back pulses with gentle warmth, and the hollow’s living walls hum with magic that recognizes me. Warmth spreads through channels that have been dry for twenty-eight years, healing not just my body but something deeper.

Where memory holds the Truth Stone’s violation, now only gentle currents flow through my veins.

“Behold! Root-born awakens from her sylvan slumber!” Whispen’s golden light flickers nearby, his translucent form radiating satisfaction. “Tree healing works absolute wonders for royal blood, oh yes indeed!”

“Better than bleeding in Academy corridors,” I admit, testing my limbs. The magical exhaustion has lifted completely, but something else has taken its place—restless energy that makes my skin feel too tight. “Though I’m starting to think I have some kind of botanical recovery complex.”

“Trees remember what flesh forgets,” Whispen chirps before dissolving into sparkles. “Wild magic needs wild spaces!”

I stretch and start to emerge from the hollow, then freeze as my hand touches my face. My fingertips map cheekbones thatcut sharper angles, and when I reach my ears, air stops moving in my throat.

Cartilage curves to delicate points where rounded edges used to be.

“The glamour,” I whisper, touching the delicate points with wonder rather than fear. “It’s really breaking down.”

But instead of panic, I feel... relief. For the first time since the trials began, I feel like I’m living inside my own skin instead of wearing it.

I emerge fully from the hollow to find Orion sleeping against the ancient tree’s roots, his massive frame curled around the base like a living barrier. One arm flings across the roots where anyone approaching would have to step. His flame-red hair catches early morning sunlight, and his broad chest rises and falls with deep breaths that mist slightly in the cool air.

Even in sleep, his body positions itself between me and the world.

The realization sends warmth spiraling through my chest like honey through my veins. After everything—the trial, the accusations, nearly being dragged away by Seelie forces—he stayed. Chose to protect me over his own comfort.

But it’s more than that. In sleep, his usual guardian intensity has softened, revealing glimpses of the man beneath the oath. Beautiful. Devoted.

Mine.

The certainty settles behind my ribs like truth finding its home. After having every feeling questioned, every choice analyzed, every emotion dissected for authenticity—this feels real. Bone-deep. True.

I step closer, meaning to wake him gently. But the moment my bare feet touch the earth around him, his amber eyes snap open with predatory alertness.

Guardian instincts. He goes from unconscious to combat-ready in a heartbeat, scanning for threats until his gaze lands on me.

Then everything changes.

His shoulders drop like he’s been holding his breath for hours. Something loosens in my chest watching the tension leave his face. His eyes darken from amber to molten gold as he takes in my appearance, nostrils flaring slightly as he scents the changes in my magic.

“Thorn. How do you feel?”

“Different,” I admit, settling beside him on the moss. My hand rises unconsciously to trace the new points of my ears. “Stronger. Like something that was buried inside me is finally free to breathe. And... changing. Physically changing.”

His amber eyes follow my gesture, taking in the subtle points of my ears with fascination rather than surprise. “The glamour The Morrigan wove into your essence. It wasn’t just hiding your appearance. It was suppressing your true nature.”

“You’re not surprised.”

“I’ve been watching the real you surface since you arrived at the Academy. Each time you choose authenticity over what others expect...” He traces the delicate point of my ear with reverent fingers. “More of who you really are breaks through the concealment.”

The touch sends electricity down my spine. Lightning strikes low in my belly as his massive hands frame my face with devastating gentleness.

“Does it bother you? Watching me become... whoever I actually am?”

“Not becoming. Liberation. You’re finally free to exist as yourself instead of some suppressed version.”

“I don’t feel muted anymore. I feel... restless. Like there are instincts under my skin that have been caged for twenty-eight years and now they want out.”

Something flickers across his expression—understanding mixed with careful restraint. His breathing changes, becoming deeper, more controlled.

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