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“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, thorns through skin as thorns you trust!”

The voice shatters against my eardrums—childlike but wrong. Sing-song melody carrying notes that make my teeth ache. A glowing orb materializes inches from my face, pulsing violet and gold like a demented Christmas ornament. It bobs closer, heat brushing my bleeding cheek.

“Fantastic. Buried alive in a tree, having a heart-to-heart with discount Tinker Bell. Pretty sure this violates several laws of physics—and possibly my sanity.”

“Language, language, root-born bright! Though cursing suits the endless night!”

Root-born.

The word hits like ice water dumped over my head, instantly stopping my mental breakdown. Electric shocks race down my spine. Something buried deep stirs at that term—recognition crawling through layers of conditioning and deliberately forgotten childhood dreams.

The creature circles my head, casting psychedelic shadows on walls pressing closer. My vision adjusts slowly, revealing I’m wedged inside some kind of hollow tree. Ancient wood pulses against my spine like a living heart.

The air hangs thick with loam and ozone. Thunderstorms and secrets buried in rich soil.

My blood turns to ice. Bile rises in my throat as the weight of what Whispen revealed crashes over me.Not human. Never human. Everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie.

My fingers find worn grooves carved into the bark, smooth like others have climbed this path before.

Others like me? Others who discovered their entire identity was false?

“Cute prison. Very organic. Now how about we discuss my immediate release before I start making this personal?”

“Poor root-born, lost and found! Buried deep but still above ground! The dead don’t cry so desperately—though you will be, dead I mean. Eventually. All root-born fade when light burns bright!”

“Let me guess—mysterious guide with cryptic wisdom and a flair for dramatic timing? Because my day wasn’t complicated enough already.”

The orb giggles—actually giggles—drifting higher with manic glee. “Whispen, wisp, soul-keeper true, bound to thorns and bound to you. Last Will-o’-wisp to walk these lands, tethered by royal bloodline’s hands.”

Will-o’-wisp. The classification surfaces from buried briefing files—truth-bound entities tied to royal Fae bloodlines. Graveshad mentioned them once, dismissing them as fairy-tale bullshit for children.

Yet here floats living proof, pulsing violet-gold.

I look down at my arms. Bile rises in my throat.

Dirt isn’t just caked on my skin—it’s become part of me. Thorns spiral past my elbows, twining around my collarbones like living vines seeking sunlight.

This should terrify me.

Instead, something savage whispers deep in my chest.Yes. Finally.

I bite back that thought. Focus on immediate threats. Survival first, existential crisis later. “Truth magic, huh? Funny how ‘truth’ always comes wrapped in fortune cookie philosophy. Care to try simple declarative sentences, or is mystical bullshit part of your brand?”

Whispen zooms closer, warmth radiating from his tiny form. “Up, up, through bark so high! Though watchers hoped your light would die. Your prince of ice stood here grieving, heart frozen but still believing.”

Images surface without permission.

Strong arms carrying me. Unusual warmth against habitual cold. Frost blooming wherever emotion cracked his carefully constructed mask.

Heat floods my chest, dangerous and unwelcome.

Kieran brought me here. Saved me from the hunters, then... vanished?

“Kieran was here?” His name escapes before I can stop it, carrying weight that makes my stomach flip.

“Shadows and worry, ice and hurry, carried you safe then left in a scurry.” Whispen rises, revealing handholds carved into the wood. “Others waited with blades so bright, eager to end your root-born light.”

“Root-born stolen, war-torn, saved from blade and fire’s scorn!” Whispen’s voice shifts to something older, sadder. “Hidden deep where iron bites, dimmed your Wild and royal lights!”