Page 10 of Eternal Thorns (The Feybound Chronicles #1)

9

DREAMS OF ANOTHER TIME

T he library's massive windows turned the sunset into stained glass art, painting the scattered papers around Silas in shades of amber and rose. He'd been at this for hours, surrounded by notes and sketches, the bark-bound journal open before him like a riddle waiting to be solved.

“That's the fifth time you've rubbed your eyes in ten minutes,” Kai observed from his post by the fireplace. “Maybe time for a break?”

“Almost got this part.” Silas squinted at a particularly stubborn passage. The text seemed to crawl across the page, rearranging itself every time he looked directly at it. “Hand me the key?”

Kai passed over the strange artifact, which had been serving as an impromptu paperweight. The moment it touched Silas's hand, the journal's writings shifted again.

“There,” he breathed, excitement cutting through his fatigue. “Listen to this: 'First meeting with the forest guardian today. Nothing like the stories. Expected some terrible spirit of vengeance, found instead a being of such grace and power that mere words fail to capture it.'”

“Your ancestor had a way with words,” Kai said, adding another log to the fire. “Also terrible survival instincts, apparently.”

But Silas was already deep in the next passage. “His name was Marcus Ashworth. He wasn't afraid of Thorne at all - he was fascinated. Look at these observations about forest magic.”

The journal pages were filled with detailed notes and diagrams. Marcus had documented everything: how forest magic flowed like water finding its level, how it responded to intention rather than command, how it sang in harmony with human craft when approached with respect rather than demand.

The key grew warmer in Silas's hand as he read, and something strange happened. As Marcus described the sensation of first touching forest magic, Silas could have sworn he felt an echo of it - like sunlight through leaves, like spring water over stones, like the first breath of dawn.

“You're doing the thing again,” Kai warned.

“What thing?”

“The glowing thing.” He gestured at the key, which was indeed pulsing with soft light. “Every time you get excited about some magical discovery, that thing lights up like a beacon. Probably sending up a big signal to everything in the forest saying 'dinner is served.'”

Silas forced himself to take a calming breath, and the key's glow dimmed. But the echo of forest magic lingered, humming just beneath his awareness. The journal seemed to respond to his heightened sensitivity, more passages becoming legible.

“Marcus wasn't just studying the forest,” he realized, scanning the newly revealed text. “He was learning to work with it. Look at this - 'The guardian, Thorne, speaks of balance between realms. Says humans once understood how to walk between worlds, how to blend our craft with forest power. He's offered to teach me the old ways. Mother would be horrified. I can't wait to begin.'”

“Your ancestor was definitely a nerd,” Kai decided, but his fond tone took the sting from the words. “Just like you.”

“Thanks so much.”

“I mean it as a compliment! Though maybe with a side of concern about how you're both way too excited about potentially deadly magic.”

Silas turned another page, and his breath caught. The journal entry here was accompanied by intricate drawings - Thorne, but not as they'd seen him last night. These sketches showed him teaching, explaining, demonstrating magical techniques with obvious patience. The artist had captured something extraordinary in his expression - not the bitter fury Silas had faced, but warmth and enthusiasm for sharing knowledge.

“He was different then,” Silas murmured. The key pulsed gently against his palm as he traced one of the drawings. “Before whatever happened to make him hate our family.”

“Speaking of which,” Kai moved to the windows, drawing the heavy curtains against the gathering dark, “maybe we save the rest for daylight? When our chances of angry forest spirit visits are slightly lower?”

But Silas had found something else. The next pages detailed experiments in combining human and fey magic. Marcus's excitement practically leapt off the page: 'Breakthrough today! The guardian showed me how forest magic can enhance human crafting. The possibilities are extraordinary. When our powers harmonize, it's like nothing I've ever felt. Like finding a piece of yourself you never knew was missing.'

As he read those words, the key flared with sudden warmth. The sensation Marcus described resonated through Silas like a struck bell, awakening something that felt less like new knowledge and more like remembering.

Lost in thought, Silas absently traced one of the key's intricate engravings with his thumb. The response was immediate and electric - silver light erupted from the metal, bright enough to make Kai yelp and nearly topple his chair.

“What did you do?”

But Silas couldn't answer, transfixed by what was happening to the library's shadows. They peeled away from walls and furniture, gathering in the center of the room like ink drops in water. The darkness coalesced into moving scenes, playing out moments from the journal's pages in startling detail.

A young noble, dressed in clothes two centuries out of date, stood at the forest's edge. His face bore the Ashworth features Silas saw in the mirror every day. Marcus, meeting Thorne for the first time. The forest guardian appeared as he had last night, but different - his power displayed in grace rather than threat, curiosity rather than rage.

“Holy shit,” Kai breathed, pressed against the fireplace. “Are we seeing things that actually happened?”

The shadows shifted, showing new scenes. Marcus and Thorne bent over ancient texts, their heads close together as they discussed magical theory. The guardian demonstrating how forest magic flowed, his hands weaving patterns of light that the young noble tried to copy. Moments of shared discovery, of growing trust, of something that looked surprisingly like friendship.

But these didn't feel like simple historical projections. Each scene carried emotional weight that hit Silas with uncomfortable intimacy. He felt Marcus's wonder at first touching forest magic, his growing appreciation for Thorne's ancient knowledge, his fierce desire to bridge the gap between their worlds.

“This is weird, right?” Kai's voice seemed to come from very far away. “We should definitely be more freaked out by magical shadow theater?”

The display reached its peak with a scene that made Silas's breath catch. Thorne stood in a grove much like the one from last night, but his expression was transformed by joy and trust. He was teaching something complex, his power flowing in intricate patterns while Marcus watched with obvious admiration. The guardian's smile held none of the bitterness Silas had seen.

The key pulsed so strongly at this image that Silas nearly dropped it. Silver light flared again, and the shadow scenes scattered like startled birds, leaving the library feeling suddenly too ordinary.

“Right,” Kai said into the ringing silence. “That was”

A sharp tap at the window cut him off. A raven perched on the sill, its feathers gleaming with unnatural iridescence. A rolled message was tied to its leg with silver thread.

“Because this night wasn't weird enough already,” Kai muttered, but he moved to open the window. The raven hopped inside with decidedly un-birdlike grace, fixing Silas with eyes that held far too much intelligence.

The message bore the Witch of Blackbriar Hollow's flowing script, the ink still wet as if the words were forming as he read them:

Young Guardian, The magic you've awakened will draw attention - not all of it welcome. The journal's revelations are powerful things, especially at night when the veil between past and present grows thin. Your key responds to old truths, but remember that truth has many faces.

Most critically: pay attention to your dreams in the coming nights. What you see may be meant not just to teach, but to test. Some memories seek not just to inform, but to understand.

Be careful, be wise, and above all, be honest - with yourself most of all.

- Agnes

P.S. Remember that every memory has two sides. What you see may be truth, but it may not be the whole truth.

The raven remained perched on the windowsill, its head cocked expectantly. Up close, Silas noticed patterns in its feathers that matched the key's engravings.

“She wants a response, doesn't she?” he asked the bird, which clicked its beak in what seemed like affirmation.

“Great,” Kai said. “Now we're taking instructions from magical ravens. Any other childhood fairy tale elements want to show up tonight?”

But Silas was already writing, the key's warmth guiding his hand:

We saw memories of Marcus and Thorne. Not just images - feelings too. The key showed us something about their relationship, something that feels important. But if these are tests, what are we being tested for?

The raven accepted his note with surprising delicacy. Before taking flight, it fixed him with one final knowing look, as if to say: You already know the answer to that question.

“So,” Kai said as they watched it disappear into the darkness, “I'm guessing sleep is out of the question after all that?”

Silas touched the key, which had settled into a steady, comforting warmth. The shadow scenes lingered in his mind, particularly that last image of Thorne. The guardian he'd met last night carried centuries of pain and betrayal. But he hadn't always been that way. That smile, that openness, that capacity for trust - it was all still there, buried under grief and time.

Sleep ambushed Silas somewhere between one page of Marcus’ journal and the next. The transition felt strange - not the usual slow drift into dreams, but a deliberate sliding sideways into somewhere else. Somewhere that felt more real than any dream he'd known.

He stood in Thornhaven's grand hall, but not the dusty, shadow-filled space he knew. This hall blazed with life and light. Enchanted candles floated near the ceiling, their flames shifting through rainbow hues. The wooden panels that lined the walls rippled with forest magic, their carved scenes moving like living things.

“The wards need strengthening here,” said a familiar voice, though its tone was entirely unfamiliar.

Thorne stood by the massive fireplace, but this version of the forest guardian bore little resemblance to the bitter spirit who'd confronted Silas. His power flowed like summer starlight, warm and bright. The markings on his skin danced with colors beyond shadow and frost.

“The stone's resistant,” another voice replied, and Silas's breath caught. A young man approached the fireplace, and it was like looking in a mirror that showed a slightly different version of himself. Marcus Ashworth carried himself with the same grace Silas recognized from family portraits, but there was something else - an openness, a burning curiosity that felt startlingly familiar.

“Stone remembers,” Thorne said, running his hand along the carved mantlepiece. “It holds the echo of its creation. We need to work with that memory, not against it.”

Marcus moved closer, and Silas saw what he held - the key, new and bright, its engravings sharp and clear. “Like this?” He pressed it to the stone, and power flowed from his hands. Forest magic and human craft merged, creating patterns that sang with both ancient and new energy.

Thorne's smile transformed his entire being. “Exactly like that. You're learning faster than any human I've taught.”

“I have a good teacher.” The warmth in Marcus's voice made something in Silas's chest ache. This was trust in its purest form - two beings from different worlds, building something beautiful together.

They moved through the hall, weaving protections into the manor's bones. Thorne's power flowed like summer rain, gentle but inexorable. Marcus followed his lead with obvious joy in the work, using the key to bridge their different magics. Wherever they passed, hybrid enchantments bloomed.

“The barrier doesn't have to separate,” Marcus said, watching their magics dance together. “It can connect instead, can't it? Protect while still allowing growth?”

“Now you understand.” Thorne's expression held something beyond mere approval. “This is what was lost, when humans and fey first drew lines between their realms. We forgot we could be stronger together.”

Silas watched them work, his dream-self moving through the scene like a ghost.

This was what Thornhaven had been meant to be. Not a barrier between worlds, but a bridge. Not a prison of memories, but a place where two realms could meet in trust and shared purpose.

The dream-scene shifted, showing other moments. Marcus and Thorne in the library, surrounded by books that glowed with combined magics. The guardian teaching forest songs while Marcus transcribed them in shimmering ink. Moments of shared discovery, of growing connection, of something that looked dangerously like friendship deepening into more.

Through it all, the key gleamed bright and new, its power joyfully amplifying their work. Silas touched his own key, feeling its answering warmth. Even in the dream, it pulsed with recognition of its original purpose.

“It's beautiful,” Marcus said softly, watching their latest enchantment settle into the manor's structure. “I never imagined magic could be like this.”

“This is only the beginning.” Thorne's power curled around them both like a protective embrace. “Think what we could build together, your bloodline and my forest. No more fear, no more suspicion. Just trust, and the wonders it could create.”

The dream landscape shifted like water, colors bleeding and reforming. Silas found himself at the forest's edge, where ancient trees met manicured manor grounds. Here, the boundary between worlds felt permeable, alive with possibility.

Marcus stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, the key held before him like a conductor's baton. Thorne circled him slowly, adjusting his stance with careful touches that left trails of silver light in the air.

“Don't force it,” the guardian instructed. “Forest magic isn't something to be commanded. It's a conversation, a dance. Feel how it wants to move.”

Silas experienced everything as if he were there, as if he wore Marcus's skin. Raw magic brushed against his consciousness like wind through leaves, wild and ancient and alive. It responded to his ancestor's will - no, to his invitation - rising up through the earth into his waiting hands.

“Good,” Thorne murmured. “Now guide it, don't grab it. Like this.”

The guardian's power flowed around them, showing the way. Silas felt Marcus follow the example, using the key to direct rather than control. Forest magic swirled up in response, forming patterns of light and shadow that danced between human and fey power.

“It's incredible,” Marcus breathed, watching their combined magic take shape. “Like nothing I've ever felt.”

“This is how it was meant to be.” Thorne's voice held centuries of memory. “Before the separation, humans and fey worked magic like this together. Creating wonders neither could achieve alone.”

But even in this moment of harmony, Silas noticed things his ancestor missed. The way Marcus's eyes lit up with not just wonder but ambition when particularly powerful spells succeeded. How his questions sometimes pressed at boundaries Thorne had set, seeking more than he was ready to handle.

The trust between them was real, but fragile as frost flowers.

The key pulsed in Marcus's hands, responding to both the magic and the undercurrents. Its power amplified their work, but each surge carried dual meaning - promise and warning, potential and risk.

“Watch,” Thorne said, drawing their attention to a nearby sapling. “Feel how it grows, how it reaches for light and life. Now, with the gentlest touch...”

Together, they encouraged the young tree to grow, their combined magic supporting its natural processes. The sapling stretched upward, branches extending, leaves unfurling in fast-forward. But it remained true to its nature - still itself, just aided by their power.

“Beautiful,” Marcus whispered, and Silas felt his ancestor's genuine awe. This was more than just wielding power. It was being part of something greater, something that transformed both participant and world.

“This is what the keys were forged for,” Thorne explained, his hand resting lightly on Marcus's shoulder. “Not to control or command, but to bridge. To help humans remember how to work with nature's power rather than against it.”

Through Marcus's eyes, Silas watched their magics interweave. Human craft provided structure and purpose, while forest magic offered depth and wild possibility. The key acted as conductor, harmonizing the two into something entirely new.

The guardian noticed more than he let on. Silas caught moments when Thorne's ancient eyes tracked Marcus's expressions, noting those flares of ambition. His instruction remained patient and warm, but occasionally he would redirect them to simpler workings, away from the deeper magics Marcus clearly craved to explore.

Their growing friendship was genuine. But beneath it ran currents of complexity that neither fully acknowledged. Marcus's determination to learn everything, to push beyond set limits. Thorne's careful balance between sharing knowledge and maintaining necessary boundaries.

The key responded to all of it, its power reflecting the delicate dance between trust and caution. In Marcus's hands it sang with possibility, but its song carried notes of warning that his ancestor seemed deaf to hearing.

This was what had been lost, Silas realized. Not just the ability to work magic together, but the wisdom to do so safely. The understanding that power, like trust, had to be earned slowly and handled with care.

The realization had barely formed when the dream's edges began to darken. Something slid into the scene like ink in water.

It wasn't the clean darkness of Thorne's shadows, but something older and hungrier, something that didn't belong to either forest or human magic.

So much potential, it whispered, its voice like silk over steel. Why settle for harmony when dominion is within reach?

The shadow curled around Marcus's thoughts. Silas felt his ancestor's response - a quickening of breath, a flutter of ambition in his chest. The key's power could do more than just bridge worlds. With the right knowledge, with enough determination, it could remake them entirely.

“The deeper magics,” Marcus said, his voice changing subtly. “There must be more you haven't shown me.”

Thorne's expression flickered with concern. “Some powers aren't meant for either of our kinds to wield alone. That's why we work together, in balance.”

Balance, the shadow mocked. Is that not just another word for limitation?

Silas wanted to scream warnings into the dream. He could feel the weight of future consequences hanging over this moment, could see the first cracks forming in something beautiful. But he was trapped in the role of observer, watching helplessly as temptation wound tighter around his ancestor's heart.

The dream began to fragment, colors bleeding into shadow. Through the dissolution, Silas caught glimpses of what was to come.

But just before everything dissolved completely, something changed. Thorne turned, looking not at Marcus but directly at Silas. The guardian's eyes held centuries of grief, but also something else.

Choose differently, that look seemed to say. For both our sakes.

Silas jerked awake with a gasp, the key burning against his skin. He was back in his own bed, moonlight painting silver stripes across the floor. For a moment, the boundary between dream and reality felt tissue-thin. Forest magic still sang in his blood, and he could have sworn he felt Thorne's presence lingering like frost on a window.