Page 24 of Eternal Thorns (The Feybound Chronicles #1)

23

SHADOW’S RISE

T horne paced the council grove's perimeter as ancient spirits materialized from tree and stone. The dryad queens arrived first, their bark-skin bearing visible decay. Stone Lord followed, his crystalline body clouded with seeping darkness. Even Frost Lord emerged from his icy domain, frost patterns distorted by shadow.

“The border wards are failing faster than we can repair them,” Oak Queen reported, her deep voice cracking like splitting wood. “The corruption spreads through root systems now, poisoning connections we've maintained for centuries.”

He felt Silas approaching the grove, his magic reaching for him automatically.

“Your human arrives,” Rowan observed dryly. “Try not to let your magic do that glowing thing. It's undignified for an ancient guardian.”

His power had already started spiraling outward, responding to Silas's presence like flowers tracking sun.

When Silas entered the grove, Thorne's breath caught despite his best efforts at maintaining professional distance.

“Show them,” Silas said without preamble.

The council stirred as Silas approached one of Thorne's prized twilight flowers. He touched its luminous petals and darkness spread, transforming the bloom into something terrible and beautiful at once. Its petals turned black as starless sky but retained their ethereal glow.

“That's not normal corruption.” Rowan observed.

“No,” Silas agreed quietly. “The shadow entity has learned to use our own power against us. When I touch forest magic now, it mimics my magical signature. Uses my connection to Thorne to spread faster.”

Thorne felt Silas's pain at being turned into a weapon against everything they sought to protect. Without conscious thought, he moved closer, his hand finding Silas's and squeezing gently.

“It's getting stronger,” Stone Lord rumbled, his crystalline form catching corrupted light. “Taking physical shape now, wearing faces from memory.”

“Not just memory,” Thorne corrected grimly. “Desire. Fear. Whatever will hurt most in the moment.” His free hand rose to touch his crown of branches, remembering how the entity had worn Marcus's face while speaking with his own voice. “It knows things it shouldn't be able to know. Feels things it shouldn't be able to feel.”

The council erupted in concerned discussion, ancient spirits shifting between forms as they argued about containment and protection. But through it all, Thorne remained achingly aware of Silas's hand in his, of how their magic harmonized even in this moment of crisis.

Thorne moved closer, his hand finding Silas's instinctively.

“Show them the other thing,” Thorne said softly.

This time when Silas touched another flower, their combined magic flowed openly. The corruption was both more violent and more beautiful.

Thorne felt his own magic respond to those words, power rippling beneath his skin in dangerous patterns. Every moment of pure connection between them made their enemy stronger. Yet those same moments created something the entity couldn't fully corrupt.

“Perhaps this is what the prophecy meant. Not just choosing between realms, but choosing love despite knowing its cost.” The Elder Willow said.

The council continued debating containment strategies, but Thorne found himself increasingly distracted by Silas's steady presence beside him. Even facing such horror, Silas’ natural grace with forest magic showed in every small gesture. The key around his neck pulsed in rhythm with Thorne's own power, creating resonances that made nearby plants grow despite the surrounding corruption.

“We're fated to fail,” Rowan muttered, watching darkness spread through another section of the grove.

“Not necessarily.” Silas's voice cut through the council's worried murmurs.

Silas pressed on. “Think of it like a knife rather than a wild force. If we can channel our connection precisely enough, use our bond as a focused weapon instead of letting it spill everywhere”

“The risk would be astronomical,” Stone Lord rumbled. “One misstep could accelerate the corruption beyond our ability to contain it.”

“There's something else you need to understand.” The Elder Willow's voice cut through chaos like a blade. “We've all misinterpreted the original prophecy. The shadow entity isn't just feeding on your bond. It was born from a bond that was corrupted.”

Thorne's form flickered dangerously. “What?”

“The betrayal between you and Marcus wasn't simply about power or control.” Her roots shifted beneath her as she chose her next words carefully. “It was about love denied. Love twisted into something dark when neither of you could face what was growing between you.”

Centuries of carefully buried feelings crashed through his defenses. He'd never admitted, even to himself, how much he had cared for Marcus. How that unacknowledged love had soured into poison when they both retreated behind safer emotions like ambition and suspicion.

He felt Silas's heart break for his centuries of buried pain. His pure empathy, completely free of judgment or jealousy, made their magic flare dangerously bright.

“All this time,” Thorne said roughly, his form shifting between shadow and substance. “I thought the betrayal was about power. About him choosing control over cooperation.”

“That was part of it,” the Elder Willow agreed. “But not the heart of it. You both felt something deeper growing between you. Something that terrified you both so much you let fear corrupt it into darkness.”

Memories crashed through Thorne's mind. Moments with Marcus that he'd buried beneath bitterness. The way his heart had leapt whenever Marcus had mastered a new spell. How their magic had harmonized so perfectly before fear poisoned everything. The nights spent teaching under starlight, both pretending not to feel the growing connection between them.

“I couldn't face it,” Thorne admitted, his voice cracking. “Neither of us could. So we hid behind other motivations. Let ambition and suspicion cover what we really felt. And that denied love, that corrupted connection-”

“Became the very poison now threatening both realms,” the Elder Willow finished gently.

“So the prophecy wasn't just about healing the breach between realms,” Rowan said. “It was about healing the original wound. About facing love honestly instead of letting fear twist it.”

“Which is exactly why channeling our connection might work,” Silas added. “We're not hiding from what we feel. Not letting fear or duty dictate our choices.”

“It's also why the entity attacks hardest when we're most honest with each other,” Thorne realized, squeezing Silas's hand. “A real bond threatens its very existence. The shadow was born from denied feeling, from connection corrupted by fear. Genuine emotion burns it like sunlight.”

“We should prepare the eastern borders,” Oak Queen suggested as the council drew to a close.

“I'll help with the wards,” Silas said, but Thorne felt him sway slightly from the demonstration's drain.

“No.” Thorne's voice carried centuries of authority. “You need rest.”

“I'm not leaving you alone.” Silas's gray eyes flashed with familiar stubbornness.

“This isn't up for discussion?—”

“Actually, it is.” Silas stepped closer, voice low but firm. “We face this together or not at all. Isn't that what we just proved?”

The council members exchanged knowing looks as they filed out, leaving the grove in twilight silence. Thorne wanted to argue further, but the fierce determination in Silas's face stopped him. Through their bond flowed such pure devotion it made his ancient heart ache.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But stay close.”

“Always,” Silas promised, taking his hand.

The shadow entity struck before they could move, manifesting with such force it made Thorne's ancient power recoil. Not one form but many burst from the darkness, each wearing faces designed to shatter his carefully rebuilt heart.

Marcus stepped from the shadows first, young and earnest as he'd been before betrayal poisoned everything. “Remember how it felt?” the construct asked in Thorne's own voice. “Teaching me forest magic, watching wonder bloom in my eyes? You could have that again.”

Another shadow separated from the darkness - Silas, but wrong, corrupted. Black veins traced patterns across his skin where silver light should flow, gray eyes turned starless and cold. “This is what caring for you does,” this twisted version said. “This is what connection costs.”

Worst of all was seeing himself, manifested in various stages of grief and betrayal. His own face twisted with pain as Marcus turned away, as centuries of isolation hardened his heart. The psychological assault was precisely calculated, designed to make them question everything growing between them.

Silas's hand found his through the chaos, fingers intertwining with fierce determination. Even as corruption spread up their arms from the point of contact, he refused to let go. The simple gesture carried more meaning than any words.

The shadow constructs wavered, their borrowed forms becoming less stable. The connection flowing between Thorne and Silas, expressed in this one act of stubborn loyalty, seemed to physically pain the entity.

“You see?” Silas's voice cut through the darkness, entirely his own. “It can't maintain form when faced with a genuine bond.”

Through their bond came such complete trust that it made Thorne's ancient power sing. The key around Silas's neck pulsed with silver light, harmonizing with Thorne's own magic in ways that made the shadow manifestations recoil.

But their shared strength drew an immediate counterattack. More constructs emerged as they fought their way through the forest, each stronger than the last. Every display of genuine connection between them made their enemy more powerful, forcing them to rely even more heavily on their combined magic - a deadly spiral of escalation.

When they finally reached Thornhaven Manor, they found it under siege by the entity's darkest creation yet. The construct that stepped forward was neither Marcus nor Silas but somehow both - all Thorne's deepest desires perfectly merged into one devastating weapon.

“Guardian,” it said softly, wearing Marcus's gentle smile on Silas's beloved face. “Everything you've ever wanted stands before you. All that ancient power, all that natural grace with forest magic. The best of both, untainted by betrayal or fear.”

The construct reached for him with terrible grace. “Let me show you how it could be. Let me give you everything you've been afraid to want.”

Thorne's form flickered violently, centuries of carefully buried longing crashing through his defenses. But Silas's hand tightened around his, the key's steady warmth grounding him in truth.

Through their bond flowed such fierce acceptance of everything he was - past pain and present fear, ancient power and carefully hidden tenderness. Silas saw him completely, chose him knowing exactly what that choice might cost.

The shadow entity had learned to use their deepest desires as weapons, but it couldn't quite replicate the simple reality of fingers interlaced, of magic harmonizing in perfect trust. The construct wore Marcus's and Silas's faces, but it couldn't capture the genuine connection humming between guardian and heir.

Watching Silas face this corrupted version of himself nearly broke Thorne's resolve. Silas straight-backed and determined, gray eyes clear as he studied his twisted reflection.

“Nice try,” Silas told his shadow twin. “But you still don't understand. Real connection can't be replicated or corrupted. It has to be freely chosen, honestly felt.”

The construct's borrowed features twisted with rage. “Every moment you spend choosing each other makes me stronger. Your precious connection feeds the very darkness you fight.”

“Then we'll feed you until you burst,” Thorne growled. “Keep getting stronger until that strength becomes weakness. Because you still can't touch what matters most.”

Their combined magic surged outward, silver-gold light pushing back encroaching shadows.

But even as they forced back another wave of shadow constructs, Thorne sensed something wrong in how the corruption flowed. The entity wasn't just attacking randomly anymore. It gathered the poisoned magic with purpose, pulling it together into something new.

The Elder Willow materialized beside them, her bark-skin form bearing visible signs of decay. “The corruption spreads deeper than we thought,” she said without preamble. “It's not just changing the forest - it's rewriting the very nature of magic itself.”

She gestured toward a section of the grove where power had gone dark. The trees there still lived, but wrong - their natural magic twisted into something that hurt to look at. Worse, their corrupted magic pulsed with a familiar rhythm.

“Fuck,” Thorne breathed, recognizing that resonance. The poisoned power matched his and Silas's combined magical signature perfectly.

Silas' hand tightened around his, refusing to let go even as corruption spread from their point of contact.

“Show them,” the Elder Willow commanded softly.

Silas stretched his free hand toward the nearest twilight flower. The bloom didn't just die or transform, it evolved into something that sang with their specific magical frequency. Beauty and corruption merged into perfect symmetry with their bond.

“The entity is changing. It doesn't just feed on your connection,” the Elder Willow said. “It's using it as a blueprint. Each moment you spend together gives it deeper understanding of how to corrupt everything we protect.”

Thorne's form flickered as implications crashed through him. Every touch, every surge of feeling between them, gave their enemy more power to reshape reality. Their love was being turned against both realms with devastating precision.

But the thought of letting go, of maintaining distance when they'd finally found each other completely, felt like betrayal of a different kind.

“We'll find a way,” Silas said firmly. “To turn this connection into a weapon against it rather than letting it use us.”

The shadow entity's response came as pure violence, darkness pressing against their defenses with renewed purpose. But their combined magic held firm, silver-gold light pushing back corruption even as that shared power gave their enemy new strength.

Some battles could only be won by refusing to surrender what mattered most. Some wars had to be fought with truth and trust rather than power or protection.

Whether that would be enough remained to be seen. But at least they faced it together, choosing each other despite knowing exactly what that choice might cost.