Page 21

21

GRIEF’S DESPAIR

T he transformation accelerated, remaking Thorne from the inside out. His consciousness expanded further, touching every corner of the Eldergrove, feeling the corruption as personal wounds. Power surged through him like lightning seeking ground, bones burning with starlight, blood replaced by streams of pure energy. The process wasn't gentle but a violent rebirth that tore screams from his throat.

When the light finally dimmed, Thorne stumbled, catching himself against the empty tree that had housed Elder Willow. His hands pressed against bark that now felt like an extension of himself. Every root, every blade of grass, every microscopic organism in the soil spoke to him, sang to him, was him.

He had changed fundamentally. His form remained recognizable but refined, as if carved from moonlight and starshine. Silver patterns traced his skin like living tattoos, pulsing with the forest's heartbeat. The weight of Elder Willow's memories settled into his mind: millennia of wisdom, joy, and sorrow now his to bear.

“Thorne?” Briar's voice trembled with grief and awe.

He turned to face the sprite, seeing them with new eyes that perceived beyond physical form. Briar's essence blazed like a small sun, their sorrow a visible cloud of blue-gray energy. The sight should have been beautiful, but it only emphasized how different everything had become.

The forest shuddered violently. Without Elder Willow's stabilizing presence, magical feedback created chaos throughout the network. Ancient trees thrashed as if caught in a hurricane, their branches cracking and falling. Streams overflowed their banks, water running uphill in defiance of natural law. The defensive wards flickered like dying flames.

“Hold together,” Thorne commanded, instinctively reaching out with his new power. But the forest network resisted, unused to his touch, grieving the loss of its longtime heart.

“You dare claim her place?” Ironbark's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

The ancient spirit emerged from the shadows, his bark-like skin dark with age and rigid with disapproval. Behind him stood other council members, their expressions ranging from skeptical to openly hostile.

“I claim nothing,” Thorne replied, fighting to keep his voice steady as power coursed through him in unfamiliar patterns. “Elder Willow chose this path.”

“She chose wrong.” Ironbark's words fell like stones. “A guardian bound to human flesh cannot lead us. Your divided loyalty will doom us all.”

“My connection to Silas...”

“Is precisely the problem.” Ironbark gestured to the chaos around them. “See how the forest rejects you? It knows what you refuse to admit. You are tainted.”

Other voices joined the dissent. Mountain Heart rumbled about tradition violated. Wind whispered of ancient prophecies ignored. Even some who had supported Thorne initially now wavered, fear overtaking reason as their world shifted beneath them.

“The corruption presses our borders as we speak,” Thorne argued. “We need unity, not division.”

“Unity under proper leadership,” Ironbark countered. He raised his arms, and Thorne felt the guardian attempting to block his connection to the forest network. Others joined the effort, their combined will creating barriers between Thorne and the power he'd inherited.

Pain lanced through him as connections severed. The sensation was like having limbs torn away, leaving phantom aches where wholeness had been moments before. The forest's chaos intensified as competing wills fought for control.

Thorne faced a choice: force compliance through raw power or find another way. The energy within him begged for release, promising easy dominance if he would only unleash it. But that path led to tyranny, not leadership.

Instead, he opened himself completely to the network, sharing not commands but vision. Images flowed from his consciousness: guardians and humans fighting side by side, corruption pushed back by combined strength, a future where isolation gave way to cooperation.

Some responded positively. River’s watery form shimmered with understanding. Moss-Walker stepped forward in quiet support. But Ironbark and his followers remained unmoved.

“Pretty dreams from a pretty puppet,” Ironbark sneered. “We need action, not fantasy.”

The council split before Thorne's eyes. Traditionalists gathered behind Ironbark while others moved to Thorne's side. The division created visible fractures in the magical fabric of the grove, golden light separating into distinct streams that refused to merge.

“You're tearing us apart,” Briar cried, darting between the factions. “Elder Willow wanted us united!”

“Elder Willow is gone,” Ironbark stated flatly. “Her judgment failed at the last. We must correct her mistake.”

Thunder rolled overhead, though no storm clouds gathered. The sound came from the forest itself, expressing distress as they turned against each other. Sebastian's corruption pressed harder at the borders, sensing weakness.

Thorne made a decision that felt like cutting out his own heart. With precise application of power, he isolated the rebellious sections of the forest network. The action protected loyal areas but left separated groves vulnerable, their defenses significantly weakened.

“What have you done?” Ironbark demanded as magical barriers rose between the factions.

“What I must to prevent total collapse.” Thorne's voice carried new authority, though it cost him to use it. “You are free to go. But you will not drag the entire forest down with your stubbornness.”

The words hung in air that crackled with tension. Several guardians who had been wavering chose sides, some joining Ironbark's exodus, others remaining with Thorne. Each departure felt like another wound.

“You've doomed us all,” Ironbark declared as he led his followers away. “When the corruption takes you, remember this moment.”

The grove felt empty after they left, despite those who remained. Thorne stood at the center of what had been the full council circle, now broken and incomplete. The weight of leadership pressed down on him like physical force.

“They'll come back,” Briar said hopefully, though tears still tracked down their face. “When they see we're stronger together...”

Silence followed, heavy as stone. The air itself felt still, as if the forest held its breath. Around them, the aftermath of the failed summit lay scattered — broken sigils, scorched earth, allies walking away in bitter silence. The fragile alliance they’d fought so hard to build was unraveling before their eyes.

Thorne closed his eyes, extending his awareness beyond the clearing. The song of the forest was fractured now, discordant notes rippling through the roots and branches. His enhanced senses stretched farther, and found only horror.

Sebastian had wasted no time exploiting their division. Corrupted forces surged into the newly isolated regions, overwhelming guardians stripped of the support the alliance once provided.

“We have to help them,” Moss-Walker urged, voice tight with urgency.

“We can't,” Thorne replied, hating the words even as he spoke them. “If we lower our defenses here, we lose everything.”

The decision tore at him, but strategic reality left no choice. He felt each loss as the isolated groves fell: ancient trees corrupted, guardian spirits destroyed or turned, sacred places defiled. The eastern groves went dark in his awareness, becoming dead zones in the forest network.

Hours passed in desperate defense as Sebastian pressed his advantage. Thorne coordinated remaining forces with newfound skill, but gaps in their coverage allowed corruption to seep deeper. What should have been impenetrable barriers failed systematically without unified guardian support.

Night fell, bringing no respite. If anything, the attacks intensified. Thorne stood atop the heart tree, power blazing around him as he fought to maintain coherence in the failing network. Every victory came at increasing cost as exhaustion mounted.

News arrived in fragments: three ancient groves lost completely, their magic now feeding Sebastian's growth. The northern border collapsed entirely. Corrupted creatures roamed freely through territories that hadn't known darkness in millennia.

Through it all, Thorne felt his connection to Silas growing more tenuous. His transformation had created a fundamental change in how he experienced reality. What once came naturally now required conscious effort. The human part of him, the part that loved Silas with simple devotion, seemed buried under layers of cosmic awareness.

He missed Elder Willow with an intensity that surprised him. Her wisdom, her stability, her ability to see beyond immediate crisis to longer patterns. Had she felt this alone? This separate from those she protected?

“You're drowning in it,” Briar observed, perching on a nearby root. “The vastness. Elder Willow warned me this would happen.”

“She spoke to you about this?”

Briar nodded, tears still glistening on their cheeks. “Said the hardest part wasn't gaining power, but learning to narrow focus again. To remember how to be small when everything in you has become large.”

The sprite's words struck deep. Thorne realized he'd been trying to process everything at once, to hold the entire forest's consciousness simultaneously. No wonder he felt overwhelmed.

“Help me,” he asked quietly. “Help me remember how to be... just Thorne.”

Briar took his hand, their small fingers warm against his transformed skin. “Close your eyes. Feel just this touch. Just this moment.”

It took effort, but gradually Thorne managed to pull back from the cosmic awareness, to focus on the simple sensation of Briar's hand in his. The relief was immediate, like surfacing from deep water.

“Better?” Briar asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Thorne opened his eyes, seeing the grove with clearer vision. “We need to...”

His words cut off as magical alarms flared. Another attack, this one targeting the southern boundaries. He reached out instinctively, then remembered Briar's lesson and narrowed his focus to just the essential information.

“River, reinforce the southern springs,” he commanded. “Moss-Walker, shore up the root barriers.”

The remaining spirits moved to obey, their reduced numbers making the defense feel desperately thin. But at least Thorne could think clearly now, could strategize without drowning in sensory overload.

Word had reached the palace about the guardian civil conflict. Nobles who opposed the alliance used it as evidence that cooperation was impossible. Thorne sensed Silas fighting to maintain support, but skepticism grew like poison in the human court.

“We're losing on all fronts,” River reported, her usual melody replaced by discordant notes. “The corruption adapts faster than we can counter. Without the full network...”

She didn't need to finish. They all understood. Thorne's transformation, meant to strengthen their position, had instead created new vulnerabilities. His enhanced power meant little with the guardian network fractured beyond repair.

A familiar presence approached the heart grove. Ironbark had returned, but not in submission. His group had swelled with guardians who abandoned the central grove as situation deteriorated.

“We're leaving,” Ironbark announced. “This forest is lost. We'll establish a new grove elsewhere, beyond corruption's reach.”

“There is no beyond,” Thorne argued. “Sebastian's influence will spread everywhere eventually. Our only hope is to stand together.”

“Your hope. Your alliance. Your failure.” Ironbark's voice held centuries of bitterness. “We choose survival over your grand experiments.”

The departure was mass exodus. Nearly half the remaining guardians followed Ironbark, their leaving creating more gaps in failing defenses. Thorne watched them go, each step away another crack in his heart.

Briar remained at his side, small hand gripping his larger one. “We'll find a way,” the sprite insisted, though their voice shook.

But Thorne felt the truth in his bones. They were losing. His transformation hadn't united the guardians but divided them beyond healing. The alliance teetered on collapse. His bond with Silas strained near breaking.

Sebastian's voice echoed through twisted magic, carrying ultimatum.

“Surrender the Eldergrove's heart or watch it all burn.”

To demonstrate his power, Sebastian corrupted an ancient spring thought incorruptible. The pure waters turned black as oil, their magic reversed into something that poisoned rather than healed. Even loyal guardians wavered at the display.

“He's too strong,” Moss-Walker whispered. “Perhaps... perhaps we should consider...”

“No,” Thorne cut off the suggestion, though part of him wondered if surrender might spare some portion of what remained. “We fight.”

But with what? And for how long?

* * *

The sound of footsteps drew his attention. Not the silent movement of guardians, but the deliberate tread of someone who wanted to be heard. Agnes emerged from the shadows, her traveling cloak torn and stained with what looked like blood.

“You're late,” Thorne said, anger flaring unexpectedly hot. “Where were you when Elder Willow needed you? When the forest burned?”

Agnes met his fury with calm that only infuriated him more. “Defending what remained of Thornhaven. Saving the few magical artifacts that weren't already corrupted.”

“Artifacts?” Thorne's laugh held no humor. “We needed allies, not relics.”

“Those 'relics' might be our only hope now.” Agnes set down her pack, pulling out objects that pulsed with old magic. “Sebastian's forces hit Thornhaven hard. I barely escaped with these.”

“You should have been here.” The words came out raw, accusatory. “You knew Elder Willow was failing. You knew what was coming.”

“And what would my presence have changed?” Agnes challenged. “Would it have stopped Ironbark's rebellion? Prevented the council from fracturing?”

“You could have helped convince them!”

“No one could have convinced them, Thorne. Not even Elder Willow herself.” Agnes's voice softened. “They were set on their path long before today.”

Briar moved between them, small hands raised. “Please don't fight. We've lost too much already.”

The sprite's words cut through Thorne's anger, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He slumped against Elder Willow's empty tree, feeling the absence like a physical wound.

“I've failed them all,” he whispered. “Elder Willow chose wrong.”

“She chose exactly right,” Agnes insisted. “But change is never easy, especially for those who've lived millennia in one pattern.”

“What pattern? Survival? Unity?” Thorne gestured at the damaged grove. “I've brought them nothing but division and death.”

Agnes approached carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. “You've brought them possibility. The old ways were already failing, Thorne. Elder Willow knew that. Why do you think she prepared you for this?”

“Prepared me?” He laughed bitterly. “She never told me what it would cost. Never warned me that accepting her power would drive away half the guardians I'm supposed to lead.”

“Because she knew you'd refuse if you understood the price.” Agnes pulled out a crystal that glowed with inner light. “But she also knew you were the only one who could pay it and survive.”

The crystal pulsed, responding to Thorne's transformed energy. Despite himself, he leaned closer, drawn by its familiar resonance.

“This was hers,” Agnes explained. “One of the first focusing crystals, created when the Eldergrove was young. She left it in my keeping years ago, said I'd know when to bring it back.”

Thorne touched the crystal hesitantly. Memories not his own flooded his mind: Elder Willow as a young guardian, facing her own transformation, her own doubts. The weight of leadership had crushed her too, at first.

“She felt this?” he asked, voice rough. “This... isolation?”

“Every leader does.” Agnes placed the crystal in his hands. “But she learned to bear it. As will you.”

“How? Half the forest has abandoned me. Sebastian grows stronger by the hour. Even my bond with Silas...” He couldn't finish the sentence.

“Feels different?” Agnes nodded. “Of course it does. You're different. But different doesn't mean broken.”

Briar climbed onto Thorne's shoulder, their weight familiar and comforting. “We're still here,” they said softly. “Those of us who believe in bridges, not walls.”

Thorne stood, Elder Willow's crystal trembling in his shaking hands, its light dimming as if reflecting his own fading hope.

“Show me what you salvaged,” he said, his voice hollow. “Show me what's left of our legacy.”

Agnes's hands moved with reverent care as she unwrapped each artifact, though her fingers trembled slightly. The treasures seemed diminished somehow, their magic stuttering like dying flames.

“This is all I could save,” she whispered. “The rest burns with Thornhaven.”

Thorne picked up a binding ring, its ancient metal cold against his transformed skin. The ring had once channeled the power of dozens; now it felt empty, abandoned. “Tell me how it fell. I need to know.”

Agnes's shoulders slumped, age showing in lines that hadn't been there days ago. “They came like locusts, Thorne. Not just soldiers, but corrupted scholars who knew exactly which texts to destroy.” Her voice caught. “They made the apprentices watch as they burned the archives. Made them choose between joining the corruption or dying with their books.”

“And they chose?”

“Some fought. Some... didn't.” Agnes wiped her eyes roughly. “I found young Mira's body clutching the covenant manuscript. She died protecting it.”

Mira, barely sixteen, with dreams of becoming a lore keeper. Another life lost to his failures.

“The covenant speaks of unbinding,” Agnes pressed on, though her voice wavered. “Of guardians who could move freely, fight without chains of location. If we could just?—”

“Words on dying parchment won't resurrect dead children!” Thorne's shout echoed through the grove, sending birds fleeing from branches. His power flared uncontrolled, scorching the ground at his feet. “Where were these solutions when Elder Willow gasped her last breath? When the council shattered? When I needed guidance, not archaeology?”

Agnes flinched but held her ground. “I was saving what I could. Just as you're trying to do here.”

“And failing!” The admission ripped from Thorne's throat. “I'm failing at everything!” His legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees, the mighty guardian reduced to a broken figure in the dirt. “The power she gave me... it's like trying to hold the ocean in my hands. I'm drowning in it, Agnes. Drowning while everything I love dies around me.”

Briar wrapped small arms around Thorne's neck, their tears soaking into his collar. “You're not failing,” they whispered fiercely. “You're fighting. There's a difference.”

“Is there?” Thorne's laugh was more sob than sound. “Tell that to the corrupted groves. To the guardians I couldn't save. To Silas, whose face I can barely remember through all this cosmic awareness.”

Agnes knelt before him, gripping his shoulders hard enough to hurt. “Listen to me. You are not alone. That bond you share with Silas? It's still there. Faint, yes. Strained, certainly. But unbroken.” Her eyes blazed with conviction. “He feels everything you feel. Your pain, your doubt, your fear. And he's still there, still fighting for you in his world as you fight for him in yours.”

Ironbark's most trusted dryad stumbled into the clearing, her bark blackened and cracked, sap oozing from wounds that glowed with corruption. “Lord Thorne,” she gasped, barely able to remain upright. “The northern grove... Ironbark's sanctuary... it burns. They're dying, all of them. The corruption—it's unlike anything we've seen!”

The news shattered the last of Thorne's composure. He pressed his forehead to the earth, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Ironbark, who had stood beside Elder Willow for centuries. Ironbark, whose pride had led to division. Ironbark, who would die believing Thorne had failed them all.

“We have to try,” Briar pleaded. “Even if we fail, we have to try.”

“If I leave the heart grove now, Sebastian wins,” Thorne whispered into the dirt. “If I stay, Ironbark dies. There's no right choice anymore. Only different ways to lose.”

Agnes's hand found his hair, stroking gently as one might comfort a child. “Then we choose the loss we can live with. The one that lets us look at ourselves in whatever tomorrow brings.”

Thorne raised his head, dirt and tears streaking his transformed features. Through their bond, he felt a pulse of warmth from Silas—wordless support, love that transcended distance and difficulty.

“Go to them,” he told Agnes, the words like ground glass in his throat. “Take whoever will follow. Save who you can.”

“And leave you here alone?” Agnes's voice cracked. “To face Sebastian's army by yourself?”

“I won't be alone.” Thorne touched his chest, where the bond with Silas lived like a second heartbeat. “I never really am. I just... forget sometimes. When the weight gets too heavy.”

Agnes gathered her artifacts with shaking hands, each movement speaking of reluctance and grief. “This isn't your failure, Thorne. This is Sebastian's crime. Elder Willow's sacrifice. The council's fear. But not your failure.”

“History won't see it that way.”

“Then we'll have to survive to write a different history.” She pressed Elder Willow's crystal back into his hands. “She didn't choose you because you were perfect. She chose you because you could bear imperfection and keep fighting anyway.”

After Agnes departed with her volunteers, Thorne remained in the heart grove as true night fell. Briar curled against his side, their small form the only warmth in a world growing cold. Through the failing network, he felt Sebastian's forces massing, felt groves dying like stars winking out one by one.

His bond with Silas flickered like a candle in wind, but it held. Somewhere beyond the forest's borders, his love fought his own battles, faced his own impossible choices. They were apart yet together, each carrying half of a burden that threatened to crush them both.

“I'm sorry,” Thorne whispered to the empty grove, to Elder Willow's memory, to all he had failed to protect. “I'm so sorry.”

The forest bled. The guardians scattered. The darkness grew.

But in the deepest part of night, as despair threatened to consume him completely, Thorne felt Silas reaching through their bond. Not with words, but with pure emotion: love, faith, stubborn refusal to surrender.

He wasn't alone. He never had been. He'd just forgotten how to feel it through the overwhelming tide of cosmic awareness.