Page 22

22

REUNION

S ilas dropped the stack of guard reports he'd been reviewing, clutching his chest as Thorne's grief flooded through their connection. The agony wasn't physical, but it might as well have been, stealing his breath and blurring his vision.

“Silas?” Diana's hand gripped his shoulder. “What's wrong?”

“Thorne,” he gasped, steadying himself against the table. “Something's happened. Something terrible.”

Diana's expression hardened with understanding. “I'll ready an escort.”

“We need to leave now.” Silas was already moving, his mind racing. “Elder Willow's gone. I can feel it.”

He burst into Nathaniel's chambers without knocking. His uncle looked up from ancient texts, immediately reading the urgency in Silas's face.

“The Eldergrove?” Nathaniel asked, already rising.

“Elder Willow's dead.” Silas's voice cracked. “Thorne's... he's transforming. I can feel it through our bond. He's drowning in it.”

Nathaniel moved with surprising speed for someone recently recovered. “The fastest route would be horseback, but with the forest's instability...”

“We'll manage. I need to get there.”

They found Kai in the training yard, sparring with palace guards. One look at Silas's face and he dropped his practice sword.

“What's happened?” Kai demanded, falling into step beside them.

“Elder Willow's dead. Thorne's taken her power.” Silas's voice shook. “He needs us.”

“Fuck.” Kai grabbed his gear without hesitation. “Let's go.”

Diana intercepted them at the palace gates. “You're not going without protection.”

“Diana, there's no time?—”

“Make time.” Her tone brooked no argument. “At least take a small guard unit. The Eldergrove's destabilized. You don't know what you're walking into.”

Before Silas could argue further, his father appeared on the palace steps. King Thomas looked between them, taking in the urgency of the situation.

“Go,” he said simply. “Take what you need. The alliance depends on our guardian friends. We cannot fail them now.”

The unexpected support caught Silas off guard. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Within minutes, they had assembled a small but capable group. Diana selected her most trusted guards while Kai gathered supplies. They rode hard for the forest border, pushing their mounts to the limit.

The change became apparent long before they reached the Eldergrove proper. Trees that had stood proud now drooped with visible grief. The very air felt wounded, heavy with loss and unstable magic. Their horses grew increasingly nervous, forcing them to dismount and continue on foot.

“Gods above,” Kai whispered. “What happened here?”

A flicker of movement caught Silas's attention. Briar materialized from the shadows, but this wasn't the cheerful sprite he remembered. Her luminous skin had dimmed to pale gray, her usual quick movements replaced by exhausted dragging. Tear tracks marked her cheeks.

“Silas,” she said, her voice hollow. “You came.”

“Of course I came. Where's Thorne?”

Briar's lower lip trembled. “He's... different. The transformation... it changed him.” She gestured for them to follow. “Stay close. Some paths aren't safe anymore. Reality gets... slippery.”

They moved through the devastated forest, Briar guiding them around areas where the ground itself seemed to breathe, where trees whispered in languages that hurt to hear. Silas felt the corruption pressing against his mind, insidious whispers trying to worm their way into his thoughts.

“Don't listen,” Briar warned. “The Shadowblight's growing stronger. It feeds on doubt and fear.”

Silas focused on his bond with Thorne, using it as an anchor against the mental assault. Through their connection, he felt Thorne's presence growing stronger, but also stranger. The familiar warmth was there, but layered with something vast and alien.

They crested a rise, and Silas saw him.

Thorne stood in the center of a clearing, and for a moment, Silas forgot how to breathe. His lover had been transformed into something otherworldly. Skin that once held sun-warmth now glowed with inner light, luminous as moonlight on water. His hair flowed like liquid silver, moving in winds that touched nothing else. When he turned, his eyes contained depths that seemed to stretch into infinity, holding reflections of ancient forests and starlight.

Beautiful. Terrible. And utterly, devastatingly alone.

“Thorne,” Silas breathed.

Those impossible eyes focused on him, and Silas saw the recognition war with cosmic awareness. Thorne's lips moved, forming words that resonated through the trees with harmonics that made reality vibrate.

“She's gone.”

Two words, carrying the weight of worlds. Elder Willow's loss echoed in every syllable, grief so profound it transcended language.

Silas didn't hesitate. He crossed the clearing in quick strides, ignoring the way power crackled around Thorne's transformed form. When he pulled Thorne into his arms, energy sparked between them, making his skin tingle and his hair stand on end.

But beneath the cosmic power, beneath the otherworldly beauty, Silas felt his Thorne. Changed, yes. Transformed, certainly. But still the guardian who held his heart.

Thorne stiffened for a moment, as if he'd forgotten how to be touched. Then something broke. His legs gave way, and Silas followed him down, holding tight as Thorne shattered.

The sound that tore from Thorne's throat wasn't human. It was the forest crying, ancient trees mourning, the very earth expressing loss. Silas held on through it all, anchoring Thorne to something personal, something that wasn't vast responsibility and cosmic awareness.

“I'm here,” Silas murmured, pressing his face against Thorne's silver hair. “I've got you. You're not alone.”

Thorne's fingers dug into Silas's back, clinging with desperate strength. “I couldn't save her,” he choked out between sobs that shook the ground. “All this power, and I couldn't... couldn't...”

“Shh.” Silas stroked Thorne's back, feeling the unfamiliar patterns of energy that traced his skin. “No one could have saved her. Not from this.”

A rustle in the underbrush announced new arrivals. Elena emerged first, having traveled separately with additional forces. Behind her came others who had felt the magical shift and rushed to help.

“We felt it even in the capital,” Elena said, approaching slowly. “Every magical being for miles felt the transformation.”

More figures appeared from the forest paths. Eliar stepped into the clearing, his celestial nature resonating with Thorne's transformation. The exiled Star Guardian's eyes held deep understanding as he approached.

“I remember my first transformation,” Eliar said, his voice carrying the music of distant stars. “The vastness threatens to erase who you were. But it doesn't have to.” He knelt beside them. “The key is not to fight the expansion, but to remain rooted in what makes you yourself.”

“How?” Thorne's question held desperate hope.

“Through connections.” Eliar gestured to Silas. “Through love. Through purpose. The cosmic awareness is a tool, not your identity.”

Silas felt Thorne's grip on him tighten. Through their bond, he sensed Thorne trying to process Eliar's words, struggling to find balance between his expanded consciousness and his essential self.

“We should secure the area,” Diana interrupted, ever practical. “The Eldergrove's defenses are compromised. We're vulnerable here.”

Lyra emerged from another path, several loyal guardians behind her. “We've maintained what barriers we could, but without central coordination, they're failing.”

“The Heart Grove,” Briar said. “It's the most protected area, even now.”

They moved as a group, surrounding Thorne and Silas protectively. The journey through the wounded forest revealed more damage. Corrupted patches where Sebastian's influence had taken root, areas where reality itself seemed thin and fractured.

Thorne walked as if in a daze, leaning heavily on Silas. Every few steps, he would flinch or gasp, reacting to something only he could perceive through his expanded senses.

“The northern grove just fell,” he whispered at one point. “I felt them die. Every single one.”

Silas could only hold him tighter, sharing the burden of grief through their bond.

The Heart Grove, when they reached it, showed signs of recent battle. Scorch marks marred ancient stones, and several trees bore wounds that wept silver sap. But the central area remained intact, protected by layers of old magic.

Surprisingly, Lady Evangeline arrived with additional support from the palace. Her presence represented the crown's commitment and provided political weight to Thorne's position. She dismounted from her horse with the grace of someone half her age, her silver hair catching the filtered sunlight. Guards formed a protective circle around her, but she waved them back.

“The crown stands with the Eldergrove,” Lady Evangeline announced formally. “What affects one realm affects all.”

Her eyes found Thorne, and something shifted in her expression—a softening that Silas had rarely seen in his grandmother. She approached slowly, studying Thorne's transformed state with a mixture of awe and unexpected familiarity.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing to a space beside Thorne.

Thorne nodded, still overwhelmed by his new awareness. Lady Evangeline settled beside him with deliberate care, her formal court attire incongruous against the forest floor.

“You remind me of someone,” she said quietly. “Long ago, before fear made us forget what we once were.”

Thorne turned to her, cosmic eyes focusing with effort. “Who?”

“Your predecessor's predecessor. We called him Starweaver.” Her voice held a distant quality, as if reaching back through decades. “I was very young, barely more than a child. My father brought me to witness the last formal meeting between crown and grove.”

Silas started. This was history he'd never heard, stories kept from official records.

“Starweaver had eyes like yours,” Lady Evangeline continued. “Depths that held galaxies. He terrified most of the court, but I...” She smiled slightly. “I thought he was beautiful. The way you are beautiful now—terrible and wonderful at once.”

Thorne's expression flickered with interest despite his grief. “What happened to him?”

“Politics. Fear. The gradual erosion of trust.” Lady Evangeline's hands twisted in her lap. “The court convinced itself that such power threatened human sovereignty. They built walls—physical, magical, political. Starweaver withdrew, heartbroken. The forest closed its borders. And we all pretended it was for the best.”

“Until now,” Thorne said softly.

“Until now.” She reached out, hesitated, then gently touched Thorne's arm. Energy sparked at the contact, but she didn't flinch. “I've spent decades regretting that silence. Watching the divide grow wider, the misunderstanding deeper. When Silas chose you, chose love over tradition, I saw a chance to mend what my generation broke.”

Thorne stared at her, processing this revelation. Through their bond, Silas felt his surprise, his reassessment of the formidable lady he'd known only as a political force.

“Why tell me this now?” Thorne asked.

“Because you need to know that isolation wasn't always the way. That there were times when human and guardian worked side by side, loved side by side.” Her eyes flickered to Silas. “What you and my grandson share isn't an aberration. It's a return to what should have been.”

She stood, brushing dirt from her skirts with practiced motions. “I brought more than guards,” she announced to the group. “I brought records. Documents hidden in the royal archives that detail the old alliances, the shared magics, the bonds that once united our peoples.”

From her saddlebags, she produced leather-wrapped packages. Ancient scrolls and books emerged, their pages crackling with age and latent power.

“These belong here,” she said, offering them to Thorne. “Knowledge that should never have been separated from its source.”

Thorne accepted the packages with trembling hands. As he touched them, the documents seemed to respond, glowing faintly with recognition.

Through combined efforts, they established temporary stability in the heart grove. Nathaniel worked with Eliar to reinforce magical barriers while others organized patrols and supply lines. Lady Evangeline moved among them with surprising familiarity, offering suggestions that revealed deep knowledge of forest magic.

“Your grandmother is not what she seems,” Eliar murmured to Silas as they worked.

“I'm beginning to realize that,” Silas replied, watching her demonstrate a warding technique to Lyra that looked suspiciously like guardian magic.

The collaborative effort helped Thorne begin processing his new role. With each person who treated him as himself rather than a cosmic entity, he seemed to ground more firmly in his identity.

“This is what we need,” Eliar explained as they strengthened wards. “Not isolation, but integration. The old ways failed because they forgot this truth.”

* * *

As night fell, the insidious whispers began. But something else happened too. As Lady Evangeline worked alongside the forest spirits, teaching and learning in equal measure, the whispers seemed to falter around her.

“They can't find purchase,” Nathaniel observed. “Her certainty confounds them.”

“It's more than that,” Thorne said, his voice carrying new understanding. “She's not fighting the whispers. She's accepting them and moving forward anyway. The Shadowblight doesn't know what to do with that.”

Lady Evangeline overheard and smiled. “When you've lived as long as I have, you learn that guilt and regret are poor advisors. Better to acknowledge mistakes and work to correct them.”

She approached Thorne again as the others continued their preparations. “May I speak with you privately?”

They moved to a quieter corner of the grove. Silas started to follow, but his grandmother shook her head slightly. This was between her and Thorne.

From a distance, Silas watched them talk. He couldn't hear the words, but he saw the intensity of the conversation. Lady Evangeline gestured emphatically at times, while Thorne listened with growing attention. At one point, she produced something from her sleeve—a small object that made Thorne recoil, then lean forward with interest.

When they returned, both looked changed. Thorne seemed more settled, more present. Lady Evangeline's usual mask of political calculation had softened into something more genuine.

“What did she say to you?” Silas asked Thorne later, as they prepared for the night vigil.

“She told me about the weight of choices,” Thorne replied. “About living with consequences, intended and otherwise. About finding strength in connection rather than isolation.” He paused. “And she gave me this.”

He opened his hand to reveal a small crystal, multifaceted and gleaming with inner light.

“It belonged to Starweaver,” Thorne explained. “She's kept it all these years. Said it was time it returned home.”

The crystal pulsed gently, resonating with Thorne's transformed energy. Through their bond, Silas felt its significance—not just as an artifact, but as a symbol of continuity, of bridges rebuilt.

Lady Evangeline's presence continued to ripple through the camp. She shared meals with guardian spirits who days ago would have fled from any human. She debated magical theory with Eliar, their discussion drawing fascinated listeners. She even managed to make Briar laugh—a sound that hadn't been heard since Elder Willow's passing.

“I underestimated her,” Thorne admitted to Silas as they settled for their night vigil. “I saw only the political player, not the woman who'd spent decades working toward this moment.”

“She's full of surprises,” Silas agreed. “I'm still processing the fact that my grandmother apparently had a childhood crush on an ancient forest guardian.”

Thorne's laugh was soft but genuine—the first real laugh since his transformation. “According to her, Starweaver was known for his charm.”

They fell into comfortable silence, their bodies close but not quite touching. The transformation had changed the nature of their physical relationship, but not its depth. Energy flowed between them in new patterns, creating intimacy beyond the purely physical.

“She helped me understand something,” Thorne said eventually. “About the difference between bearing responsibility and being crushed by it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Elder Willow carried the weight of the forest, but she didn't let it define her entirely. She found joy in small things—Briar's antics, new growth in spring, the way sunlight filtered through leaves.” Thorne's hand found Silas's, their joined fingers sparking with shared energy. “Your grandmother reminded me that keeping those connections, those moments of lightness, isn't a betrayal of duty. It's what makes duty bearable.”

The night deepened around them. Through the reinforced wards, they could still hear the Shadowblight's whispers, but they seemed more distant now, less personal. The combined strength of their diverse alliance created a buffer against the psychological assault.

“I think,” Thorne said slowly, “that this is what Elder Willow hoped for. Not just my transformation, but this—” He gestured to encompass the camp, the mixed group of humans and guardians working together. “She knew the old ways were failing. Maybe she chose me precisely because I was already connected to your world.”

“Through me,” Silas said softly.

“Through you,” Thorne agreed. “Through us.”

* * *

Lady Evangeline approached them carrying steaming cups of tea. “You both look terrible,” she announced with grandmotherly frankness. “Drink this. It's an old recipe—helps with magical exhaustion.”

She settled beside them, watching the sunrise paint the wounded forest in gentle colors. “The first light always brings hope,” she observed. “Even in the darkest times.”

“Is that why you came?” Thorne asked. “Hope?”

“Partly.” She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “But mostly because it was time. Time to stop pretending that separation served anyone except those who profit from fear.” She looked at Thorne directly. “You represent what we should have chosen generations ago.”

“The Shadowblight won't be defeated by force alone,” Thorne said, testing the idea.

“No,” Lady Evangeline agreed. “Our unity is the weapon it fears most.”

As the camp stirred to life, Silas watched his grandmother move among the diverse group with natural authority. She had breakfast with Lyra, discussing guardian customs. She consulted with Diana about defensive positions. She even convinced a skeptical tree spirit to accept help reinforcing its roots against corruption.

“Your grandmother is remarkable,” Thorne said, watching her work.

“I'm only now realizing how much,” Silas admitted. “All these years, I thought her political maneuvering was just about power. But she was working toward this—toward healing the rift between our peoples.”

The morning's planning session reflected this new understanding. With Lady Evangeline's historical knowledge combined with Thorne's cosmic awareness and the group's diverse expertise, strategies emerged that none could have developed alone.

“The Shadowblight expects us to remain divided,” Diana summarized. “We use that expectation against it.”

“More than that,” Lady Evangeline added. “We show others that unity is possible. Every faction that sees humans and forest spirits working together is a potential ally. Every human settlement that witnesses guardians protecting them alongside crown forces is a voice against fear.”

Thorne nodded, his cosmic eyes clearing as purpose replaced grief. “We don't just fight the Shadowblight. The Shadowblight is a symptom of a deeper corruption in our world.”

“The corruption of separation,” Eliar agreed. “Of believing that different means dangerous.”

As the day progressed, Lady Evangeline continued to surprise everyone. She taught Kai a focusing technique that helped him resist the whispers. She shared stories with Briar about the old days, when sprites were welcome in human gardens. She even managed to extract a genuine smile from Thorne when she described her younger self's ill-fated attempt to sneak into the Eldergrove to meet Starweaver.

“I got as far as the outer wards before a very irritated dryad sent me home with leaves in my hair and a lecture ringing in my ears,” she recalled. “My father was furious, but secretly, I think he was impressed by my determination.”

By evening, the change in atmosphere was palpable. The grief remained, the danger loomed, but something fundamental had shifted. Hope had taken root, nurtured by unexpected connections and recovered histories.

As Silas drafted his message to the king, Lady Evangeline offered suggestions that balanced diplomatic necessity with personal truth. “Your father respects strength,” she advised. “Show him that this alliance makes us stronger, not weaker.”

The letter that emerged was a masterpiece of persuasion, blending personal appeal with political reality. It spoke of Elder Willow's sacrifice, Thorne's transformation, and the urgent need for formal recognition of the guardian-human alliance.

“He'll listen,” Lady Evangeline said confidently. “He has to. The alternative is unthinkable.”