Page 9

9

SHATTERED BONDS

T he world swayed like a ship in storm as Thorne stumbled through the corrupted remains of the royal forest. Each step sent shockwaves through his depleted essence, his form flickering between solid flesh and wisps of shadow. Silas's arm around his waist was the only anchor keeping him from dissolving completely.

“Almost there,” Silas murmured, his voice tight with worry. “Just a little further.”

Thorne wanted to respond, to reassure his love that he would endure, but speech required more energy than he could spare. The battle with King Thomas had cost him centuries of accumulated power. Being separated from the Eldergrove for so long had left him vulnerable, like a fish pulled from water, gasping for something essential.

Diana led their battered group through the main forest paths, her sword still drawn against possible pursuit. The guard captain moved with practiced caution, checking corners and shadows with the paranoia of someone who had survived too many betrayals. Behind them, the royal forest writhed in the aftermath of their confrontation, twisted magic slowly unraveling now that the king's influence had been broken.

“Where the hell is Kai?” Silas asked suddenly, looking around. “He was right behind us during the fight.”

Diana glanced back, her scarred face grim. “That friend of yours? Haven't seen him since the chaos started.”

“Shit,” Silas muttered.

“We can't wait,” Diana had stated firmly, her voice cutting through the tense air. “My safehouse isn't far. Standard guard protocol for situations like these.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Though I doubt the manual covers magical forest spirits and shadow entities.”

Silas adjusted his grip as Thorne’s legs threatened to give way again. The mention of standard protocols felt absurd given the chaos swirling around them – magical spirits, shadow entities, fleeing for their lives. The sheer danger intensified his worry for the one person not with them, the one most vulnerable. “And my father?” Silas asked, his voice strained under Thorne's weight and his own anxiety. “The King... is he safe? Is he receiving the treatment he needs?”

Diana’s sharp gaze met his for a moment, a flicker of understanding in her eyes before she resumed scanning their surroundings. “I know those who have him,” she replied, her tone low but firm, meant for his ears alone. “They will take the utmost care of him. Your father is in safe hands, Silas,” she assured him. “Believe me, they won't let any of Sebastian's forces get near him.” While the certainty in her voice offered a sliver of comfort, the knot of worry in Silas's gut remained.

The safe house appeared like a blessing, an unremarkable building tucked between two abandoned merchants' shops. Diana knocked a complex pattern on the door, which opened to reveal a nervous guard who quickly ushered them inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, Thorne felt the magical wards close around them. They blocked detection but also cut him off from the natural energy he desperately needed.

His knees gave out completely.

“Shit!” Silas caught him, lowering him carefully to the floor. “Thorne? Stay with me.”

The room spun as Thorne's consciousness fragmented. Parts of him tried to drift back to the Eldergrove, seeking the familiar embrace of ancient trees and deep roots. Other fragments scattered like leaves in wind, too exhausted to maintain cohesion. Only Silas's touch, warm and insistent against his fading skin, kept him from dispersing entirely.

“We need to get him outside,” a familiar voice said. Elena burst into the room with Briar close behind, both carrying armfuls of potted plants and fresh-cut branches. “The wards are suffocating him.”

“How did you find us?” Diana demanded, hand moving to her sword hilt.

“I have my ways,” Elena replied tersely. “The hedge witch network knows every safehouse in the kingdom. We've been tracking you since the battle.” She turned to Thorne, her expression grave. “Now help me move him before he dissolves completely.”

Diana hesitated only a moment before nodding. Whatever her reservations about the witch's methods, Thorne's condition left no room for argument.

Briar's usual mischievous energy had vanished, replaced by naked fear as she saw her mentor's condition. “I've never seen him like this,” she whispered, her glowing freckles dim with distress. “Not even after the Battle of Thornbreak Ridge.”

They half-carried, half-dragged Thorne to the small garden behind the safe house. It was a pitiful substitute for the Eldergrove, just a few ornamental trees and flower beds, but it was better than nothing. Elena and Briar worked frantically, transplanting their brought greenery and coaxing dormant plants to life.

Thorne felt the first trickle of energy seep into him as his fingers touched living soil. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it kept him from fading completely. He managed to solidify enough to sit upright, though his edges remained blurred, bleeding into the shadows around him.

“Better?” Silas asked, kneeling beside him with one hand on his shoulder.

Thorne nodded weakly, not trusting his voice. He felt Silas's fear and determination warring with exhaustion. His lover had been strong for so long, carrying burdens that would have crushed lesser men. Thorne wanted nothing more than to pull Silas into his arms and offer comfort, but he could barely maintain his own form.

“The Eldergrove needs me,” Thorne rasped, his voice like wind through dead leaves. “Without its guardian, the forest dies.”

“You're in no condition to travel,” Elena countered, hands still green from working with plants. “You need at least a day to recover.”

“We don't have a day.” A new voice joined the conversation as Eliar materialized from the garden shadows. “I bring word from the Eldergrove. Agnes and the Elder Willow lead the defense, but the shadow entities presses hard. They can hold perhaps two more nights before the heart groves fall.”

Thorne tried to stand and immediately regretted it. The world tilted sideways, and only Silas's quick reflexes kept him from falling face-first into the herb garden.

“You see?” Silas said, voice tight with frustration. “You can barely stay corporeal. How do you expect to fight?”

“I must,” Thorne insisted, though the words cost him. “The forest is part of me. If it dies...”

He didn't need to finish. They all knew what would happen if the Eldergrove fell. Thorne would cease to exist, not just die but unravel completely, his essence scattered to the winds.

Kai burst through the garden gate then, disheveled and breathless. “Sorry I'm late. Had to dodge Sebastian's patrols.” He took in Thorne's condition with widening eyes. “Holy shit, you look terrible.”

“Always the charmer,” Eliar murmured, though his hand found Kai's briefly in greeting.

“What did you learn?” Silas asked, still supporting most of Thorne's weight.

Kai's expression darkened. “Sebastian's not just after the throne. He's made a deal with something old and hungry. The shadow entity promised him power beyond imagining if he helps break the barriers between realms.”

Thorne felt the last of his strength drain away as the implications sank in. The shadow entity wasn't just attacking the Eldergrove, it was orchestrating events on multiple fronts, using Sebastian's ambition and the political chaos to achieve its goals.

“We have to split up,” Diana said what they were all thinking. “We can't abandon the capital to Sebastian, but Thorne needs to return to his forest.”

“No.” Silas's arm tightened around Thorne. “We stay together. We're stronger that way.”

“And we'll lose everything,” Diana countered. “The realm will fall to Sebastian while the Eldergrove burns. Is that what you want?”

The argument escalated, voices rising as exhaustion and fear frayed everyone's nerves. Thorne felt his control slipping, magic leaking from him in unpredictable bursts. Plants grew wild around his feet, twisting into unnatural shapes. Shadows deepened and moved independently, reaching for light sources with hungry intent.

“Enough!” he tried to shout, but it came out as a roar that shook the windows. A wave of uncontrolled power burst from him, sending potted plants flying and cracking the garden wall. Kai barely dodged a thorny vine that erupted from the ground, its movements aggressive and unnatural.

Silence fell, broken only by Thorne's ragged breathing. He'd lost what little color he had, his form translucent in the lamplight.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, horrified by his loss of control. “I didn't mean...”

“It's okay,” Silas soothed, though Thorne could feel his shock through their bond. “No one was hurt.”

But the damage was done. They all looked at him differently now, seeing not just their injured ally but a potential threat. Even Briar kept her distance, wings trembling slightly.

The shadow entity chose that moment to strike at his mind, slipping through cracks in his defenses like oil through water.

They fear you now . As they should. You're more monster than man, more nightmare than guardian. How long before Silas sees it too? It whispered.

Thorne squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the insidious voice. But in his weakened state, the entity's words found purchase, planting seeds of doubt that threatened to take root.

A raven’s harsh cry pierced the heavy stillness. It landed on the crumbling wall, far larger than any natural bird, its feathers ink-dark and eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence. When it spoke, its voice carried the weight of roots and stone.

The Elder Willow fades. The heart groves darken. Return, guardian, or all is lost.

Thorne went rigid. Silas felt it immediately. Even from this distance, the call of the forest tugged at him.

Fraying, desperate, dying.

“No,” Silas said at once, sharp with instinct. “You’re still healing. You can’t go running into decay and rot just because a bird croaked a warning.”

“It’s not just a bird,” Thorne said quietly. “You felt it too.”

Silas looked away, jaw clenched.

“But what if it’s a trap?” he pushed. “What if the corruption is drawing you out, separating us on purpose? You barely survived the last fight, Thorne. You nearly—” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose you again.”

Thorne stepped closer, cupping his face gently. “You won’t.”

“You can’t promise that,” Silas snapped. “Not when you're walking into something we don’t even understand. And what happens if you collapse again and no one’s there to help you?”

“I have to go,” Thorne said, voice tight. “The forest is unraveling. If I don’t return, it won’t just be me that’s lost—it will be everything.”

Silas turned away, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Why does it always come down to this?” he whispered. “Why does love always mean letting go?”

There was a long silence between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of waves.

Then Silas exhaled slowly, shakily. “If I ask you to stay, you will. Won’t you?”

“I would,” Thorne said. “Even if it meant the end of me.”

Silas closed his eyes. He could ask it. Could pull Thorne close, pretend the forest could heal without him, pretend duty wasn’t clawing them apart again. But he wouldn’t.

“I won’t ask,” he said at last, opening his eyes. “I love you too much for that.”

Thorne’s expression softened, pained and tender all at once. “Then let me go. Just for now.”

Silas hesitated for another beat. Then, finally, he nodded. “Go,” he said, though it broke him. “Your forest needs you more than I do right now.”

Thorne looked like he might argue, but Silas raised a hand.

“I’ll be fine,” he added, forcing strength into the lie. “Diana knows how the court works. Elena has spies in every shadow. Kai’s still recovering but you know he’ll find a way to cause chaos in our favor.”

Thorne didn’t smile. “The last time we separated…”

“I remember,” Silas said, his voice rough. “But that was different. Then we were torn apart. This time, we choose it. And we choose us , no matter the distance.”

He touched the crystal that hung between them, still warm with shared magic. “We have this. We’ll always have this.”

They spent the remainder of the night preparing in silence. In the privacy of a small room, Thorne summoned what strength he had left to weave a living bracelet from strands of shadow and starlight. It wrapped around Silas’s wrist, pulsing gently in time with Thorne’s heartbeat.

“It will protect you,” Thorne murmured. “And hold our bond.”

Silas drew a blade from his belt and cut a lock of his hair. With steady hands, he pricked his finger and let a few drops of blood fall onto the strands, deepening their color.

“An anchor,” he said softly, pressing it into Thorne’s palm. “To remind you who you are. Who you still are. Even if the forest tries to take all of you.”

They held each other through the slow hours before dawn, sleep an afterthought neither could afford. Thorne traced the curve of Silas’s cheek with aching reverence, as if trying to memorize the shape of love itself.

“Promise me,” Silas whispered. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

“I promise,” Thorne breathed. “But only if you promise not to throw yourself at Sebastian like a righteous martyr.”

Silas gave a tired smile. “Fine. No heroics unless absolutely necessary.”

“Terrible deal,” Thorne said. “I was going to say the same.”

“I mean it, Thorne. No grand sacrifices, no burning yourself out to save everyone else.”

“I promise to try,” Thorne said, which was the best he could offer.

* * *

They gathered in silence, their faces pale with exhaustion and braced with purpose. Three teams. Three paths. Thorne with Briar and Eliar, returning to the Eldergrove. Silas and Diana staying to confront Sebastian’s coup. Elena and Kai leaving to chase whispers of a man called Nathaniel.

“We need a way to stay connected,” Elena said, rubbing her temples. “Something more reliable than messages or magic pigeons. If something goes wrong…”

“Too many rituals already,” Thorne muttered. He could feel the threads of his essence fraying from the last one. “Anything more formal and I’ll dissolve into a puff of poetic mist.”

“There’s another way,” Silas said suddenly. He stepped forward, eyes on Thorne. “A memory bridge. Agnes taught me the theory, back at Thornhaven. It’s not a ritual—more like… an imprint.”

Thorne tilted his head. “An imprint?”

“Not permanent. Not binding. But strong enough to carry a flicker of thought, a burst of emotion. It uses shared memory to anchor the connection.”

“It requires consent,” Elena added. “And trust.”

The group looked at one another, and slowly, they nodded.

They sat in a circle on the damp stones of the garden path, no incantations, no drawn symbols—just presence. Thorne watched Silas move to the center, unspooling a length of silver thread from his satchel. Not magical in itself, but laced with memory—he recognized it as the thread Silas had once used to bind the torn pages of his grandmother’s journal.

Silas placed it in the center and said, “Everyone, touch it. And think of a moment you shared with someone here. A true moment.”

Thorne laid two fingers on the thread, the fabric soft and cold beneath his hand. He thought of Silas laughing beside the fire, soot smudged across his cheek, stubborn and alive. Of Briar asleep in the curve of his shoulder, snoring faintly. Of the forest singing beneath his feet.

The thread began to glow, faintly at first, then with pulsing warmth. It wasn't the sharp surge of ritual magic. It was quieter—like water finding a path through stone.

Thorne felt something unlock. A flicker. A tether. A quiet knowing that if he reached out in a moment of need, the others would feel it. Not words. Not images. But presence. A brush of thought. A ripple across still water.

He shuddered as the thread dimmed again, the glow sinking into the earth like dew.

“It’s done,” Silas said quietly.

Thorne blinked hard, feeling the subtle pressure of connections now tethered to his core—thin, silvered strands of feeling that hummed with the voices of those he trusted.

Not a ritual. Not a vow. But enough.

And maybe, for now, enough was all they had.

“Time to go,” Diana announced, checking the sun's position. “We need to move before Sebastian's patrols increase.”

The goodbyes were hurried, overshadowed by urgency and fear. Kai hugged Silas fiercely, whispering something that made his friend laugh despite everything. Eliar placed a hand on Thorne's shoulder, their magics briefly harmonizing as star guardian connected with forest guardian.

“I'll watch over him,” Eliar promised Silas, nodding toward Thorne. “The Eldergrove needs its guardian whole.”

Silas and Thorne's farewell was wordless. They simply held each other, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath and heartbeat until Diana gently pulled them apart.

“I'll see you soon,” Silas promised, though they both knew it might be a lie.

“Stay safe,” Thorne replied, the most inadequate words in any language.

The journey back to the Eldergrove tested Thorne's depleted reserves to their limits. What should have been a simple matter of shadow-walking became a grueling trek through hostile territory. His weakness made him vulnerable to iron barriers and detection spells that normally wouldn't have affected him.

At one checkpoint, guards with iron-tipped spears nearly caught them. Thorne had to dissolve completely into shadow, seeping through cracks in the wall while Briar created a distraction. Eliar used his star magic to shield their presence, but the strain showed on his usually serene face.

Reforming on the other side left Thorne gasping and disoriented, his essence scattered like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together anymore.

“You're getting worse,” Briar observed, her usual cheerfulness replaced by genuine fear. “I've never seen you struggle like this.”

“Just need to reach the forest,” Thorne managed, though privately he wondered if even the Eldergrove could heal damage this deep.

“The star paths might help,” Eliar suggested, his pale gold eyes studying Thorne with concern. “They run parallel to the ley lines but draw from different sources.”

They tried Eliar's suggestion, following celestial currents that most beings couldn't perceive. It helped slightly, giving Thorne enough strength to continue, though the star magic felt foreign against his forest nature.

The separation from Silas created a constant ache, like a missing limb that still tried to move. Through their bond, he caught fragments of his lover's experiences: tense negotiations with wavering nobles, narrow escapes from Sebastian's assassins, moments of doubt in darkened hallways. Each glimpse was both comfort and torment, knowing Silas lived but being unable to help him.

The shadow entity took advantage of his vulnerability, whispering poison into his thoughts.

He's already adapting back to court life. How long before he remembers the comforts of power? Before he chooses politics over trees, influence over love?

“Shut up,” Thorne growled, earning a confused look from Briar.

“I didn't say anything,” she protested.

“Not you.” He didn't elaborate, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

When they finally reached the Eldergrove's borders, Thorne nearly wept at the sight. But his relief turned to horror as he saw the damage. Ancient trees bore burn marks, their leaves withered and black. Sacred groves that had stood for millennia lay in ruins, the ground itself poisoned by shadow magic.

The forest recognized him immediately, reaching out with desperate need. Energy flowed into him, not the gentle sustenance he was used to but a frantic outpouring, like a drowning victim clutching at a rescuer. The forest was trying to heal him so he could heal it, a cycle that threatened to drain them both.

“Gods above and below,” Briar whispered, taking in the devastation. “How did it get so bad so quickly?”

Thorne knew the answer. The shadow entity had been planning this for years, perhaps centuries. His absence had simply provided the perfect opportunity to strike.

They made their way deeper into the forest, cataloging damage as they went. The ley lines that should have hummed with power felt sluggish and contaminated. Streams ran black with corruption. Even the air tasted wrong, tainted with a metallic bitterness that made breathing difficult.

At the heart grove, they found the Elder Willow barely clinging to life. Her ancient trunk oozed black sap from numerous wounds, and her branches, usually lush with silver leaves, hung bare and brittle.

“Guardian,” she wheezed, her voice like cracking timber. “You return... almost too late.”

“What happened?” Thorne knelt beside her, placing his hands on her trunk. He could feel the poison working through her system, shadow magic designed specifically to corrupt nature spirits.

“The enemy knew... when to strike. Your absence... left us vulnerable.” Her remaining leaves rustled weakly. “Agnes leads the defense... but we are failing.”

Agnes appeared as if summoned by her name, materializing from a cluster of surviving trees. The hedge witch looked exhausted, her herb-stained hands trembling slightly.

“Thank the old gods you're back,” she said without preamble. “We've held the worst at bay, but barely. The shadow entity's forces press harder each night.”

“What forces?” Thorne asked, already dreading the answer.

“Corrupted spirits, shadow beasts, and worse. Things I have no names for. They come from places where the barriers between realms have grown thin.”

Thorne closed his eyes, extending his consciousness through the forest's network. What he sensed made his blood run cold. The shadow entity hadn't just attacked the Eldergrove, it had turned parts of it into a beachhead for invasion.

“I need to stabilize the ley lines,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet despite the protests of his overtaxed body. “Seal the breaches before more comes through.”

“You need to rest,” Agnes countered. “You're barely holding yourself together.”

“There's no time.” Thorne looked at the dying Elder Willow, at the corrupted trees surrounding them. “If I don't act now, there won't be a forest left to save.”

He began the work immediately, spreading his consciousness through the entire forest despite the risk. It felt like stretching himself tissue-thin, becoming vulnerable to attack on countless fronts. But he had no choice. The most critical areas needed immediate attention: failing wards that held back the worst of the corruption, poisoned water sources that were killing everything downstream, and tears in reality that grew wider by the hour.

The shadow entity struck while he was spread thin, manifesting through corrupted trees and pools of liquid darkness. Its voice echoed from a dozen directions at once.

Foolish guardian. You've left your heart exposed.

Visions assaulted Thorne's mind: Silas in the capital, making deals with nobles, slowly being drawn back into the world of power and privilege. Silas laughing at court functions, the forest forgotten. Silas in another's arms, whispering that Thorne had been nothing but a wild adventure, a story to tell at parties.

“Lies,” Thorne snarled, but doubt gnawed at him. Their bond felt so distant now, stretched to its limit. What if the entity spoke truth?

Shadow creatures attacked physically while the entity assaulted his mind. Thorne fought on both fronts, using skills honed over centuries. But he was weak, divided, and the enemy knew it.

As he worked, he felt his bond with Silas stretching to dangerous levels. The connection that had once been constant and warm now felt like a thread about to snap. Each use of power, each moment of divided attention, strained it further.

With a heavy heart, Thorne made a decision that felt like betrayal. He began to shield his end of the bond, creating barriers to protect Silas from experiencing the forest's agony. His lover didn't need to feel every tree that burned, every spirit that screamed, every wound that refused to heal.

The act of shielding created immediate distance. The comforting presence of Silas in his mind dimmed to barely a whisper. For the first time since their bonding, Thorne felt truly alone.

This is how it begins , the shadow entity whispered gleefully.

First you shield him from pain, then from difficult truths, then from yourself entirely. Distance grows until love becomes memory, memory becomes myth.

“Never,” Thorne swore, but his voice lacked conviction.