The ancient Fae grove breathed like a living heart.
Elara felt it the moment she stepped inside. Power rushed under her skin—clean, old, untouched. The trees were tall and silver, their bark glowing softly, like moonlight trapped in wood. Flowers floated in the air instead of growing on the ground. They shimmered, opening and closing as if they were alive. The air smelled sweet, sharp, and warm all at once. Magic. Pure magic.
So this is what the world once was, Elara thought.
Elandria walked ahead of them, her steps light, her posture proud. She looked like she belonged to this place more than anyone else. Her emerald eyes moved constantly, watching, judging, remembering. This grove had known her once. It remembered her blood.
Kaelen stayed close to Elara, his hand tight around hers. Not possessive. Protective. Solid. Every time the magic pulsed too hard, she squeezed his fingers back. It grounded her.
Lyra and Oberon moved like shadows on either side, alert, tense. Even Lyra's usual sharp smile was gone. The grove demanded respect. No one joked here.
"So," Elara said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. "We find the real Echo Stone. We show the truth about the betrayal in the Fae court. And somehow… that stops the King from rising. In both timelines."
She let out a short breath. "Easy plan."
Kaelen huffed. "Sounds like something that will try to kill us at least three times."
Elandria didn't smile. "More than that, I fear." She slowed, placing her hand against the trunk of a silver tree. The bark glowed brighter under her touch. "The intact Echo Stone is not just a relic. It is a mirror of truth. It can expose lies buried even by time itself."
Elara swallowed. "And the traitors? The ones who let the King's influence in?"
Elandria's eyes darkened. "Fear guided them. Fear of mortals. Fear of love that crossed bloodlines. Fear of the Thorne-Vane union."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "So how do we find them?"
"You don't," Elandria said softly. "They find you."
The grove shifted.
At first, it was subtle. The glow of the flowers flickered. The silver bark dulled. The air thickened, heavy and sharp, burning Elara's lungs.
Then the ground moved.
The path ahead blurred, twisting like wet paint. Trees bent inward, stretching into crooked shapes. The soft hum of magic twisted into whispers—low, cruel, and familiar.
Elara's heart slammed against her ribs.
"No," Lyra growled. Her hand flew to her throat. "I don't like this. I really don't like this."
Oberon staggered, pressing his palm to his head. "Illusion," he muttered. "A strong one. Fae glamour."
"But wrong," Lyra snapped. "It's wrong. It's touching my head. My fears."
The grove was gone.
In its place stood a maze.
Trees rose like broken spines, their branches clawing at the sky. Shadows moved where they shouldn't. The air smelled like storms and metal. Like blood before rain.
Elara gasped as voices flooded her mind.
He's using you.
You're just a source of power.
Look at him.
The maze shifted, and suddenly she saw it.
Havenwood in ruins. Burning. Cracked.
Kaelen stood at its center, his face cold, distant. In his hand—black stone pulsing with dark light.
The Dark Echo.
"No," Elara whispered, her knees buckling.
"ELARA!"
Kaelen's voice cut through the vision like a blade. She felt his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently, desperately.
"Look at me," he said. "Not that. Me."
She forced herself to meet his eyes. Obsidian. Fierce. Afraid—not of power, but of losing her.
This is a lie.
She clutched the locket at her chest. Warmth spread through her fingers. Light pushed back the shadows.
The whispers screamed.
The illusion cracked.
"I can feel it breaking!" Lyra shouted, her bow glowing as the maze around her flickered. "Keep going, Elara!"
But Elandria's voice turned sharp. "It's not enough. This glamour was made to divide you. To turn you against one another."
The ground vanished.
Lyra screamed as the earth beneath her feet dissolved into a spinning void of light and shadow.
"LYRA!" Oberon lunged for her—
The maze twisted.
He landed hard on a separate ledge, surrounded by shadow-figures wearing Fae armor. Their eyes burned with hatred.
"NO!" Elara cried.
Kaelen pulled her close. "Stay with me."
The maze laughed.
And somewhere deep within it, something ancient woke up—watching, waiting, ready to test how much they were willing to lose.
"Lyra! Oberon!" Elara screamed.
Her voice echoed into the void, thin and broken. The space between them stretched, pulling like invisible hands. The ground tilted. The air screamed.
Kaelen caught her just in time.
"Don't look down!" he shouted, wrapping an arm around her waist and yanking her back. His grip was iron. Steady. "They're alive. I can feel it. Focus, Elara!"
The void tried to drag them again. Elara's feet slid across the glowing ground.
"The chest!" Kaelen said, breath harsh. "The Echo Stone is the anchor. This illusion is tied to it. If we break the link, everything falls apart."
Elara nodded, even though fear clogged her throat.
Focus. Don't break now.
She shut her eyes.
The screams faded. The void dimmed.
She reached inward—past fear, past doubt—and touched the locket at her chest.
Warmth bloomed.
Blue light pulsed beneath her skin, calm and steady, like a heartbeat that refused to stop. She remembered Havenwood before the fall. Laughter. Green fields. Kaelen's smile when he wasn't afraid to feel.
This place is lying, she thought. And lies can be broken.
She opened her eyes.
At the center of the broken maze, a chest hovered in the air. Ancient. Carved with runes that burned faintly silver and black. The Echo Stone was inside. She could feel it calling to her—soft, desperate, trapped.
"There," she whispered. "That's it."
She lifted her hand.
The locket flared.
A beam of pure blue light burst forward, sharp and bright, cutting through shadows like a blade through smoke. It slammed into the chest.
The grove screamed.
Not a sound made of air—but of pain.
The illusion twisted violently. Trees cracked. The maze shattered piece by piece, splintering into shards of shadow that dissolved into nothing. The ground shook so hard Elara fell to her knees, Kaelen dropping beside her, shielding her body with his own.
"Hold on!" he shouted.
The corrupted magic fought back.
Dark vines erupted from the ground, snapping and writhing. The sky above fractured like broken glass. For a moment, Elara felt the King's presence—cold, amused, watching.
You shouldn't be here, the whisper said. This grove will kneel.
"No," Elara whispered back, teeth clenched. "Not this one."
She pushed harder.
The beam grew brighter.
With a final, violent crack, the illusion collapsed.
Silence fell.
The ancient grove returned—but it was no longer pure.
Silver trees were bent and scarred, their bark split with dark veins. Vines glowed with a sickly light, pulsing like infected wounds. The ground was twisted, uneven, burned with marks of something that should never exist here.
Havenwood was bleeding.
Elara staggered to her feet, chest heaving.
"Lyra?" she called.
A shimmer of light flashed.
Lyra appeared beside them, dropping to one knee, breathing hard. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up. "I hate magic," she muttered. "I really hate magic."
"Oberon!" Elara turned.
Another flash.
Oberon reappeared a few steps away, his face pale, eyes dark with lingering fear. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders like someone waking from a nightmare. "Those shadows," he said quietly. "They knew my thoughts."
Elara swallowed. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "You broke it. That's what matters."
Around them, the Fae guards were gone.
Not fallen. Not wounded.
Gone.
Dissolved into faint sparks that faded into the air.
A chill ran down Elara's spine.
Elandria stepped forward, her expression grim. The glow around her dimmed as she studied the grove. "This should not be possible," she said. "The King's corruption has gone beyond influence."
She knelt, pressing her palm to the scarred ground. Her eyes widened slightly.
"He's reshaping it," Elandria continued. "Not just minds. Not just illusions. He's bending Havenwood itself to his will."
Kaelen cursed under his breath.
"A sacred grove," Lyra said softly. "Untouched for centuries."
"Not anymore," Oberon replied.
A shadow moved in the distance.
It stretched from the heart of the grove, long and thick, like a wound spreading across living skin. Dark energy pulsed slowly, steadily—each beat stronger than the last.
Elara felt it tug at her chest.
The Echo Stone.
"He's close," she whispered.
Elandria stood, her posture firm despite the fear in her eyes. "If we do not reach the Echo Stone soon, this Havenwood will fall. And once it does, your Havenwood will follow."
Kaelen tightened his grip on Elara's hand.
"Then we don't stop," he said. His voice was low. Dangerous. "We move forward. Whatever he throws at us—we face it."
Elara looked at him.
At the man who had crossed time, blood, and fate for her.
If this is the end, she thought, I won't face it alone.
She nodded.
Together, they stepped toward the growing darkness.
Behind them, the grove groaned—like a warning.
Ahead, something ancient stirred.
And deep within the corrupted heart of Havenwood, the Echo Stone waited… as if it already knew what it would demand in return.