The air changed the deeper they walked.
It no longer smelled alive.
Rot clung to every breath Elara took. Sweet, thick, wrong. The kind of smell that stayed in your lungs and refused to leave. Once-bright leaves crumbled underfoot, turning to dust. The silver glow of the grove was gone, replaced by dull browns and sickly shadows.
Havenwood was dying.
Twisted branches reached down like broken fingers, scraping the air. Roots cracked through the ground, scarred and blackened, as if something had clawed its way out from below.
Elara's grip tightened around Kaelen's hand.
The locket pressed warm against her chest, pulsing faster now. Uneasy. Afraid.
"This place…" Elandria whispered. Her voice shook in a way Elara had never heard before. "It was once a sanctuary. Light lived here. Hope lived here."
She knelt and brushed her fingers over the ground. The soil recoiled under her touch.
"The King does not simply destroy," Elandria continued softly. "He poisons. He twists beauty until it eats itself."
Kaelen scanned the grove, his obsidian eyes sharp and calculating. "The closer we get," he said, "the stronger it becomes."
This wasn't just illusion anymore.
The grove moved.
The path behind them shifted, sealing shut with thorned vines. The air vibrated with a low hum—like a warning.
Elara swallowed.
He's close.
The whispers returned.
Not distant this time. Not faint.
Right against her ear.
You are walking into a grave, little Thorne.
Her breath hitched.
Look around you. Everything rots. Love rots. Power rots. Even him.
Images forced their way into her mind—Havenwood in flames. Kaelen on his knees. Chains of shadow around his wrists.
He will kneel. Or he will break.
"Stop," Elara whispered.
Her steps faltered.
"Elara?" Kaelen turned instantly. "Talk to me."
"He's back," she admitted, voice tight. "Louder this time."
Lyra snarled, claws flexing. "Figures. Creepy voice loves attention."
She stepped closer to Elara, standing shoulder to shoulder with her. "Listen to me, Thorne. That thing lies. Always."
Elara gave a weak huff. "Hard to ignore when it's showing me my worst nightmares."
Kaelen lifted her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. "Look at me," he said firmly.
She did.
His eyes were steady. Grounded. Real.
"He feeds on fear," Kaelen said. "So we starve him."
Oberon raised his hand, summoning a small orb of starlight. It glowed softly, fighting the darkness around them. The shadows hissed, pulling away—but only slightly.
"The corruption is adapting," Oberon said. "The grove itself is becoming hostile. We are no longer guests here."
As if the grove heard him—
The branches above snapped downward.
Thorns slammed into the ground, forming a jagged wall in front of them.
Roots burst upward, thick and twisted, snapping like jaws.
Green spores filled the air, glowing faintly as they spun toward Elara.
"Ambush!" Lyra roared.
She leapt forward, claws tearing through corrupted wood. Each strike released black sap that burned where it touched the ground.
Kaelen stepped in front of Elara without thinking.
Dark energy rippled from him in a wide arc, shattering the glowing spores midair. They exploded into ash before reaching her.
"They're trying to split us again!" he shouted. "Stay close!"
The ground lurched.
Elara stumbled—and roots wrapped around her ankle.
She cried out.
Kaelen reacted instantly, slicing through them with shadow, pulling her back against his chest.
"I've got you," he growled. "Always."
Elandria raised both hands, ancient runes blazing along her arms. She pushed back a wall of thorns with raw Fae power, but strain lined her face.
"These are not random attacks," she said sharply. "My people are behind this."
Lyra froze mid-strike. "Your people?"
"The dissidents," Elandria confirmed. "The same ones who feared the Thorne-Vane union. They know this grove better than anyone."
Oberon's eyes darkened. "So this is no longer just the King."
"No," Elandria said. "They are guiding the corruption. Using the grove's own magic against us."
The roots moved again—this time forming shapes.
Figures.
Fae silhouettes rose from the ground, hollow-eyed and silent. Their forms flickered, half illusion, half real.
Elara's chest tightened.
"They're not attacking," she whispered. "They're… watching."
Judging, the King's voice purred.
Let us see how long love holds when the grove turns on you.
One of the Fae figures lifted its hand.
The ground beneath Kaelen cracked.
He shoved Elara aside just as a spike of blackened stone shot upward where he had been standing.
Kaelen hit the ground hard.
"Elara!" Lyra screamed.
Elara dropped beside him instantly, hands shaking as she grabbed his face. "Kaelen—are you—"
"I'm fine," he said, breath rough. "But they're testing us."
Elandria stared at the figures, fury burning in her eyes. "They want to see who breaks first."
The grove groaned, shadows thickening around them.
Elara felt the locket pulse—fast, urgent.
Ahead, beyond the hostile trees, something pulsed back.
The Echo Stone.
Close.
Too close.
And the grove seemed to draw a breath—like it was preparing for something far worse.
"No," Elara gasped.
The truth hit her hard, sharp enough to steal her breath.
"This isn't just the King," she said, voice shaking. "It's too planned. Too careful. The crypt. The maze. The way the grove attacks us." She looked around at the twisting roots and watching shadows. "The Fae faction is still here. They never left."
The grove answered her words with a low, angry hum.
Oberon's starlight flickered wildly as he struck down a cluster of thorns rushing toward them. "She's right," he said, eyes wide with realization. "These are old Fae wards. Ancient ones. Twisted, yes—but not created by the King."
Another wave of roots surged.
"They're defensive spells," Oberon continued. "Built to block. Delay. Exhaust. To keep people away from the Echo Stone."
Kaelen deflected a thorny strike with a blast of dark energy, fury blazing in his eyes. "Unworthy?" he snarled. "They call us unworthy after betraying Havenwood?"
"They believed they were protecting it," Elandria said quietly.
Everyone turned to her.
Her shoulders sagged, as if centuries pressed down at once. "They feared what the Echo Stone could become in the wrong hands. They feared the King's essence seeping into it."
Lyra scoffed, ripping a root in half. "So their solution was murder?"
"They chose containment," Elandria replied. "At any cost."
The ground exploded.
A massive root slammed into Lyra's side, throwing her across the clearing. She rolled hard, groaning.
"Lyra!" Elara cried.
Lyra pushed herself up, wiping blood from her lip. Her grin was sharp and furious. "Yeah," she spat. "They're not testing us."
Another root snapped inches from her face.
"They're trying to kill us."
Kaelen's control snapped.
"This is no trial," he roared. "It's an execution."
Power tore through the air as he unleashed a wave of darkness, shattering roots and spores alike. The grove shrieked in response.
"We don't retreat," Kaelen said, breathing hard. "We break through. Now."
Elara's hands trembled as she grabbed her staff.
Think. Feel. Listen.
She closed her eyes.
The chaos dulled.
Beneath the noise, beneath the anger and fear, she felt it.
A rhythm.
Slow. Uneven. Painful.
"The grove…" Elara whispered. "It's off-balance."
She pressed the locket against her chest. Blue light seeped through her fingers.
"They've disrupted its harmony," she said. "That's how they control it."
Another attack came—thorns snapping toward Kaelen's back.
Elara reacted without thinking.
Blue light flared, slamming into the roots and turning them to ash.
Kaelen stared at her, stunned. "Elara—"
"If I can fix the rhythm," she said quickly, "even for a moment—we can move."
"You can do it," Kaelen said instantly. No doubt. No fear. "I'm right here."
She nodded and closed her eyes again.
Focus.
She thought of the Echo Stone—not broken, not dark—but whole. Clear. Balanced.
She thought of Havenwood before the fall.
She thought of Kaelen's hand in hers.
Love. Trust. Choice.
She pushed the blue light outward.
The grove reacted violently.
Branches shook. Spores pulsed erratically. The ground groaned like it was tearing apart.
Then the King screamed inside her head.
"No!" the voice hissed. "You weaken the walls! You ruin everything!"
Pain stabbed through her skull.
"You are nothing without me," the King snarled. "A pawn. A vessel. He will leave you when you are empty."
Elara's knees buckled.
Kaelen caught her instantly.
"She's mine," he growled into the air. "And you don't get to touch her."
His presence anchored her.
He's here. He chose me.
The whispers faltered.
Elara screamed—not in fear, but defiance—and released everything.
The locket erupted.
A blinding beam of blue light shot forward, striking an ancient tree at the center of the grove. Its trunk was twisted and black, veins of corrupted magic pulsing through it like rot.
The tree screamed.
The sound shook the grove to its roots.
Dark magic peeled away from its bark, burning under the pure light. Roots shriveled. Thorns recoiled.
"She's breaking it!" Elandria cried, awe flooding her voice.
The grove pulled back.
Barriers dissolved. Shadows thinned.
A clear path opened ahead—leading deeper, darker.
But the tree did not fall.
Its roots tore free from the surface, dragging its corrupted heart underground. The light faded.
Silence followed.
The King's voice vanished.
In its place came something worse.
A low growl echoed from the depths of the grove.
Not a warning.
A promise.
Elara swayed, exhausted. Kaelen held her upright, pressing his forehead to hers.
"You did it," he whispered.
"Not fully," she said, breathless. "It's retreating. Gathering strength."
Lyra joined them, wiping her blades clean. "Great. So now it's angry."
Oberon stared at the open path ahead. "They showed their hand."
Elandria nodded slowly. "The Fae faction will not hide anymore. Their fear has turned into violence."
Elara looked forward.
The Echo Stone was close. She could feel it—bright and aching.
But so was the King.
And whatever waited at the heart of the grove would demand more than power.
It would demand sacrifice.
And Elara feared the price would be paid in blood—or love.