The grove breathed.
Not the corrupted gasp it once had—but a steady, living hum, magic flowing freely through bark and soil, through roots and stone. Havenwood was healing.
Yet the air between Elara and Kaelen felt heavier than it had ever been.
The Echo Stone pulsed behind them—slow, deliberate—like a heart that knew too much.
Elara stood within its fading blue glow, Kaelen's hand locked in hers, as if letting go might fracture something fragile and unfinished. Her mind still rang with what the stone had shown her. Not visions—instructions. A truth carved so deeply into her that it felt older than her bones.
Around them, Elandria, Lyra, and Oberon waited in silence.
No one rushed her.
No one could.
"The ritual," Elara said at last, her voice quiet but unwavering. "It doesn't just need power. It needs us."
She lifted her gaze to Kaelen, searching his face for doubt—and finding none. Only resolve, dark and steady.
"Our bond," she continued. "Our love. That's what seals the King. Not as a cage—but as a prison that cannot rot."
Kaelen's jaw tightened.
He didn't pull away.
"A binding," he said slowly, as if shaping the words carefully. "Echo Stone's pure light. The Dark Echo's essence. And what stands between them…" His thumb brushed her knuckles. "Is us."
Lyra scoffed sharply. "You say that like it's poetic instead of terrifying."
She folded her arms, tail flicking. "What does using your love actually do? Because Fae rituals that involve emotions usually end with screaming, madness, or statues that cry at night."
Elara almost smiled.
Almost.
Elandria stepped forward, her presence silencing the grove itself.
"The ritual draws from the core of their bond," she said. "Not affection. Not desire. Essence." Her eyes softened, sorrow threading through her authority. "The love that defies bloodlines. Species. Time."
She looked directly at Elara and Kaelen.
"It will pour that bond into the Echo Stone. It will cleanse the Dark Echo. Bind the King. And transform the stone into an eternal seal."
A pause.
Then—quietly—
"The cost will be severe."
The words landed like frost.
"The ritual will strain them," Elandria continued. "Their minds. Their souls. Their trust. The King will not remain silent—he will claw at every fracture, every fear. And if their bond falters—"
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
"If it breaks," Lyra muttered, eyes sharp now, "he doesn't just escape."
Elara's breath hitched.
"He becomes part of them," Elandria finished. "Twisting their love into a conduit of corruption."
The grove seemed to dim.
Elara's chest tightened painfully.
Not just Havenwood, she thought. Us.
The King had been right about one thing.
Love was vulnerability.
Kaelen felt her falter before she said a word. He stepped closer, grounding her with his presence.
"The same thing that makes us vulnerable," he said quietly, "is what repels him."
He turned to Elandria, then to the Echo Stone.
"Fear fractured the past," he continued. "We won't repeat it."
He looked back at Elara, his voice softer now. "We won't let it weaken us."
She nodded, swallowing hard.
Say it again, her heart begged. Say you won't doubt me.
Oberon exhaled slowly.
"You speak with conviction," he said. "But conviction is not immunity."
His gaze shifted—subtle, sharp—landing on Kaelen.
"The King does not invent fears," Oberon continued. "He excavates them."
Silence sharpened.
"What do you mean?" Elara asked.
Oberon hesitated.
Then—
"There is something you should know," he said.
Elandria stiffened.
Kaelen felt it before he understood it. A tension coiling low in his chest. Old. Inherited.
"The Vane who forged the pact," Oberon said carefully, "did not act from duty alone."
Kaelen's fingers curled slightly.
"He feared chaos," Oberon went on. "Yes. But not only the King's."
Elara turned to Kaelen.
"What else?" she asked softly.
Oberon's voice dropped.
"He feared the Thorne bloodline."
The words struck like a fault line cracking open.
"He believed the Echo Stone was too volatile," Oberon continued. "That its resonance—combined with mortal emotion—was unstable. Dangerous. He feared that if the Thornes ever lost control…"
Oberon met Elara's gaze, regret heavy in his eyes.
"The King's whispers fed that doubt. Turned caution into mistrust. Love into restraint."
Kaelen's jaw clenched.
"So the pact," Lyra murmured slowly, "wasn't just a sacrifice."
"It was a compromise," Oberon said. "A binding born from fear."
The air between Elara and Kaelen shifted.
Not broken.
But strained.
Elara felt it—an echo she hadn't known was there.
Is that why he hesitates sometimes?Is that why I feel him pull back when power surges?
She turned to Kaelen.
He didn't look away.
But something dark flickered in his eyes.
A memory not his own.
A fear inherited through blood.
The Echo Stone pulsed harder.
Once.
Twice.
From its core, a whisper rose—not the King's voice.
But something closer.
Trust has always been the fracture.
Elara tightened her grip on Kaelen's hand.
The ritual hadn't begun yet.
And already—
The test had.
Elara stared at Kaelen as if the ground beneath her had shifted—and she was the only one still standing on it.
The revelation didn't scream.It settled.
Slow. Heavy. Poisonous.
His ancestors hadn't just feared chaos. They had feared her blood.The Thorne line.The power that lived in her veins.
A seed planted centuries ago. Quiet. Patient. Waiting.
Her throat tightened.
"Is that true?" she whispered.
The grove seemed to lean closer, every leaf listening.
"Kaelen…" Her voice trembled despite her effort. "Did your ancestors truly fear mine?" A breath hitched. "Fear me?"
The question wasn't accusation.
It was hurt.
Kaelen felt it like a blade under his ribs.
He turned fully toward her, releasing no distance between them—not even air. His jaw tightened, not in anger, but restraint.
"The lore was never clear," he said slowly. "Only warnings. Half-truths. Echoes of caution passed down like scars no one remembered earning."
He swallowed.
"But distrust?" His eyes burned. "That was the King."
Elara flinched as his thumb brushed her knuckles.
"He twisted fear into doctrine," Kaelen continued. "Used uncertainty like rot. Just as he tried to do with you." His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. "But hear me now, Elara Thorne—my ancestors' doubts are not mine."
Her breath stuttered.
"I trust you," he said. "With Havenwood. With my life." His voice lowered, raw. "With my heart."
His grip tightened.
A vow without ceremony.
For a heartbeat, Elara felt the King's whispers stir—slithering, opportunistic.
What if he hesitates when it matters?What if fear returns?
Her chest constricted—
Then Kaelen stepped closer.
The warmth of him.The truth in his eyes.
The whispers shattered like glass.
He chose me.Not blood. Not legacy. Me.
She squeezed his hand, grounding herself in the present. In him.
Lyra cleared her throat loudly. "Okay. Emotional breakthrough acknowledged." Her ears flicked. "But if we don't move fast, the King won't need to manipulate anything—we'll hand him the win on a silver platter."
Elandria nodded. "She is right."
Hope flickered in her ancient eyes—but urgency burned brighter.
"The Dark Echo remains beyond our reach," she said. "Still carried by the Collective. They move it between timelines like contraband—feeding the King's influence where it serves them most."
Elara inhaled sharply.
"I can sense it," she said. "Faint—but growing."
Kaelen nodded. "Then we track it. Relentlessly."
"And the Fae faction?" Elara asked. "The ones who tried to stop us?"
"They will interfere," Elandria said honestly. "But they will not strike openly. Not after what you revealed today." Her gaze softened. "You showed them the strength they feared. And the bond they tried to bury."
Kaelen's eyes swept the grove, sharp and calculating. "Then the plan is simple."
Simple—but not easy.
"We follow the Dark Echo's resonance. Retrieve it." He turned to Elara. "And then we return here."
His voice lowered.
"And we bind the King."
Together.
Elara's heart ached.
Fear. Love. Resolve. All tangled tight.
This is it.No more running. No more surviving.
She nodded.
"I'm with you."
She always would be.
The grove seemed to exhale.
Then—
It shuddered.
Not violently.
Wrongly.
A tremor rippled through the clearing, subtle enough to miss—but Elara felt it like ice sliding down her spine.
Time… shifted.
Elandria's eyes widened.
"No," she breathed.
The Echo Stone pulsed sharply—once, twice—its rhythm disrupted.
Lyra stiffened. "That wasn't normal."
Elara's breath caught. I feel it.
A pressure behind her eyes.A pull—like something tugging at her existence.
"The temporal current," Elandria whispered, voice strained. "It's being disturbed."
Kaelen turned sharply. "From where?"
Elandria's gaze snapped to Elara.
"From your time."
Silence slammed down.
"The Collective knows," Elandria said. "Not just that you are here—but what you are doing."
Elara's blood ran cold.
"They're attempting a counter-strike," Elandria continued. "Not here. Not now."
Her voice trembled.
"They're unraveling the timeline."
The words barely made sense.
"They want to erase you," Elandria said softly. "Erase your actions. Ensure the Dark Echo never leaves their control."
A paradox.
A deletion.
Elara's knees weakened—but Kaelen caught her instantly.
"You are running out of time," Elandria said, anguish flooding her expression. "Not just to retrieve the Dark Echo—but to ensure your very existence."
The grove groaned.
Somewhere far beyond it—time itself was tearing.
If we fail…We never existed.
Kaelen's jaw hardened.
"Then we don't fail."
He met Elara's eyes, fierce and unyielding.
"We outrun them."
The Echo Stone flared violently—its blue light spiking like a warning.
From its depths, a distorted pulse surged outward.
The future was moving.
And it was hunting them.
The race had begun.