The Fae grove trembled.
Not from wind.Not from battle.
From time itself.
The air shimmered like broken glass, bending and snapping back, as if reality could no longer decide what it wanted to be. Ancient trees shuddered, their silver leaves rattling in a strange rhythm—too steady, too sharp. It sounded like a heartbeat that didn't belong to the grove.
Elara felt it in her chest.
Fast. Uneven.
They're really trying to erase us.
Elandria stood at the center of the clearing, both hands raised, emerald light pulsing from her palms as she poured her power into the grove. Her face was tight with strain, jaw clenched, eyes burning with focus.
"This distortion is no accident," she said. "The Collective is pulling hard from your time. They are tearing at the ley lines—trying to snap your existence clean out of the weave."
Kaelen's gaze was fixed ahead, sharp and unblinking. He could feel it too—the tug, the pull, like something unseen trying to drag him backward through nothing.
"The Sunstone Amulet," he said firmly. "It's our only anchor. If we don't reach it soon, they'll succeed. And if they do…" He didn't finish the sentence.
Elara swallowed. "What happens if they win?"
Silence fell.
Elandria lowered her hands slowly and met Elara's eyes. There was no comfort there. Only truth.
"A paradox," she said softly. "Your future fractures. Your past becomes unstable. You may vanish… or worse. History may reshape itself without you ever having existed."
Elara's breath hitched.
No me. No us. No Havenwood saved.
Lyra let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "So let me get this straight. We're fighting for our lives, our future, and the right to exist at all?" She rolled her shoulders, claws flexing. "I hate time magic."
"You and me both," Oberon muttered, drawing a thin blade of shimmering Fae steel. For once, there was no teasing in his eyes. "This is what happens when fear is allowed to masquerade as wisdom."
Kaelen stepped closer to Elara, his presence solid, grounding. "They're not only pulling from the future," he said darkly. "I can feel interference here. In this time."
He pointed toward the eastern edge of the grove.
There—just barely—magic rippled wrong. Too smooth. Too controlled.
Elandria's expression hardened. "They are here," she confirmed. "A faction of my court. The same ones who once chose fear over trust."
Elara's stomach twisted. "They're helping the Collective?"
"They believe they are protecting Havenwood," Elandria said, pain threading her voice. "They fear the King's destruction will unbalance the realms. They think containment is safer than freedom."
"But they're wrong," Kaelen said flatly.
"Yes," Elandria whispered. "And the King knows it. His whispers feed their doubt. Their caution. Their need to control."
Elara let out a short, bitter breath. "So we have enemies in the future trying to erase us… and enemies in the past trying to stop us." She shook her head. "This story really doesn't believe in mercy."
Lyra cracked her neck. "Say the word, Thorne. My pack can handle misguided Fae just fine."
"No," Elara said sharply.
Everyone turned to her.
She stepped forward, heart pounding, but her voice didn't shake.
"We don't fight them," she said. "Not like that."
Lyra frowned. "You're kidding, right?"
"They're not monsters," Elara continued. "They're afraid. Just like the Vane ancestor was. Just like Havenwood always has been."
Kaelen watched her closely, something fierce and proud stirring in his eyes.
"If we attack them," Elara said, "we prove them right. We prove that power only destroys."
Oberon tilted his head. "And your alternative?"
Elara lifted her chin. "We show them the truth. The King's lies. The future he brings. We show them that love—real love—is not chaos."
She reached back and took Kaelen's hand.
"It's the only thing he can't control."
The grove shuddered again—harder this time.
Somewhere deep within the forest, magic shifted.
They were running out of time.
And the Fae who once betrayed Havenwood were already moving to stop them.
Kaelen tightened his grip around Elara's hand, grounding her before the grove could tear them apart.
"She's right," he said, voice calm but unyielding. "Violence will only confirm their fear. It will feed the King's whispers. That's what he wants." His silver eyes burned with quiet certainty. "We reach the amulet. We remind them who they once were—what they once swore to protect."
Lyra snorted. "Ah yes. A heartfelt speech to paranoid ancient Fae while time is literally trying to erase us." She cracked her knuckles. "Can't wait."
"We're not just talking," Elara snapped, turning to Lyra. Her voice carried steel now—earned, not borrowed. "We're showing them."
She touched the locket at her throat. It pulsed, warm and alive, as if responding to her resolve.
"We'll show them the truth," she said. "What Havenwood becomes if fear wins. What it could be if it doesn't." Her gaze flicked to Kaelen, soft for a heartbeat. "The Echo Stone isn't just power. It's memory. Love. It remembers what the King tries to erase."
Elandria watched her closely, something ancient shifting behind her eyes. "If you awaken the old bonds," she said slowly, "if you remind them of the alliances forged before fear ruled this realm…" A fragile hope crept into her voice. "You may succeed where we failed."
The grove darkened as they moved forward.
The distortion worsened.
The air bent strangely, colors blurring at the edges. Each step felt heavier, like walking through thick water. Magic scraped against Elara's skin—uneasy, suspicious.
Then the trees parted.
Figures emerged from the shadows.
Tall. Luminous. Armed.
Their wings shimmered faintly, not corrupted, not broken—but rigid. Controlled. Their eyes held no madness. Only judgment.
"Enough," a voice boomed.
The speaker stepped forward, staff planted firmly against the earth. He was striking—silver hair bound back, sharp features carved by centuries of command. There was something painfully familiar about him.
Oberon stiffened beside Elara.
No…
"You will not proceed," the elder said. "You meddle with forces beyond mortal comprehension. You threaten the balance of Havenwood itself."
Elara stepped forward before anyone could stop her.
"We're trying to save it!" she said, breathless but fierce. The locket flared bright blue, light spilling across the clearing. "The King's influence is already poisoning this timeline! We've seen what happens if no one stops him!"
The elder's gaze snapped to the locket.
Pain flickered across his face—raw and sudden.
"That power," he said hoarsely. "You dare wield it so openly?" His voice trembled with something deeper than anger. "It calls to him. It always does."
Oberon took a shaky step forward. "Ancestor…" The word tasted strange in his mouth. "You're wrong."
The elder turned sharply. "You wear my face," he said coldly. "But you do not carry my scars."
Silence fell heavy.
Elandria's breath caught. So it is true.
"He lost someone," she whispered to Kaelen. "Someone he loved. The King twisted them. Turned love into a weapon."
The elder's hand tightened around his staff. "You know nothing," he snarled at Elara. "Nothing of watching someone you love rot from the inside. Of choosing containment over annihilation because annihilation felt kinder."
Elara's chest burned.
He's not cruel. He's terrified.
Kaelen stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "We know loss," he said quietly. "We know fear. Havenwood is dying because of it."
The elder's eyes darkened. "And you think love will fix what power could not?"
"Yes," Kaelen said without hesitation. He looked at Elara then—open, unguarded. "Because love is the one thing the King cannot corrupt unless we let him."
Elara raised her hand, palm open.
The locket responded.
Light spread—not blinding, not violent—but warm. Gentle. The grove shuddered as the distortion faltered, just for a moment.
"We're not asking you to surrender," Elara said softly. "We're asking you to remember."
The elder faltered.
Time screamed.
The grove convulsed as the future pulled harder—reality tearing at the seams.
The elder stood trembling, torn between past pain and present hope.
And as the light surged, the King's whisper slithered through the air—
Waiting.
Watching.
Ready to claim whichever heart broke first.