The Fae grove no longer breathed.
It trembled.
The air shimmered like overheated glass, warping at the edges as if reality itself was struggling to remember how it was meant to exist. Time twisted in uneven pulses, each ripple a silent scream from the future—the Collective clawing backward, desperate to erase two souls who had already broken too many rules.
Elara felt it in her bones.
Her heartbeat echoed too loudly in her ears, syncing with the frantic rattle of leaves overhead. The ancient trees shuddered, bark splitting in thin glowing veins, as though even they were resisting being rewritten.
Elandria stood at the center of it all, power rolling off her in steady waves. Ancient. Exhausting. Necessary. Her hands glowed faintly as she anchored what little stability remained, her expression carved from grim resolve.
"We're running out of time," she said quietly.
Kaelen's gaze never left the deepest part of the grove. Somewhere beyond the warped light and bending ley lines, something called to him. Soft. Persistent.
"The amulet," he said. His voice was steady, but Elara felt the tension beneath it. "The Sunstone is here. I can feel it. It's our only chance." He swallowed. "It can stabilize the temporal flow. And without it, we'll never retrieve the Dark Echo before they succeed in erasing us."
The words settled heavily between them.
Elara's fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve. "And if they do?" she asked softly. "If they succeed in erasing us?"
For once, no one rushed to reassure her.
Elandria met her gaze, and the sorrow there was devastatingly honest. "Then a paradox will fracture the future," she said. "The timeline will attempt to correct itself. Pieces of existence may vanish. Others will warp." Her voice dropped. "Havenwood could become something unrecognizable. Worse than the fate you have already fought to prevent."
Elara exhaled slowly. So we don't just die. We break everything.
"Well," Lyra muttered, shifting her weight as her claws slid free, eyes glowing gold. "That's comforting. A fight for our lives and our right to exist. Time travel officially sucks."
Oberon didn't laugh this time.
He drew his blade, the metal singing softly as it caught the warped light. "The irony," he said darkly, "is unbearable. The Fae who feared intervention created this catastrophe by trying to avoid it." His jaw tightened. "Fear masquerading as wisdom has always been our greatest flaw."
Kaelen's expression hardened. "They're not just acting from the future." He lifted his hand, palm hovering over a subtle distortion in the grove—a ripple that didn't belong. "I can feel it. Their magic is anchored here. In this time."
Elandria closed her eyes for a moment, as if bracing herself. "Then it has begun."
She opened them again, pain flickering through her ancient composure. "The elder who leads this faction is not merely misguided. He is collaborating with the Collective."
Elara's breath caught. "Collaborating?"
"Yes." Elandria's voice was heavy now. "He believes erasing you—both of you—is the only way to prevent a future catastrophe. A future where your bond with the Echo Stone does not bind the King… but unleashes him."
Silence crashed down.
Oberon went still.
Elandria turned to him. "His name is Xylos."
Oberon's lips parted slightly. "No…"
"He is your ancestor," she said gently. "And once, he was a guardian like you. Brilliant. Devoted." Her gaze shifted to Elara. "Until the King corrupted someone he loved. Twisted them beyond recognition."
Understanding hit Elara like a blade.
This isn't cruelty. It's terror.
"So the one Fae we need to convince," Lyra said slowly, "is actively trying to wipe you two out of the timeline because he thinks you're the problem." She huffed. "Fantastic."
"Family reunions are always messy," Oberon muttered, though his usual humor rang hollow. His eyes were dark, haunted. "Xylos doesn't see possibilities. He sees consequences."
"This changes everything," Kaelen said quietly. His jaw flexed. "Xylos is powerful. If he's anchoring the Collective's interference here, reaching the amulet won't just be difficult. It may be impossible."
"No," Elara said sharply. "It's still possible."
They all looked at her.
"We have to make him understand," she continued, voice steady despite the fear clawing at her ribs. "The future he's trying to prevent isn't inevitable. Choice still matters. Love still matters."
Elandria's expression softened—but there was sorrow there too. "Grief is a prison, Elara. And Xylos has lived inside his for centuries. He truly believes he is saving Havenwood."
Before Elara could respond, the grove shifted.
The trees parted unnaturally, bark bending inward as if bowing to an unseen command.
Figures stepped through the shimmering veil.
Fae.
Not corrupted. Not broken.
But rigid. Armed. Suspicious.
At their center walked a tall elder with silver-bound hair and eyes like frozen moss—green, sharp, haunted. His presence alone pressed down on the grove, thornwood staff striking the earth with deliberate finality.
Oberon's breath caught.
It's like looking into a mirror that chose fear instead of hope.
"Enough," Xylos commanded, his voice resonating with ancient authority. "You will go no further."
His gaze locked onto Elara.
"You tamper with forces beyond mortal comprehension," he continued coldly. "You threaten the balance of Havenwood itself."
Elara stepped forward before anyone could stop her.
"We're trying to save it!" she said, voice ringing clear despite the fear. The locket at her throat flared, blue light pulsing outward—warm, defiant. "The King's influence is already poisoning this timeline! We've seen what happens if no one stops him!"
Xylos lifted his staff.
The green glow intensified, leeching warmth from the air, frost creeping along the ground beneath Elara's feet.
"That power," he said hoarsely, pain breaking through his stern mask. "It calls to him. It always has." His eyes flickered with old agony. "I watched love turn into a weapon once. I will not watch it happen again."
The grove held its breath.
Two paths.Two versions of love.
And one elder standing between salvation and erasure—ready to choose fear, even if it destroyed the future to do it.
The grove quaked with tension, the very air trembling as though it feared what was about to unfold. Temporal distortions twisted the leaves, warping the path beneath their feet. Shadowed fragments of the Collective flickered at the edges of reality, invisible threads of power tugging at the Fae and the Thorne alike.
Xylos stood at the heart of it all, his staff glowing an unholy green, his expression taut with grief, determination, and unyielding fear. His voice cut through the distorted air like jagged glass.
"You know nothing of the true cost, mortal!" he roared, pain and fury coiling together. "Of the agonizing choices we made! Of losing someone to the King's insidious grasp!" His trembling finger jabbed at Elara's locket. "That power… it is too dangerous! It calls him! It corrupts! The Sunstone Amulet… it was crafted against your kind, Thorne! To guard the Echo Stone from your chaos!"
Elara's chest tightened. The locket burned against her skin, its pulse in perfect sync with her racing heart. The Amulet—her key to salvation—was also a weapon forged to oppose her very existence. Every hope she had, every plan, felt suddenly threatened by centuries of fear.
Kaelen's gaze hardened, cold as obsidian. "Sentient?" he asked, voice low, deadly precise. "Bound to protect the Echo Stone from the Thorne lineage? This isn't just fear—it's ancestral judgment."
Xylos's eyes blazed, his hands quivering as raw Fae power surged outward. "Truth!" he spat. "The Thorne bloodline, uncontrolled, risks everything! Havenwood is already under threat from the King. Your power… your kind… it could destroy everything we've fought to protect!"
The grove shuddered violently, twisted vines erupting from the earth, snaking toward Elara with malevolent intent.
Kaelen's dark energy flared, intercepting each lash of the thorns. Shadows and light collided in arcs of raw force, echoing through the grove. "Your fear blinds you, Xylos!" he shouted. "It's the King's whispers feeding you lies! Havenwood needs Thorne power—guided by love, not contained by paranoia!"
But the battle was no longer physical alone. Temporal distortions pulsed around them, bending time into impossible angles. Shadowed figures of the Collective flickered into view at the edges of the grove, their energy probing, testing, trying to trap them in a fractured alternate future where the King already reigned supreme.
Elandria's voice rang through the chaos. "He's trying to strand them! Xylos is using the Amulet's energy to lock them in an alternate timeline—a reality where the King wins!"
Elara's heart ached as she watched Xylos, seeing not malice but tragedy, a life shaped by grief and the King's corruption. He's afraid. He's always afraid.
"Xylos!" she cried, stepping forward despite the swirling distortions and thorns. "Stop! You're playing right into the King's hands! Havenwood doesn't need fear. It needs trust. It needs love!"
Xylos faltered, the green glow of his staff flickering as doubt mingled with anger, grief, and confusion.
"It's the only way to save Havenwood!" he spat, voice breaking. He raised the staff higher, channelling the Amulet's energy, twisting the very temporal flow around them. The light bent, swirled, aiming to trap them in the fractured timeline.
Elara's hand gripped the locket. She closed her eyes and focused, not on power, not on force, but on understanding. Every beat of her heart, every memory of Kaelen, every act of courage and love—she poured it all into the energy of the locket.
The blue glow erupted, a wave of pure, unfiltered empathy, cascading outward, cutting through the green of Xylos's staff. It connected with the Amulet, its pulse recognizing the Thorne lineage, recognizing the love that had endured centuries of manipulation. For a moment, the air was silent, heavy with the weight of choice.
Xylos's eyes widened, his expression caught between fear, anger, and dawning understanding. The Sunstone Amulet shivered in his grip, its sentience responding, its allegiance faltering as the Thorne power—pure, unbroken—reached into it.
The collective distortions twisted violently, struggling against Elara's presence, but the locket's power, amplified by her bond with Kaelen, formed a bridge. A fragile thread linking past and future, fear and hope, grief and love.
The grove trembled again, violently this time, as the balance teetered. Shadowed figures of the Collective shimmered at the edges, unable to fully intervene, their energy spilling into temporal cracks that threatened to fracture the entire grove.
And in the center of it all, Elara held out her hand, and the blue light of the locket blazed, pure and unwavering, cutting through the shadows, piercing Xylos's fear, and igniting the first true glimmer of choice in his centuries-old heart.
The fate of Havenwood, of two timelines, and of every heart that had ever loved, hung on the fragile thread of one desperate act of understanding. And it was the last chance they would have.