The rain had turned the forest to mud, and each step sank deeper than the last. Kael's boots were soaked through, his legs aching from the climb. He hadn't spoken much since the Blightborn attack. No one had. Their silence felt heavier than the weather.
Behind him, Mira followed, hood up, her braid dark with water. Aven walked ahead, eyes alert, one hand always near his hidden dagger. Berrin—though tired—trudged beside Kael with the quiet strength of a man used to lifting sacks of flour rather than swords.
"We should stop soon," Berrin said finally. "There's shelter ahead."
Kael nodded without looking up. They had crossed from the lowlands into the Weeping Thorns, a region Mira said was once home to the Verdant Circle—druids who had vanished during the Age of Fracture.
Now, it was wild and twisted. Thorns like iron. Trees gnarled with faces that seemed to watch as they passed.
"It feels… wrong here," Mira whispered.
Kael agreed. The light felt strange—filtered not just through branches but through something unseen, something pressing. The kind of place that held breath and never exhaled.
By nightfall, they found a cave partially hidden beneath a vine-covered ridge. Aven checked the perimeter while Berrin started a fire. Mira sat near the entrance, eyes on the trees.
Kael sat alone at the far wall, pulling the Everflame cloth from his satchel. It no longer glowed unless he touched it in a certain way—like a tuning fork only responding to the right emotion. Anger had made it flare before. But now… it was quiet.
"Still no clue what it is?" Mira asked, appearing beside him.
Kael shook his head. "It burns when I'm afraid. It shines when I need it most. But I don't control it. It controls me."
Mira hesitated. "Magic doesn't care for control. It reflects who you are."
"Then maybe I'm broken."
She didn't answer right away. Then: "Or maybe you're just not finished yet."
Kael looked at her. In her eyes, he didn't see pity. Only understanding.
"I used to think healing was the only kind of magic I could do," she said. "But when my mother died… I learned that even light can scorch if you hold it too long."
He wanted to ask what she meant, but footsteps echoed from the tunnel's rear.
Aven appeared, holding a piece of bone.
"I found these in the back. Not animal."
He dropped them. They were human. Charred. Curved oddly, as if bent by heat and fear.
Berrin stood. "We need to move. This place isn't safe."
But then came the voice.
Low. Distant. Echoing from deep within the cave.
"You should not have come here."
They froze.
Kael rose, drawing his training blade.
The air grew cold.
The fire dimmed.
Then—emerging from the tunnel like smoke—came a figure. Not quite solid, not entirely shadow. Cloaked in thorns. Eyes burning red.
It looked at Kael.
"You carry the flame," it said.
Kael swallowed. "Who are you?"
"I am the first to fall. The druid who betrayed the Circle. The one who lit the match."
Mira stepped forward. "A revenant. A bound spirit."
"You were never meant to awaken it," the spirit said. "Not yet."
"What is it?" Kael demanded.
The spirit tilted its head. "The Everflame does not choose lightly. If it burns in your hands, boy, then know this: You are already marked."
The thorns grew up from the ground, snaring Kael's feet.
Mira screamed and raised her hands. Light burst from her palms, striking the spirit. It flinched—barely.
"You must prove worthy," it hissed.
Then the cave shifted. The walls fell away.
Suddenly, they were standing in a hall of fire and ash.
Kael alone.
His friends were gone.
Before him stood a mirror. But in the reflection—it wasn't Kael.
It was a version of him twisted by rage. His eyes were black. His hands burned with fire.
"This is what you become," said the voice.
Kael stepped back. "No. That's not me."
"It is, unless you turn away now."
The dark version raised a blade, stepped forward.
Kael stood his ground.
"I won't give in."
The version of him struck.
Kael blocked. Sparks flew. The battle was fast, brutal. Kael's blade snapped. He dropped to one knee.
"You are not ready," the spirit whispered.
Kael closed his eyes.
He thought of his village.
Of his mother's strength.
Of Mira's words.
You're just not finished yet.
He roared and lunged forward, striking his shadow-self with the broken blade.
The mirror shattered.
The vision vanished.
And Kael collapsed.
When he woke, he was back in the cave. Mira held his head in her lap. Berrin hovered nearby, sword drawn. Aven was breathing hard, bleeding from his temple.
The spirit was gone.
"What happened?" Kael asked, weak.
"You passed the test," Mira said quietly. "We all did."
Aven grinned. "Sort of."
Kael sat up slowly. The cloth in his hand now shimmered—not with fire, but with a steady glow. Warm. Constant.
Not a spark.
A flame.
He had faced himself. And not run.
And for the first time since leaving home, Kael realized something important.
The road ahead would only grow darker.
But he was not walking it alone.