The Ironroot Forest wasn't supposed to be alive.
And yet, it breathed.
Ael could feel the pulse beneath the soil as he and his party stood at the forest's edge. Towering trees twisted skyward like iron spires, their bark gnarled, branches heavy with black moss that dripped like blood in the evening sun. The ground was damp with rot and whispers.
"This forest wasn't like this before," Elen murmured, brushing her hand along the blade at her hip. "I passed through it once in my training. It was just... old. Quiet."
"It has been twisted," Veyne said. "The Ironroot Crypt lies at the heart. But something else took root after we sealed the guardian."
"Corruption?" Althar asked.
"Something older. Wilder." Veyne's voice was almost reverent. "Not flame. Not void. Nature, unshackled."
Ael's eyes narrowed. "Then we proceed with caution."
They entered the forest in silence. The moment they crossed the threshold, the light dimmed. It wasn't nightfall—just the canopy above growing thicker, devouring the sky.
Each step forward was met with resistance—not physical, but emotional. The deeper they went, the more vivid the memories became. Joy. Sorrow. Regret.
It was as if the forest fed on feeling.
Ael could barely breathe. His chest ached—not with pain, but with unfamiliar weight. He wasn't used to feeling so much all at once.
He gritted his teeth. "It's probing us."
"Yes," Althar said, glancing around uneasily. "The druidic legends say this place used to be sacred. It was where the ancient spirits judged whether a soul could pass into the next world."
"Charming," Elen muttered.
They reached the crypt by nightfall.
It was buried beneath the roots of an ancient tree—its trunk wide enough to house a tower, bark the color of dried blood. At the base, a door of cracked white stone jutted from the earth. Etchings of fire and chains danced across it, but moss had grown over the carvings.
Veyne stepped forward. "This is where we left her. Ashborn Kaelin. She swore to guard this place until summoned."
Althar frowned. "You're sure she hasn't been compromised?"
"No." Veyne's voice was grim. "Which is why you should be ready."
The door opened without a sound.
Inside, the air was cool, sterile—almost peaceful. Dust motes floated in the stillness, undisturbed for decades. The crypt was simple. One long hallway. No traps. No guards. Only a dais at the end… and a woman seated upon it.
She wore no armor. No cloak. Her dress was woven from vines and ash, her hair pale silver and flowing like mist. Her eyes glowed faintly green.
"Ael Kael'tharin," she said, rising with grace. "You have awakened."
Ael took a step forward. "Kaelin. You remember me."
She smiled. "Of course I do. You were my king."
Veyne moved beside Ael. "Sister. Are you still bound to the oath?"
"I am," she said softly. "But my loyalty has changed."
Elen immediately stepped beside Ael, hand on her sword. "That doesn't sound like a warm reunion."
Kaelin tilted her head. "I was alone for too long. Waiting. Listening. This forest… spoke to me. It showed me things you never could. Beauty. Death. Rebirth. And pain. So much pain." Her gaze locked onto Ael's. "I felt it, even when you refused to."
Ael didn't flinch. "You were supposed to guard this place, not become part of it."
"I became it because you left us to rot," she said, voice rising like a storm. "No word. No command. Just silence for over a century. The spirits offered me purpose. I took it."
"She's merged with the forest," Althar muttered. "The druidic pact… it's in her blood now."
Kaelin raised a hand.
Roots erupted from the walls, curling like serpents. Vines lashed toward them.
Ael summoned his flame—not the wild, devouring blaze of Kael'tharin, but a refined, balanced fire. It met the roots and burned only the aggression, not the life. The forest groaned.
"I didn't come to fight you, Kaelin," he said.
"But you will," she replied, stepping down from the dais. "Because you're no longer the king I served. And I'm no longer the woman who waited."
Roots burst from the floor, splitting stone.
Elen dashed forward to meet them, slashing clean arcs of silver light.
Veyne conjured a wall of black flame.
Althar unleashed a ripple of wind magic that tore the vines back.
Ael moved through it all, eyes fixed on Kaelin.
He didn't feel anger.
He didn't feel regret.
He felt... grief.
"Then fight me," he said, stepping forward. "But not as king and subject."
Kaelin smiled sadly.
"Then as what?"
Ael's hand ignited.
"As survivors."