A storm of rage swelled within him—wild, impatient, growing harder and harder to control. It surged like a tempest over a churning sea, crashing waves of emotion into his heart and mind. This wasn't faceless anger. It was directed at one being—the one hidden inside the tree. She was the one who brought suffering upon Lyra. It was her… her power… her decision. Alex felt the heat of that fury burning through his chest like fire.
He had been convinced they had formed a bond. That they had connected on a level beyond words—their minds intertwined like roots beneath the earth. An invisible thread of thought still remained. He had to know.
Without hesitation, he touched the bark again. Its surface was rough, yet alive—pulsing beneath his fingers. It radiated the warmth of a living body and the strength of stone. And then it happened again. His consciousness, seized by an unseen force, was pulled forward. It floated, drifted, delved deeper—toward the heart of the being locked inside the core of this ancient entity.
"What did you do to her?" he asked, the voice in his mind trembling with fury and dread. "She's in pain. She looks like she's dying. Like she's been poisoned by what you gave her."
For a long moment, there was only silence—deep, thick, unsettling. Until finally, from the depths of his mind, a familiar voice spoke. Calm, deep, and resonant like an echo from ancient times.
"Stay calm. She will be fine. She only needs time. Her body is now locked in battle with the magic that was poured into her. It is a natural process. You must wait until the power fully binds with her—until harmony is achieved. Only in symbiosis can she understand its true nature and learn to control it."
The voice was confident, but not arrogant. It sounded like someone who had witnessed such things before—many times.
"The magic will grow within her slowly, not all at once. Before she grasps its essence and learns to wield its full potential, much time must pass. But as long as she remains on this island, I can watch over her. I will ensure nothing happens to her."
Alex took a deep breath, as if only now remembering to breathe. He tried to believe every word. Tried to trust this being, though the fear in his heart did not fade.
Then the voice asked a question that pierced him like a dagger:
"And you? Are you ready?"
Alex raised his head. He didn't need to think.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice quiet but resolute.
"Remember…" the entity said, and now its tone lost its calm, replaced by a shadow of warning. "The power I will give you will not be gentle. It will cause you pain. You must tame it, dominate it, understand it. Because if you don't… it will tame you. What I gave your companion was but a shadow, a mere fragment of the true strength. But you… you are different. Your body already carries a trace of the power. Faint, almost imperceptible—but stronger than hers. It is a pure form, ready for more."
Alex froze. Every word sounded like a sentence, a promise and a curse all at once.
"I will give you the rest of it. And I will bestow upon you the essence of the Beast. It may be the key. It may give you an edge in the fight against the demons. But I warn you: do not allow the Beast to take control. If its instincts cloud your reason, you will become something inhuman. A mindless creature, driven only by hunger and bloodlust. You will kill without reason. Without purpose. Without mercy."
The voice fell silent for a moment, then added with cold certainty:
"And remember. Do not approach your companion now. Do not let her come near you. During the transformation, you may harm her. You might even… kill her."
Those last words struck Alex like a blade to the heart.
"Find our people," the entity added. "Perhaps someone still lives."
Alex's heart pounded like a war drum. His thoughts spun. Kill her? Was that really the price of this power? What kind of gift carried death within it?
And then he felt something touch his legs.
He looked down—tree roots, damp, coarse, and dark, had begun to coil around his ankles. At first gently, as if probing his body… then with force, slicing through skin. Blood trickled from his legs. And then—it began.
Something entered him. He felt it as a pulsing substance, thicker than sap, far darker, being forced into his veins. It was blood. But not his own. It was the blood of the entity.
And it was not dead—it was alive.
And it carried more than power.
It carried a will.