Kaelion sat in silence, the breath finally returning to his lungs in small, jagged pieces. The moss beneath him pulsed faintly like a slow heartbeat, and the massive Echo Tree stood behind him—silent now, its runes dulled to a fading glow.
The memory fragment still throbbed in his skull. A boy on a throne of ash. A battlefield soaked in gold and blood. A voice that echoed with a thousand regrets and a crown he didn't want.
"They will not take me. I am the bond unbroken."
He rubbed his eyes with shaking hands.
"Cool," he muttered, "so now I'm a walking prophecy with abandonment issues."
"You could be worse things," Umbrix replied.
"I'm sure I will be by Chapter Five."
"Ah, self-awareness. It's almost like growth."
Kaelion forced himself to his feet, slow and unsteady. The pain in his limbs had dulled to a background hum, but the tension in the air had not.
The Spiritwild was quiet.
Not peaceful. Not empty.
Listening.
Even the leaves above him didn't rustle. The shadows leaned inward like a breath held too long. Kaelion turned in a slow circle, dagger drawn.
Something had shifted the moment he touched the Echo Tree. He could feel it in his bones. He didn't know what he'd awakened—but it knew him.
He wasn't alone anymore.
Another whisper of movement. This time not imagined.
Kaelion ducked behind a massive root, crouched low. Something was coming.
Not charging. Not growling. Just moving… deliberately.
Footsteps. Light, practiced. Careful.
Too quiet for a beast.
He held his breath.
The moment the figure crossed the tree line, Kaelion lunged.
His shoulder caught them mid-step and slammed them into the moss. But the figure twisted out from under him and rolled, kicking his legs out. Kaelion hit the ground with a grunt and immediately scrambled to his feet, dagger drawn.
So did his opponent.
Cloaked, hooded, shorter than him, but steady.
They raised their hands—open-palmed. "Wow. Strong greeting for someone who didn't lead with a weapon."
Voice: female. Sharp. Measured.
Kaelion didn't lower the dagger. "Didn't lead with claws either. Bonus points."
She lowered her hood.
Short silver hair, sharp gray eyes, a thin scar beneath her left cheekbone.
And a stare like she was reading a book he hadn't realized he'd written.
"You're the prince," she said simply.
Kaelion blinked. "Ex-prince. Disgraced. Outvoted. Fallen off a tower and landed in a horror forest. It's been a week."
She didn't smile. "Kaelion Vael. Bonded to a spirit not listed in the Archive. One that darkens runes and bends trees."
Kaelion groaned. "Let me guess—you're here to kill me, too?"
"No," she said. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be bleeding."
"She's not wrong," Umbrix noted. "Her stance is balanced. Quick reflexes. At least Tier Three training."
"You're just impressed she kicked me."
"I'm always impressed when someone else shuts you up."
Kaelion finally lowered the dagger. "Name?"
"Wren."
She gave a low whistle, and something small darted from the trees. It landed on her shoulder in a flicker of crimson.
A fox-like creature with twin tails, ember-colored eyes, and semi-transparent fur shimmered into view.
Kaelion's mouth parted. "Okay, I take back everything I said about spirits being terrifying. That's adorable."
Wren stroked its ears absently. "This is Nyro. He's not fond of unknown variables."
Nyro didn't blink. He stared at Kaelion—not at his eyes, but at his chest. Right where Umbrix coiled.
The fur along Nyro's neck stood on end.
A faint growl vibrated the air.
Kaelion raised his hands. "Hey, I come in peace."
Wren narrowed her eyes. "Nyro says your bond stinks of something buried. Something that's not supposed to be here."
Kaelion's grin faltered.
"Charming," Umbrix whispered. "Your spirit-fox is very rude."
"He's sniffing our soul. He's allowed to be tense."
"I didn't exactly choose Umbrix," Kaelion said carefully. "He sort of… slithered into my life."
"That thing inside you feels older than anything I've sensed," Wren said. "Older than the forest. Older than the Archive."
Kaelion shrugged. "Yeah, well, he's not great with introductions. Likes long walks through your subconscious and leaving cryptic trauma."
Nyro hissed.
Wren didn't look away. "What did the tree show you?"
Kaelion hesitated.
Images flashed in his mind. A boy who looked like him—but wasn't. A spiral crown. War. Blood.
"Memories," he said quietly. "Not mine. Maybe… maybe Umbrix's. Maybe a past life? I don't know."
Wren stepped toward the Echo Tree and laid a hand against the bark. Nothing happened.
"No reaction," she muttered.
Kaelion frowned. "It only opens for me?"
"Only high-level resonance triggers the runes," she said. "Or something the tree remembers." She looked at him. "It remembered you."
Kaelion felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mist.
"Tread carefully," Umbrix warned. "She is dangerous. But not an enemy."
"Then what?"
"A witness."
Wren turned back toward the woods. "We need to move. The Nightjaws will have felt the energy spike from the Echo Tree."
"That name keeps getting worse the more I hear it."
"They're corrupted hounds," she explained. "Spirit-bound creatures twisted by the wild. They feed on resonance. Especially rare ones."
Kaelion winced. "So me?"
"You're a feast."
She started walking. Kaelion followed, slower.
"Why help me?" he asked. "You don't owe me anything. In fact, you probably shouldn't help me."
Wren didn't turn around. "I've seen power like yours before. I've seen what happens when it's left alone too long. It either burns out…"
"…or burns everything," Kaelion finished.
"Exactly."
They walked in silence for a moment. Nyro padded beside them, his tails flicking like metronomes.
"I'm not him, you know," Kaelion said softly. "The Spiral King. Or whatever the tree thinks I am."
"You're something," she said. "The question is what."
He snorted. "Thanks. That's super comforting."
"Don't get used to it."
"I like her," Umbrix said. "She's blunt."
"She's got knives. Of course you do."
As they left the clearing, Kaelion glanced back.
The Echo Tree stood silent. The runes no longer glowed.
The forest behind them shifted—slowly closing in, like a curtain being drawn.
Kaelion felt it again.
The sense that something in the roots below remembered him.
Feared him.
Or was simply waiting.