The aftermath of the Bonewoken encounter clung to Kaelion like smoke.
His ribs still ached—not from the fight, but from the release of energy that had surged out of him like a second heartbeat. He hadn't just attacked that creature. He'd answered it.
And that terrified him more than the dream.
The Spiritwild was quieter now. Not dead. Not hiding.
Listening.
Even the wind carried intent, weaving between twisted trees as if wary of getting too close.
Kaelion walked a step behind Wren, watching the way she moved—fluid but alert, one hand near her weapon, every footfall deliberate. Nyro was a ghost beside her, tails twitching like antennae.
He waited until they crossed a narrow path lined with bone-pale trees before breaking the silence.
"You were going to tell me something."
Wren didn't pause. "I was."
"And now?"
She stopped.
The clearing they entered was still and hollowed, a sunken grove wrapped in moss, ringed by trees that bent inward like conspirators. The ground was soft beneath their boots, and the only sound was the breath of leaves above.
Now Wren turned.
And for once, she didn't deflect. She didn't stall.
"I'm going to tell you something else."
Kaelion raised a brow. "That's not ominous or anything."
Wren motioned toward a wide, flat stone jutting from the earth like a broken monument. They sat, knees brushing.
Nyro laid at her side but kept his eyes on Kaelion.
He wasn't growling.
But he wasn't relaxed either.
Kaelion waited.
Wren's voice was steady when she began. "You said no one comes to the Spiritwild unless they're desperate or stupid."
"I remember. You said you were both."
"I lied."
Kaelion gave a short laugh. "Shocking."
Wren ignored it.
"I came here on purpose. I knew someone was going to bond with Umbrix. The signs were there—shifts in the Archive, fading spirit seals, the last Spiral flare recorded on the outer map line. Something was building, and it was only a matter of time before the Gate started to breathe again."
She looked him dead in the eye.
"I didn't expect it to be you."
Kaelion blinked. "Thanks?"
"I mean that," she said. "You're not what I expected. A runaway prince with jokes and bad reflexes? No offense."
"None taken," Kaelion said. "I take pride in being dangerously underwhelming."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"I thought the one who bonded with Umbrix would be… cruel. Lost already. Someone looking to tear down the Archive and crown themselves in bones."
Kaelion lowered his gaze. "Maybe that's what I am. Just taking longer."
"No," she said softly. "You're scared."
"And that's better?"
"It's human. And it means you haven't stopped questioning who you are."
Kaelion looked up.
"I thought you were just trying to survive. That you helped me because it was convenient. Or because you had nowhere else to go."
"I do want to survive," she said. "But I've always had somewhere to go. I chose to stay here."
He stared at her.
"You knew about the Gate. About Umbrix. And you didn't tell me."
Wren nodded once. "I didn't think you were ready."
Kaelion stood abruptly, pacing in the grove, hands clenching and unclenching. "And now?"
"Now you've survived a Bonewoken, fought through your first Trial, and resisted the Veilseekers' prophecy speech without flinching."
Kaelion turned on her. "I flinched. Repeatedly."
"You came out of all of it still yourself. That's not nothing."
"Then say it," he snapped. "Say you came here to stop me."
"I didn't."
He stopped pacing.
Wren stood, her tone calm but firm.
"I came to see if it could be different this time."
Kaelion's voice cracked. "Different how?"
"Every Spiral-bonded before you has either died, lost control, or vanished."
Kaelion closed his eyes. "So I'm a case study."
"No," she said gently. "You're the only one who asked me to walk beside you."
That quieted him.
He turned away again. "What if the Gate opens because I exist? What if I'm the key?"
Wren crossed the space between them. "Then we make sure you're strong enough to hold what walks through."
"She's not wrong," Umbrix murmured. "The Spiral King's echo is in you. But it's not a prophecy—it's potential."
"You still believe in me after that dream?"
"You resisted. That's more than most."
Kaelion let out a shaky breath.
He slumped down on the edge of the stone, the moss cool against his palms.
"I don't want to become something that hurts people."
"You already are," Wren said.
Kaelion stiffened.
Wren crouched in front of him.
"But you care. That's the difference. And it's why you still have a choice."
They camped that night near a root formation that curved overhead like an open ribcage. It was warm there, shielded. Kaelion started the fire with trembling fingers. Not from fear—just exhaustion.
Wren prepared their rations in silence. Nyro circled twice and curled beside her, his fur rising occasionally.
Kaelion stared into the flames.
"Have you ever seen the Gate?" he asked.
Wren didn't answer immediately.
"No," she said. "But I've read about it. In banned scrolls. In the ruins of cities that aren't on maps anymore."
Kaelion looked at her.
"What does it do?"
She shrugged slightly. "Depends on who opens it."
"That's not comforting."
"Neither is prophecy."
He smiled faintly. "Fair."
Later, Kaelion lay on his back, staring up at a sky that had cleared just enough for the stars to peek through. Only a few, but it felt like they were watching.
He turned his head toward Wren, who sat sharpening a blade with quiet focus.
"Do you ever think about what happens after all this?" he asked.
She looked at him. "After the Gate?"
"After everything."
She set the blade down. "I used to."
"And now?"
"I don't let myself."
He nodded, eyes flicking back to the stars. "Maybe if we make it out of this, I'll show you my favorite tower in the palace gardens."
Wren's voice was gentle. "Maybe I'll actually let you lead me somewhere for once."
Kaelion grinned. "Terrifying thought."
Then he closed his eyes.
And he dreamed not of fire—
—but of a boy standing on cracked marble, whispering a name he'd never spoken aloud before.
Umbrixar.
In the waking dark, Wren opened her eyes.
She hadn't slept.
She never did, not fully.
Her gaze drifted to Kaelion's sleeping form. Then to the Spiral glow that still pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
She reached toward it.
Stopped.
And whispered, so softly even Nyro didn't stir:
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything."