The morning after the roses bloomed, Selene woke with thorns in her dreams.
Not just the crawling vines that now laced the walls of Kelthas, but ancient ones — older than stone or blood. They slithered across her skin in sleep, whispering names she didn't recognize. Names that sounded like spells. Like songs. Like promises.
She sat upright in her cot, gasping, drenched in sweat. Sunlight streamed through the herb-draped windows, casting long shadows that curled like roots. Somewhere beyond her walls, someone called her name.
"Selene."
She knew the voice. Rough silk and quiet command.
Callan.
She was up before her thoughts caught up.
He stood at the edge of the healer's garden, arms crossed, shadows under his eyes. The roses had climbed the fence overnight — twisting up the posts, trailing blossoms like blood-drops.
Selene stopped at the threshold. "You came early."
"You said you'd choose this."
"I did."
His gaze flickered down to her hands. She realized she was still trembling from the dream.
"You dreamed of them," he said.
"How do you know?"
"I always do, before something shifts."
Selene exhaled, trying to settle the pounding in her chest. "What are they?"
"Memories," Callan said, "but not only ours. The Thornbond connects more than the two of us. It runs through a line — like a river through generations."
"You mean there were others?"
He nodded. "Each pair chosen by the bond leaves something behind. Echoes. Feelings. Sometimes warnings."
"Warnings?"
Callan hesitated. "The bond awakens during great change. Or great ruin."
Selene stepped forward, voice firm. "Then tell me everything."
He watched her carefully. "Come with me."
They walked beyond the edge of Kelthas, where the trees grew wild and the air changed — cooler, hungrier.
"I came from the north," Callan said. "Through flame, through cities turned to ash. I ran for weeks. Not from soldiers — from something worse."
"What?"
He didn't speak at first. Then, quietly: "The Hollow King."
Selene shivered. Everyone had heard the name in whispers. A phantom ruler. A god who had been man once. A legend born of betrayal.
"You fought in his wars?"
Callan nodded. "I served his enemy. Or thought I did. In truth, they were both monsters. And I—" His jaw tightened. "I thought if I ran far enough, I could leave it all behind. But the bond… it found me. Pulled me here."
Selene's brow furrowed. "Why now?"
"That's the part I don't know. Or didn't."
He stopped walking. They stood before an ancient oak — vast, gnarled, split down the middle as if struck by lightning. Between the halves, thornbriar vines wove a curtain of bloodred blossoms.
Callan gestured to the opening. "This wasn't here yesterday."
Selene stepped forward. The thorns parted as she approached, not tearing her skin, but recognizing her. Welcoming.
"Go through," he said.
"Why me?"
"Because I can't."
She turned. "What happens if I do?"
"I think you'll see what I saw when the bond marked me. I think you'll understand why it had to be you."
Selene's heart pounded. But she stepped into the light.
And vanished.
She found herself in a forest soaked with gold. Not real gold — light. Warm, pulsing, alive. It shimmered between branches that hung heavy with silverfruit. Beneath her feet, the moss glowed faintly, and every breath felt like drinking starlight.
But what caught her breath was the couple in the clearing.
A woman in green armor, her braid long and tangled with flowers. A man cloaked in storm-feathers, eyes like Callan's.
They stood with their foreheads pressed together, speaking in a language Selene didn't know — but somehow understood.
"I would burn the world to find you again," he said.
"And I would let it burn, if you died in it," she replied.
Then they kissed.
And as they did, the thorns burst from the ground — wrapping around their bodies, glowing with light.
Then—
Darkness.
And Selene was falling.
She landed back in the glade with a cry.
Callan caught her. "What did you see?"
She shook her head. "Them. Another bonded pair."
"Your past selves, perhaps. Or echoes. Or something older."
"They loved each other."
"All Thornbonded do," Callan said softly. "That's the danger."
Selene looked at him. "Do you?"
"What?"
"Do you love me?"
His breath hitched. "Selene, we just—"
"I don't mean now. I mean… does the bond make it inevitable?"
He looked away. "The bond can awaken love. But it can't fake it. That part's still ours."
Selene nodded slowly. "Then let's decide what we make of it."
They returned to Kelthas in silence, but it was not a silence born of distance. Rather, it was full — of thought, of possibility.
But the village was not as they left it.
People stood in clusters, whispering. The roses had crept farther — along rooftops, curling into windows. But it wasn't the roses that made Selene's stomach twist.
It was the man in the square.
He wore silver armor, polished and cruel. A symbol shaped like a hollow eye marked his chest.
"Who is that?" she asked.
Callan went still. "A herald."
"Of the Hollow King?"
He nodded.
The man spotted them. Smiled.
Callan stepped in front of her. "Stay behind me."
But the herald raised a hand, peaceful.
"I come not for war," he said, voice smooth as oil. "Only a message."
Callan didn't move.
The herald's eyes flicked to Selene. "You are the girl who bloomed the thorns."
She blinked. "What?"
"The bond has been seen," the herald continued. "The Hollow King dreams of you now. And he would offer a warning."
"What kind of warning?"
The herald smiled wider. "If you run, he'll chase you. If you hide, he'll find you. But if you come to him… he'll spare your village."
A ripple of unease passed through the gathered crowd.
Callan stepped forward. "She won't go anywhere near him."
The herald's gaze turned cold. "Then the roses will burn."
He turned and vanished into smoke.
Selene's breath caught.
The villagers looked at her now. Not with wonder. With fear.
"What did he mean?" she whispered.
"That the bond isn't just a gift," Callan said. "It's a beacon. And he means to snuff it out."
Selene clenched her fists. "Let him come."
Callan turned to her, eyes burning. "No. I won't lose another."
She stepped close. "You won't."
"I've seen how this ends."
"Then let's change the ending."
He stared at her — fierce, wild, disbelieving.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
That night, they lit no lamps.
They sat by the window in her room, watching the roses pulse with a strange inner glow. Each bloom a heartbeat. A warning. A promise.
"Tell me about your past," Selene whispered. "Who you were before this."
Callan didn't answer at once. Then: "I was a shadow. A blade in someone else's hand. Until the bond found me. Until you."
She took his hand. "You're not just a weapon."
"I don't know how to be anything else."
"Then let me show you."
Their fingers laced. Slowly. Like the first line of a vow.
Callan leaned close. "You should be afraid of me."
"I'm not."
"Why?"
Selene smiled softly. "Because I think you're more afraid of yourself."
He exhaled sharply. "You might be right."
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle.
It was raw — the kind of kiss that tasted like survival. Like fire and thunder and thorns blooming in the dark.
It was not a beginning.
It was a claiming.
When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead to hers. "This will ruin us."
"Maybe," she whispered. "But maybe it'll save us."
Outside, the roses bloomed brighter than ever.
And far away, in a castle carved from bone and sorrow, the Hollow King opened his eyes.
And smiled.