The Thorn Prince crouched beneath a twisted tree; his clawed hand pressed to the earth. Moonlight sliced through the canopy, glinting off the jagged thorns curling along his arms. His breath fogged the cold air, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
Above, a nightbird screamed and fell silent its shadow snatched midair.
He rose slowly. He knew who approached.
Thorn Prince (low, bitter): "I told you never to come here, Nyssa."
From the darkness, Lady Nyssa emerged, her fade cloak trailing light like spun frost. Her eyes gleamed green, sharp as poisoned glass.
Lady Nyssa (purring):
"Oh, my dear prince... you think you can hide from me in your pretty little forest? You think your trees will save you from the world crumbling outside?"
The Thorn Prince bared his teeth sharper now, more beast than man.
Thorn Prince: "I'm not hiding. I'm deciding."
Nyssa circled him, fingers grazing the blackened thorns snaking up his arm.
Lady Nyssa (soft, dangerous): "They call you cursed. They call you broken. The nobles want your head. The goddess you once served doesn't even know you exist anymore. Tell me, what's left for you, hmm?"
He flinched. Just slightly.
Thorn Prince (hoarse): "She spared me once. When Vaelith cast me aside, she lifted me from the dirt. I owe her."
Nyssa laughed, silvery and sharp.
Lady Nyss: "Owe her? She's fading, little thorn. The world forgets her name, even now. Do you really want to throw yourself on the pyre of a dying god?"
He clenched his fists, the thorns digging into his skin. Blood dripped softly into the moss.
Thorn Prince (fierce): "Then let me burn beside her."
For a heartbeat, Nyssa stilled.
Then her grin split wide.
Lady Nyssa:
"Oh, darling... I was hoping you'd say that."
With a snap of her fingers, the ground split open behind her. Dozens of fae soldiers emerged, pale and cruel, blades gleaming.
Lady Nyssa (mocking):
"The Unmaker sent us a gift. A chance to end your little rebellion before it begins."
The Thorn Prince roared not words, not human and drew his cursed blade.
Moonlight kissed the steel, the ancient runes flaring like old wounds reopened.
The forest exploded into chaos.
Fae archers loosed spectral arrows.
Thorn vines writhed to life at the prince's command, wrapping, crushing, splitting the ground.
Nyss danced between shadows, her magic like frostbite, sapping the heat from his veins.
But the Thorn Prince fought like a beast unchained.
Thorn Prince (snarling):
"Tell the Unmaker
the thorns remember."
When the final blow came, it wasn't gentle.
He shattered Nyss's blade, slammed her to the earth, and hissed inches from her face.
Thorn Prince (whispering):
"If the gods fall,
the earth will rise for them."
He let her live.
He wanted her to carry the warning.
As she vanished into the woods, bloodied and furious, the Thorn Prince sank to one knee, panting.
The sky above the academy was dark, but not with storm with something thinner, older. As if the light itself had grown tired.
Mina sat alone in the old observatory. Not for stargazing.
For silence.
She clutched the edge of the desk where she once doodled notes during spell theory. Her hands trembled. Her eyes burned.
Then
Not pain. Not fear.
But memory.
A voice lit the air. Not spoken. Not heard.
Aurelith.
"The world forgets me, Mina," it whispered.
"But I remember you."
Mina didn't move. Couldn't speak.
"There is still one place," Aurelith said, "where my name has not been erased. Go to Stone Hollow. To the ones who first believed. Rekindle their light."
A pause. A flicker of grief.
"And tell Seraphina... he is gone."
The vision vanished like a breath on glass.
Mina was alone again.
She didn't pack a bag. Didn't change clothes.
She only pulled a parchment from the old desk drawer and wrote with shaking hands.
She paused. Swallowed hard.
And She folded the letter. Pressed her forehead to it.
Then she turned to Noko.
"Go," she said softly. "Take it to the farmhouse with blue shutters. Leave it at the door. No tricks. No magic. Just... leave it. Then come back to me."
Noko chirped, his tail flickering with stardust. He took the letter in his small mouth, eyes wide and solemn.
Then he vanished into the morning fog.
It was still dawn when Noko padded through the fields of Stone Hollow.
The village was quiet the kind of quiet old stories live in.
He reached the house with blue shutters. A weathered door. A lantern burned low on the stoop.
Noko placed the letter at the base of the door. No scratching. No barking.
Just silence.
He turned once, glancing at the window.
Then vanished.
Back in the forest edge, Mina stood under a twisted yew tree, her arms folded against the cold.
She heard the soft crunch of paws.
Noko appeared, panting, tail dim, but whole.
Mina knelt down. Opened her arms.
He ran into them.
"Good job," she whispered, burying her face in his fur.
"Now we wait."
The wind stirred.
The stars flickered.
And far away, at a simple cottage in a forgotten village, an old woman would wake to find a letter that changed the world again.
Nestled between ancient hills and silver streams, the village of Stonehollow was a place the world forgot. Cobblestone streets, ivy-draped cottages, and wind chimes that sang old hymns even when no wind blew. Kai's family home sat at the heart of it: a tall stone house with braided banners over the door once noble, now quiet, humble.
The morning had started in whispers.
Children were called inside.
Doors half-shut, eyes peering.
Something was wrong.
Branen, Mira, Teya, and old Uncle Orin sat by the hearth, the unopened letter trembling on the table.
Mira broke first, hands shaking as she opened the letter.
Mira (hoarse): "It's from the palace... it's... it's Kai."
She read it once.
Twice.
Her breath hitched.
Mira (choking):
"No... no no no, not my boy... not my baby..."
She crumpled onto the table, weeping.
Branen clenched the window frame so hard it splintered.
Orin crossed himself, whispering, "Stone and flame, why now..."
And little Teya sat frozen, eyes wide, mouthing, "Kai..." over and over like a prayer.
The door slammed open.
In marched Granny Nessa sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and as ageless as the hills.
Granny Nessa (snapping):
"Why's everyone sitting around like a funeral? Open the curtains! Breathe, for flame's sake!"
Branen turned, voice raw.
Branen:
"Mother, Kai's gone."
Granny (softening just a breath):
"I know, boy. I'm old, not deaf. But he didn't go because he was reckless. I told him to follow his heart."
She walked over, patting Mira's trembling hand.
Granny: "And maybe... maybe it was fate. Maybe the goddess called him, like she once called us."
Mira flinched.
Mira (biting):
"The goddess abandoned us. We prayed. We begged. And she was silent."
Granny's eyes flashed.
Granny (fierce):
"She saved me, Mira. Long ago. You were still a babe. I fell on the high cliffs, bones broken, blood everywhere and I swear, I felt her hand lift me up. I don't forget a debt."
Word spread like wildfire.
Soon the house was packed. Villagers with baskets of bread, jars of honey, strings of beads all once tied to Aurelith's blessings.
Old Meryn whispered: "Did you hear? Kai's gone. Off to the stars, they say."
Young Tom piped up:
"I heard he was half-star himself!"
Meryn smacked him with her shawl:
"That's nonsense! He just had good cheekbones."
Another neighbor muttered:
"I thought they stopped worshipping Aurelith?"
Granny Nessa snapped: "We stopped because we were angry, not because we stopped believing." The villagers laughed softly. A bittersweet sound.
The Decision at the Ancestor's Shrine
As night fell, the whole village gathered at the shrine.
The pillars were mossy. The altar cracked.
But the air... the air remembered.
Mira stepped forward, clutching Kai's braid in her hands.
Branen followed, jaw set.
Orin stood tall, voice trembling as he spoke:
Orin: "We abandoned her. But she never left our bones. You all know the old songs. The old vows."
Granny Nessa lifted her cane like a staff.
Granny (commanding): "Raise your heads, fools. We are Stonehollow. We were once the braided shield of Aulieth's light! We do not cower. We do not kneel to the Unmaker. We stand!"
The crowd roared softly.
Lanterns lifted. Voices rose.
Children drew the ancient sigil in the dirt with sticks.
Old Meryn pulled out a cracked drum.
Young Tom sang an off-key hymn until everyone was laughing through their tears.
Mira (whispering to Branen): "They're ready."
Branen (softly, fiercely):
"So are we."
"In the smallest village, where the world had long stopped looking,
a flame caught.
Not because of duty.
Not because of faith.
But because grief, when shared,
becomes the strongest prayer of all.
And when the gods listen...
everything changes."