The Heartglade slept beneath the moon, silver and still. Only the faint shimmer of Lyra's staff broke the darkness as Kael knelt beside her at the water's edge.
She traced her fingers through the pool, murmuring words he didn't understand. The water rippled, spreading faint green light across the surface. Beneath it, Kael saw shadows move—roots curling like veins, coiling around something ancient and stone.
"What is that?" he asked.
"The old roots remember," Lyra said quietly.
"They carry memory the way we carry blood.
The corruption started here, beneath the Verdant Spire. Something down there is bleeding poison into the wild."
Kael frowned. "The Wardens think it's sorcery."
Lyra's mouth twisted. "They always do. But this… this is older. It smells of the old world."
He watched her hands tremble slightly as she worked. "You're hurt."
"Only tired," she said, though her voice was hollow. "When the Wardens came, my circle tried to shield the glade. The corruption fed on our magic. I barely escaped."
Kael felt a knot tighten in his chest. "You don't have to face it alone anymore."
She looked up at him, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. "You've changed, Kael. I can feel it. The bond in you is stronger—it hums in the air."
He swallowed. "I don't understand it. I just know I can't ignore it."
Lyra studied him for a moment, then stood. "Then we'll learn together."
They camped beneath the boughs that night. Riven perched high above, restless, watching shadows that moved without wind. Fenra lay beside the fire, her muzzle resting on her paws but her golden eyes never closing.
Kael stared into the flames. "You said something about the Beastbinders. My mark—what does it have to do with them?"
Lyra sat across from him, knees drawn to her chest. The firelight flickered against her hair, turning it copper. "When I was a child, my mentor told me stories of the first bonds—of men and beasts who shared a single soul. It wasn't magic as we know it. It was balance. A gift that let mortals speak to the wild without fear."
Kael listened quietly.
"But power like that changes the world around it," she continued. "The Beastbinders grew too strong. Some began binding creatures that should never have bowed to mortal will—wyrms, leviathans, things from beyond the sky. The balance shattered. And when the Wardens rose, they called the Beastbinders heretics and burned their knowledge."
Kael looked down at his hand. The faint silver glow pulsed beneath the skin, gentle and rhythmic. "And now it's back."
"Yes," Lyra said. "And it chose you."
He shook his head. "I didn't choose any of this."
"Neither did the world," she said softly. "But it will demand something from you all the same."
The next morning, they followed the river east, deeper toward the base of the Verdant Spire. The land began to change—roots bulged from the soil like black veins, and a faint mist clung to the air. The forest here was silent, as if holding its breath.
Fenra halted suddenly, her ears pricking forward. Something beneath, she warned.
Kael crouched beside her, laying his palm on the ground. He felt it then—a dull pulse, like a heartbeat under the earth.
Lyra knelt as well, pressing her staff to the soil. The crystal at its tip flared green. "There's something buried here," she whispered. "Stone… no, metal. And it's resonating with your mark."
Kael's pulse quickened. "What does that mean?"
"It means whatever's down there is bound to the Beastbinders. Perhaps a relic… or a seal."
He drew his dagger, started clearing away the moss and roots. The more he dug, the stronger the humming became until his whole arm tingled. Then the blade struck something hard.
Beneath the roots lay a smooth black surface etched with faint silver runes. It looked like stone, but when Kael brushed away the dirt, it felt warm—alive.
Lyra's eyes widened. "By the spirits… this is no relic. It's a gate."
Before Kael could respond, the runes flared. The mark on his hand blazed in answer, and light burst from the earth, throwing them both back.
Fenra snarled. Riven screeched above as the soil split open, releasing a plume of shadowy mist. From within the crack came a low, thunderous growl.
"Kael!" Lyra shouted. "It's waking!"
Kael staggered to his feet, bow in hand, heart pounding. "What is it?"
Lyra's face had gone pale. "One of the old guardians. The forest remembers its chains."
The ground shuddered again, and a massive shape began to rise—horned, scaled, eyes like burning coals. The beast let out a roar that shook the trees, scattering crows from the canopy.
Riven screamed through their bond. Run!
But Kael didn't move. The mark on his hand burned, and for an instant he felt it—a thread between his heart and the creature's. Not hatred. Not hunger. Fear.
"It's in pain," he breathed.
Lyra grabbed his arm. "You can't tame that!"
"Maybe I don't have to," he said. "Maybe I just have to listen."
He closed his eyes. The air trembled with power. Through the bond, he reached out—not with command, but with understanding. The roar faded to a low rumble. Images flashed behind his eyes: ancient wars, chains of light, the Beastbinders sealing their guardians away.
Then, a single word echoed through his mind: free…
When Kael opened his eyes, the creature was gone. The rift sealed, leaving only a circle of scorched grass and the faint scent of iron.
Lyra stared at him, breathless. "You spoke to it."
"I think it wanted me to."
She exhaled shakily. "Kael… do you realize what you've done? That thing was a guardian—a remnant of the first wild. If it remembers you…"
He met her gaze. "Then maybe I can find the others."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. The guardians served the Beastbinders once, but when the Wardens turned on them, they became monsters. If you wake them, the world will know the Beastbinder blood lives again."
Kael's mark dimmed, but its warmth lingered. "Then we'll have to decide whether the world deserves to know."