Chapter 9 – The First Lie of Lysara
The Waking Grove did not return to peace.
Even after Maereth vanished and the Nightfangs withdrew into shadow, the air remained strained, like breath held too long. The Heart-tree pulsed unevenly now, its light no longer steady but faltering—brightening, dimming, as if struggling to decide whether to endure or finally break.
I stood before it, unable to look away.
"What did she mean?" I asked quietly. "About lies."
Kael wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his hand. "I don't know. But whatever truth she's hiding, it's killing this place."
As if in response, a low sound rolled through the Grove—not thunder, but something deeper. The pools at the tree's roots rippled, runes igniting one by one until the water glowed like liquid memory.
Then the ground shifted beneath my feet.
Roots rose slowly, carefully, lifting me from the stone. Kael reached for me instinctively, but the roots held firm—not restraining, not threatening. Guiding.
"It's calling you," he said, voice tight.
"I know."
The mark on my chest burned, not painfully, but insistently—like a hand pressing against my heart from the inside. I took a breath and let the pull take me.
The world folded inward.
Sound vanished. Light blurred. And suddenly, I was standing somewhere else entirely.
The hall was vast and radiant, alive with music and laughter. Golden banners hung from ivy-wrapped pillars, and the great tree of Lysara rose through the marble floor, its leaves gleaming emerald in the firelight.
The court was gathered.
Not in mourning. In celebration.
A woman stood at the center of it all, crown of woven branches resting lightly on her dark hair. Her face was gentle, her eyes tired but warm. Beside her stood another woman—taller, sharper-eyed, her crown of silver and bark set more rigidly upon her brow.
Sisters.
"My sister believed in harmony," the taller woman said, her voice echoing through the memory. "I believed in survival."
The scene shifted.
The celebration faded into argument. The court stood divided—half clad in ceremonial robes, half armored, hands resting uneasily on weapons.
"The forest is weakening," one councilor said. "The Heart is choosing beyond the bloodline."
"It must not," the taller sister replied. "If the bond breaks, Lysara falls."
"And if we bind it tighter," the younger queen said softly, "we kill what we're trying to save."
The memory twisted sharply.
Night.
Rain lashed the city. The great tree's glow dimmed, its leaves trembling violently. Figures knelt in ritual circles, blood soaking into carved stone. Magic surged—too much, too fast.
I felt it then. The wrongness.
The Heart screamed.
The taller sister stood at the center of the ritual, hands raised, power burning blue-white around her. "Hold," she commanded. "Endure."
The forest resisted.
And something answered.
Darkness spilled upward from the roots, coiling, writhing—not malicious, but panicked. Trapped. Suffocating.
"The Shadow," I whispered.
No.
Not yet.
The memory shattered again.
I was back in the Grove, gasping, knees buckling. Kael caught me instantly, steadying my weight as the roots lowered me gently to the ground.
"What did you see?" he asked urgently.
I swallowed hard. "The truth."
The Heart-tree pulsed weakly. Then a voice—not Maereth's, not the Guardian's—rose from the depths of the roots. It was fractured, layered with sorrow.
The First Lie was told to preserve a crown.
The forest was blamed for resisting its own cage.
Kael stiffened. "You mean the Shadow—"
"—wasn't evil," I finished. "Not at first."
The realization settled like a weight on my chest.
"They bound the Heart to control the forest," I continued, voice shaking. "When it fought back, they called it corruption. They called Maereth a traitor because she refused to destroy it."
Kael's jaw tightened. "And the histories?"
"Written to protect the bloodline," I said bitterly. "To protect the throne."
The Grove trembled again. This time, the sound carried pain.
The Lie endures, the voice said.
And so does the wound.
I looked up at the Heart-tree, at the fractured glow within its trunk. "What happens if I refuse the crown?"
The light faltered.
Then Lysara fades.
"And if I accept it?"
A pause. Long. Heavy.
Then you must end the lie.
Even if it costs the line itself.
Kael went still.
"You're asking her to erase herself," he said sharply.
The roots shifted uneasily.
The forest does not ask.
It remembers.
Silence fell.
Kael turned to me, his expression raw and unguarded. "You don't have to decide now."
But I already knew.
Because the mark on my chest was no longer just burning—it was changing. The glow deepened, branching outward like roots beneath skin.
Somewhere far above, the Nightfang horns sounded—low, distant, calling.
I drew a slow breath.
"The lie ends," I said quietly. "No matter what it costs."
The Heart pulsed once—stronger than it had since we arrived.
And deep beneath the Waking Grove, the roots began to move—not toward preservation.
But toward reckoning.