The mist thickened around them as Aelindra and Severin followed the silent woman deeper into the grove. It curled around their ankles, then drifted higher, swirling in pale ribbons that clung to their clothes and hair as though the forest itself were drawing them in. The air shifted, denser now, humming with subtle energy that made the back of Aelindra's neck warm. It pressed lightly against her skin, almost like a guiding hand or the breath of something unseen.
Birdsong had vanished, even the wind seemed to hold its breath. No rustle, no distant chirp, no sign of life except the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. The silence wasn't empty, it was listening. Watching. Ancient.
Severin felt it too. She could it in the way his shoulders were tensed, the way he kept glancing into the mist as if shadows might step out of it and take shape. He scanned the trees, body coiled, hand hovering near the dagger at his belt. His every movement was sharp, restless and alert.
"You can put the blade away," the woman said without turning. Her voice was low, threaded with age and certainty. "Steel is useless in the places we walk now."
Severin didn't lower it.
Aelindra watched him, the lines of her face relaxed, almost gentle. "She's right. You won't need it."
He shot her a quick look, disbelief flickering across his features. "Are you always this calm?"
"She lost fear," the woman answered for her. "Calm has replaced it, but fearlessness is not invincibility. It is simply a different kind of vulnerability."
The words should have stung Aelindra, should have shaken her. But the realization settled into her with the quietness of a stone sinking into a lake, no ripples, no echo. Just truth.
The path opened abruptly into a circular clearing. Here, the forest seemed to breathe differently, older, deeper. Branches arched overhead and intertwined, forming a living dome that filtered the daylight into strands of pale green. Light shimmered through in shifting patterns, as if the grove were painted with moving glass.
Symbols carved into ancient trunks pulsed faintly, steady and rhythmic, like heartbeats. The entire clearing felt alive, aware of their presence.
They arrived at the center where a low stone table covered in runes sat.
"Sit," the woman commanded.
Aelindra obeyed instantly, her steps quiet, her posture unguarded. Severin hesitated only a moment, but the air around him seemed to tighten, subtle, insistent, until he lowered himself beside her. His fingers brushed the hilt of his dagger once more before he let his hand fall away.
The woman circled the stone table, her movements were slow, deliberate, as though she walked to a rhythm the forest recognized. The hem of her robe whispered across the moss. She ran her fingers over the glowing runes with a familiarity born of years, centuries perhaps.
Then she stopped and faced them fully.
"My name," she said, "is Seraphine. I am the keeper of this grove and the last archivist of its magic, everything I tell you now must remain within these woods."
The trees seemed to lean in, listening.
Severin exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. He didn't sheath his dagger, but his grip eased.
Aelindra nodded once, accepting the name not with trust, but without the instinct to question. Fearlessness left little room for doubt.
Seraphine studied them both. Her gaze was sharp, measuring, ancient. Aelindra felt as though the woman could see through her, past her calm exterior, past the absence of fear, straight into the hollow spaces the healing had carved out.
"You came seeking answers about your power," Seraphine said to Aelindra.
"Yes." Aelindra's voice was steady. "I want to know what I'm losing… and why I was given the ability to heal."
"Healers were once many," Seraphine said. "Now you are the last."
Aelindra's eyes flickered. Not with fear, only curiosity. "Why?"
"Because the gift was never meant to be abundant," Seraphine replied. "Magic that gives life must take life, or pieces of it with equal weight."
Severin flinched. His jaw tightened, hands curling slightly.
"What happens when she loses too much?" he asked quietly.
"She becomes hollow," Seraphine answered. "A being of power rather than a person."
A strange emptiness stirred in Aelindra's chest, a hollow wind where fear should be. "How many healings until that happens?"
"No one knows," Seraphine said. "Each healer is shaped differently. The magic takes what is most closely tied to the moment of healing."
Aelindra looked down at her hands. "When I healed Severin… I wasn't afraid. I acted without hesitation."
"And so, fear was stripped from you," Seraphine confirmed.
Severin looked away, something like guilt flickering across his face, he didn't speak, but the tension in his posture said enough.
"If she keeps healing people," he murmured, "she'll lose more of herself."
"Yes," Seraphine agreed. "Memories. Instincts. Attachments. The world demands balance."
Aelindra nodded, calm as stone. "Then I will only heal when absolutely necessary."
Seraphine's expression softened, barely perceptible. "Wise. But necessity is a shapeshifter, it changes with circumstance."
A breeze stirred overhead, brushing through the canopy like a sigh. The clearing dimmed, as though the grove itself disapproved of the subject.
Severin leaned forward. "You said something is after me. Something tied to my bloodline. Who are they? And what do they want?"
Seraphine stepped behind him. When she spoke again, her voice felt heavier, like an echo reverberating from deep within the earth.
"They are a fractured order," she said. "A faction born of rebellion and obsession. They deal in shadows, remnants of ancient magic, and forbidden rites. And they believe your bloodline carries the key to power they have sought for generations."
Aelindra's brow tightened, not in fear, but in contemplation. "A key to what?"
Seraphine placed her palm on the stone table. Runes flared in emerald light, casting shifting patterns across their faces. The glow lit the mist, making it swirl like living smoke.
"That truth is not yet safe to reveal."
"For whom?" Severin demanded. "For us? Or for you?"
"For either of you."
The light washed over them in a steady wave. Severin breathed sharply, startled by its weight. Aelindra felt it too, but it moved through her without resistance, without fear.
When the glow dimmed, Seraphine continued.
"The rebels believe that unlocking your blood will unleash forces older than this kingdom," she said. "Forces no one can truly control."
Severin swallowed, throat bobbing. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"No one asks for destiny," Seraphine said softly. "But destiny arrives regardless."
The air thickened again. The carved symbols pulsed, dimmed, then brightened, an ancient rhythm, slow and patient.
Seraphine stepped closer, expression sharpening into something like warning.
"Very well," she said. "The grove will teach you what you must learn. But first… you must understand something."
A hush fell heavy.
"Not all dangers are visible," she said. "Some hunt in shadows, some in trust betrayed, some in blood itself. And the key you carry, boy… it will shape the path before you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
The words echoed, vibrating through the roots beneath their feet.
Severin inhaled shakily. His hands trembled just enough for Aelindra to notice. She watched him with calm detachment, recognizing his fear without sharing it.
Instead, she felt only resolve. Quiet. Cold. Steady.
Seraphine raised her hand. The mist curled back, revealing a narrow path deeper into the grove, lined with faintly glowing vines. The earth hummed beneath it, as if welcoming them.
"This way," she said. "Your lessons begin now. And time is already running short."
Aelindra rose first. Her movements were smooth, unhesitating. She dropped her gaze to Severin, observing the storm behind his eyes.
Severin pushed himself to his feet more slowly. His breath hitched, his gaze flicked uncertainly between the trees.
He didn't say he was afraid. He didn't need to.
Aelindra caught the flicker of fear in his eyes, raw, human, quietly desperate.
And again, she knew she should feel something similar, but she didn't.
And that, she thought as the mist wrapped around them once more,
was its own danger entirely.
The path Seraphine had revealed narrowed, the mist curling low around their ankles as if guiding them forward or warning them. Aelindra stepped into it without pause, her breath steady, her gaze fixed ahead. Severin followed a heartbeat later, but she felt the hesitation in him like a quiver in the air.
Above them, branches shifted. Leaves whispered in voices too soft to decipher, carrying the faint echo of memories that did not belong to her. Aelindra felt them brush her mind, shadows of healers long gone, their warnings, their quiet grief. None of it stirred fear within her, but it stirred something else. A strange heaviness, a sense of inheritance she had never asked for.
Severin walked closer, the back of his hand brushing hers for the briefest moment. Not intentional, more like instinct, like he was reaching for something steady in a place built of shifting truths. She didn't pull away.
Ahead, Seraphine waited at the edge of a deeper darkness where even the green-tinted light could not reach. When she spoke, her voice carried a weight that pressed against the skin.
"This grove remembers everything," she said. "And it will show you what you are not ready to face."
Aelindra inhaled, unshaken. "Show me anyway."
Seraphine's lips curved, not in approval, but in recognition. "Very well, but understand this… not all lessons are kind."
The mist rose higher, swallowing their silhouettes as they stepped forward.