Was it the new Guardian? He strained to see, but there was no figure stepping into the light. No one revealed themselves. Only the forest pulsing with power. He knew something was there in the nothingness because all eyes were on it.
Doran tapped his staff lightly against the mossy ground. The sound was rhythmic, steady—a heartbeat in the tense silence.
"Doran, what is it? Who are they talking to?"
The dryad tilted his head, studying Phillip closely. "You can't see her, can you?"
"See who?"
Doran said nothing, and in the dryad's silence, Phillip heard it. The unmistakable echo of her voice drifted through the air. It was faint, like the memory of a dream. It set his pulse racing as though his heart were trying to break free from his chest and run to her. The scent followed—a wild, untamed fragrance that was uniquely hers. It wasn’t jasmine or anything cultivated; it was the scent of earth after rain, the freshness of untouched forests, and the faint sweetness of night-blooming flowers.
Phillip's hand lifted without his permission, reaching toward the space the others were focused on. At first, he felt nothing—just air, cool and empty. He reached again. This time, his fingertips brushed against something solid.
Warm. Familiar.
His hand found skin. Smooth. Radiant.
His fingers curled slightly, afraid the sensation would vanish if he let go.
A surge of energy shot through him, starting at his fingertips and racing up his arm, setting every nerve on edge. He was on the edge of something big, something bright. It felt like waking from the deepest sleep. It was like a shroud that had smothered him for years was suddenly being torn away. His heart, sluggish and heavy for so long, kicked into overdrive, pounding against his ribs with a rapid rhythm, like it had just remembered how to beat.
He inhaled sharply. The air tasted cleaner, sharper, like the first breath of the spring solstice. Every sound around him sharpened—the rustle of leaves overhead, the distant birdsong, the creak of Doran’s staff against the forest floor.
He blinked again, and the haze that had clouded his mind for years vanished. His limbs no longer felt heavy, his thoughts no longer slow. The fog that had draped itself over his soul had lifted, leaving him fully awake for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
Blood surged through his veins, filling him with a wild, reckless sense of vitality. He felt alive again—truly, fully alive. The exhaustion that had plagued him melted away as though it had never existed. His pulse thrummed in his ears. His muscles tensed with the thrill of renewed strength, daring him to run, to leap, to fight.
The air shifted, and suddenly, he was staring into a pair of eyes he knew better than his own. Wide, shocked, and vividly green. The same eyes that had haunted his dreams for years.
"Mal?" He breathed her name like a prayer. Only this time, she answered.
Maleficent stared back at him, her expression one of disbelief. Neither of them moved. They stood frozen in the strange space between memory and reality.
Phillip was touching her. Phillip could see her. And for a terrifying, beautiful moment, Phillip thought she might be a ghost—some lingering spirit sent to torment him with what he had lost.
It didn't matter. The surreal her was just as breathtaking as the real one. If she was dead, he would follow her to the afterworld.
But then he saw the way the others stared at her too—the way their gazes flickered between her and him.
She wasn’t a ghost.
She was real.
"You..." Phillip’s voice faltered, his hand still cradling hers as if afraid she would vanish again. "You’re really here."
Mal shook her head slowly. She gasped in a shaky breath, as if she, too, couldn’t believe what she was seeing. "You are supposed to be dead."
Phillip’s hand tightened around hers, the ache in his scar fading into the background as warmth spread through his hand, up his arm, and through his chest. "I'm not. I’m here. I’m right here."
Mal let out a choked sound, her body shaking from the revelation. Then she yanked her hand away from him, turned on her heel, and stormed off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mal’s whole body trembled, trembled with absolute fury. Her magic burned hot under her skin as she stormed deeper into the forest. Every step was fueled by rage. And all the rage was directed at Aurora.
She was going to kill the bitch. That prissy bitch of a princess. She was a pritch, that's what she was.
That pritch had come into her and Phillip's lives and tried to make a mess of their friendship. Then she'd tried to drive a wedge between their love. Why? Mal knew Aurora didn't love Phillip. At times she wondered if the pritch even liked him.
