Calista stepped back, folding her arms into the sleeves of her robe.She studied him for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as if peeling back layers of his soul.“You touched the ley lines,” she said at last.“The veins of the earth, where its power flows.Few can sense them so quickly, let alone grasp them.But you…” She tilted her head, her silver braids catching the firelight.“You wield a rare gift, Guwayne.A fusion of powers I thought lost to time.”
He frowned, shifting on the mat, the ring still warm against his finger.“A gift?I’ve trained with druids before—Alistair taught me to feel the earth’s energy, to wield the ring.But this felt… different.Stronger.”
Calista nodded, moving to the table and retrieving a small, leather-bound book, its pages yellowed and curling with age.She opened it, revealing intricate diagrams of runes and swirling patterns that seemed to pulse faintly.“Your father, Thorgrin, carries the warrior’s magic,” she said, her finger tracing a rune that resembled the one on Guwayne’s ring.“A druidic power honed for battle, for protection.It flows through his blood, a legacy of the Ring’s guardians.But you…” She looked up, her blue eyes locking onto his.“You carry something more.An ancient strain, one I believed extinct.The blood of the First Druids, the ones who bound the Titans.”
“The Titans?”
Calista smiled wryly.“You have so much to learn, boy.So much.”She turned the book over in her hands and abstractedly traced the design on the cover with her finger as if weighing up how much to tell him.
“They walked the earth in a time before time.”Calista set the book down, her movements deliberate.“Long ago, when the world was young, the First Druids were not merely spell-weavers but kin to the earth itself.Their blood was tied to the ley lines, their spirits to the stars.They were few, even then, and their lineage dwindled as empires rose and wars scattered their clans.I trained with Argon in the eastern groves, learning their secrets, but even we thought the pure bloodline gone, diluted by centuries of mortal unions.”She stepped closer, her gaze intense.“Until now.Your connection to the ley lines, the way the ring responds to you—it’s unmistakable.You are a bridge, Guwayne.Warrior’s magic from your father, and the ancient druidic blood from… somewhere deeper in your line.”
Guwayne’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of his family’s history.His mother, Gwendolyn, had spoken of their ancestors—kings and queens, warriors and seers—but never of anything so ancient, so primal.“My mother,” he said slowly.“Could it come from her?”
Calista’s lips twitched, a faint smile that held centuries of secrets.“Perhaps.Gwendolyn is a force, her will as strong as any druid’s.But the bloodline’s source matters less than its presence.You are a rarity, boy—a warrior-druid, capable of wielding both blade and spell with the earth’s own strength.But such power is dangerous, unmastered.It could consume you, or worse, unleash what you seek to stop.”
The fire crackled, a log splitting with a sharp pop, and Guwayne’s gaze drifted to the flames.The visions in the sea—the warrior king, the chanting woman, the boy with his eyes—had they been echoes of this bloodline, calling to him?The ring pulsed again, as if affirming the truth.“What does this mean?”he asked, his voice steadier now, though his heart pounded.“For me, for my father, for the Ring?”
Calista returned to her seat, her robe pooling around her like liquid emerald.“It means you are part of a greater tapestry, one woven before your Ring was forged.For decades, I’ve dwelled here on Nymbrax, in isolation, guarding the ancient knowledge and watching the stars for signs of the Titans’ stirring.The unmaking—the force that threatens to unravel the world—begins with the breaches you have yourself witnessed, but it will not end there.The Titans, imprisoned deep in the earth by the First Druids, are waking.Their dreams seep into the world, spawning beasts, twisting magic.Your father, Thorgrin, has touched this power in the north, among the Iceborn tribes.He learns their ways, but he cannot seal the prisons alone.”
Guwayne leaned forward, his impatience flaring again.“Then let me go to him.If he’s alive, fighting this… unmaking, I can help.The ring brought me here, showed me his face.I can’t stay on this island while he’s in danger.You said I have the power of these druids in me.Let me use it.”
Calista’s eyes narrowed, the air around her thickening with that same commanding energy that had flared earlier.“You are not ready,” she said, her voice cutting like a blade.“Rush north now, and you will fall.The Titans’ power is not a foe you can face with a sword or even your father’s magic.It is a void, a hunger that devours all.Your bloodline gives you potential, but without mastery, it is a candle in a storm—bright, but fleeting.It is like giving a child a broadsword.Unless he can lift it, never mind use it, what good would it be?I summoned you here to forge you, Guwayne.To teach you the arts of the First Druids, to wield the ley lines as they did.Only then can you stand beside your father, or save your mother from the traitors who chain her.”
Guwayne’s fists clenched, the ring burning against his skin.“How long?”he demanded.“Days?Weeks?My family doesn’t have time.The Ring crumbles, you said so yourself.Aldrich and his nobles plot, my mother suffers—how can I sit here learning spells while they fight for their lives?While my father freezes, fighting these…Titans himself?”
Calista rose, her presence filling the room, the fire flaring again as if in response to her will.“You think I do not understand loss?”she said, her voice low but resonant, carrying the weight of centuries.“I walked with Argon when the eastern groves burned, when our kin were slaughtered by empires greedy for power.I watched my brothers and sisters fall, their blood soaking the earth to seal the Titans’ prisons.I chose exile here, on Nymbrax, waiting for the prophesied time when the world would need us again.That time is now, Guwayne.You are the warrior foretold, the one whose blood sings with the old power.But if you leave unprepared, you doom not only your family but all of humanity.The Titans will rise, and no kingdom, no shield, will stand.Leave now, and that will be your legacy.Though there will be no one left to understand it."
He stood, pacing to the window, staring out at the mist-shrouded cliffs.The island felt alive, its energy pressing against him, urging him to listen, to trust.But his heart screamed to act, to run, to fight.
Calista stepped beside him, her voice softening, though no less firm.“I know your pain, boy.Duty and love tear at you, as they did your parents, as they did me.But power demands sacrifice.The First Druids gave their lives to bind the Titans; your ancestors bore that legacy.Now it falls to you.Stay, learn, and you will wield the earth’s strength as they did.Leave, and you risk everything—not just your life, but the world’s balance.”
Guwayne turned to her, his stormy gray eyes meeting her perfect blue ones.The ring pulsed, a silent echo of her words.He thought of Thorgrin, staggering through the snow, and Gwendolyn, enduring in chains.They were fighters, survivors, but they needed him—not as a reckless prince, but as something more.A warrior-druid, as Calista said.
“How do we begin?”he asked at last, his voice steady, though his heart still raced.
Calista’s faint smile returned, a glimmer of approval in her eyes.“We test your limits,” she said.“The ley lines answered you today, but that was merely a spark.Tomorrow, we walk the island’s heart, where the old power sleeps.You will face trials—fire, stone, wind—to forge your bloodline’s gifts.It will not be easy, Guwayne.It will hurt.But it will make you ready.”
He nodded, the resolve hardening in him.The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with pain and sacrifice, but he would walk it—for his father, his mother, the Ring, and the world teetering on the edge of unmaking.The fire blazed behind them, the runes on the walls pulsing faintly.He had made his decision, and the island had borne witness to his choice.
Outside, the mist swirled, and the sea whispered secrets, waiting for the warrior-druid to rise.
CHAPTER TEN
The damp chill of Castle Larkridge's dungeons clung to Sir Kellan like a shroud, seeping into his bones and sharpening his senses amid the perpetual gloom.Torchlight flickered erratically from iron sconces along the corridor, casting long shadows on the moss-slicked stone walls.The air was thick with the musty scent of mildew human waste, punctuated by the drip of water from the ceiling and the groans of prisoners fresh from interrogation.Kellan sat on the cold floor of his cell, his back against the rough wall, chains binding his wrists with just enough slack to allow him minimal movement.His tunic, once a proud emblem of the Shield Guard, was now torn and bloodstained, a testament to the fierce skirmish that had led to their capture.
Across the narrow corridor, Queen Gwendolyn occupied her own cell, her regal bearing undiminished despite the squalor.She sat with quiet dignity on her bench, her silver hair disheveled but her eyes sharp, scanning the shadows for any sign of opportunity.The surviving Shield Guard—twenty loyal men, their faces gaunt, bloodied, and bruised—filled the adjacent cells.Three days had turned into a week, each hour stretching into eternity as the nobles' grip tightened on the realm outside the walls that contained them.Kellan had lost count of the interrogations, the threats, the futile demands for information on Prince Guwayne's whereabouts.But he had observed much in that time, his knight's instincts honed by years of service on the other side of the bars, turning the dungeon into a vantage point for espionage.
He had come to realize that their captors, those scheming lords under Lord Aldrich's banner, were not as unified as they pretended.Kellan had noted the tensions early on, in the snippets of conversation that echoed down the stone halls.In the looks they gave each other.In the sentences that were cut off mid flow when they realized their words were being overheard, not by those under their watch but by their peers who may not share the same sentiments.
The guards—mercenaries mostly, with a few turncoat soldiers—were careless in their talk, assuming the prisoners too broken to listen, and even if they did, would never see the light of day to be able to act on what they had learned.Just yesterday, as a pair of them dragged a bucket of slop for the evening meal, Kellan had overheard a heated exchange.
"Lord Aldrich promises gold, but where is it?"one grumbled, his voice low but carrying in the confined space."We've been rotting in this pit while he feasts above.It’s no different from before."
The other snorted, sloshing the bucket with unnecessary force."And Lord Varis?He eyes the throne like a starving wolf.Whispers say he's plotting against Aldrich, wants the northern lands for himself.If they turn on each other, we're the ones who'll pay."
Kellan had pressed himself against the bars, feigning sleep, his ears straining.Varis, that ambitious snake from the eastern marches, had always been a thorn in the royal court's side.Aldrich's coup relied on a fragile alliance of nobles, each hungry for a slice of the Ring's pie.But greed bred discord, and Kellan saw the cracks widening.Guards grumbled about delayed payments, nobles' messengers hurried through the corridors with furtive glances, and once, he caught sight of a heated argument in the upper halls—raised voices filtering down through the grates, words like "betrayal" and "division" cutting through the air.
These observations fueled Kellan's resolve.He was no stranger to adversity; as commander of the Shield Guard, he had defended the Ring against beasts and invaders alike.Now, imprisoned, his battlefield was the shadows.Escape was not just a dream—it was imperative.The queen's life, the prince's future, the realm's stability hung in the balance.But planning required allies.Allies who weren’t in chains.And in this forsaken castle, they were few and far between.
