“You could try being less of an asshole.”
“I could. But coddling you won’t keep you alive.
As we stood on the platform, I got my first real look at Vyn Hollow’s inhabitants. They were wrong in ways that made my brain hurt trying to process them. A woman walked past with bark for skin and leaves growing from her scalp instead of hair, arguing with what looked like a man made entirely of morning mist except for his teeth, which were disturbingly solid and sharp. Children—or things child-sized—ran between the adults’ legs, some with too many limbs, others with not enough, all of them moving with the casual ease of creatures who’d never known anything different.
The air smelled of rot and flowers and something chemical that made my nose burn. I saw what Kaelren meant about outcasts and radicals—these were people who’d been changed by magic or birth or choice, people who’d ended up here because they had nowhere else to go. A group huddled around a fire that burned without wood, passing around a pipe that released smoke that swirled in patterns of violet and green. Another cluster seemed to be trading goods that writhed in their containers, while a fight broke out near the platform’s edge over what looked like a handful of teeth.
“Stay close,” Kaelren said, his hand on my arm again, possessive and controlling. “They can smell the human on you, even with the marks. Some of them haven’t had fresh meat in years.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s not a joke.”
A figure approached from the shadows of the tree—tall, thin, with bark-like skin and eyes that glowed soft green. They wore robes that seemed to be made of living moss, and when they walked, flowers bloomed in theirfootsteps only to die seconds later.
“Kaelren,” they said, their voice like wind through leaves. “You bring strangers to the Hollow.”
“I bring someone who needs answers, Sage Willowmere.”
The Sage’s eyes turned to me, and I felt them looking not at me but through me, into me, at things I didn’t know existed.
“The marked one,” they breathed. “The one who shouldn’t be.” They moved closer, and I smelled earth and growing things and decay all at once. “May I?”
They reached out toward my collarbone where the marks were visible above my armor.
“Whoa, hey, personal space.” I batted their hand away. “What happened to consent in this realm?”
The Sage tilted their head, curious rather than offended. “You object to being examined?”
“I object to being treated like a specimen. I’m a person, not a science experiment.”
“You’re both,” they said simply. “And if I don’t examine the marks, you’ll be a dead person in within days.”
“Everyone keeps saying that like it’s supposed to make me cooperative.”
“Elle.” Kaelren’s voice had that edge that meant he was running out of patience. “The Sage can help you. Let them.”
“Or what?”
“Or you become something that isn’t you anymore.” For once, there was no cruelty in his tone. Just fact. “Your choice.”
I looked down at the marks spreading across my collarbone, remembering the vision I’d had when they first appeared—every cell remembering something it had forgotten, being rewritten from the inside out.
“If this goes wrong—” I started.
“Then it goes wrong,” the Sage interrupted. “But doing nothing guarantees the wrong outcome. Doing something at least gives you a chance.”
I hated that they were right. “Fine. But you owe me an explanation after. A real one, not cryptic sage nonsense.”
“I promise nothing but honesty.” The Sage reached out again. “Which is often worse.”
This time I let them touch me, but I didn’t relax. Didn’t trust it. Kept my eyes open and my guard up, even as their bark-rough fingers made contact with the golden lines on my skin.
The moment their skin touched my marks, the world exploded.
Not literally—though in this realm, that was always a possibility. But suddenly I could see everything. Every root beneath the ground, every leaf on every tree, every connection between every living thing. The realm was a web of light and life and power, and I was part of it, had always been part of it, would always be—
Time lost meaning. I could see centuries in a heartbeat—the first growth, the first bloom, the first death. The marks spread across my skin, golden vines reaching for my face, and I didn’t care. Didn’t want to care. Why would I need a human face when I could be forest? Why would I need thoughts when I could be pure growth?
