The Sage smiled sadly. “You surrender. You let the power reshape you. You hope that enough of who you were survives the transformation.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
As the day wore on—or what passed for day in the hollow tree—I felt the threshold approaching. It was like standing at the edge of acliff, knowing you were about to fall but not knowing if you’d fly or splatter.
The crew watched with varying degrees of concern. Bryx tried to lighten the mood with jokes that got progressively worse. Vashael offered advice that seemed designed to be confusing. Nimor observed silently, occasionally offering quiet corrections. Eltrien stood ready with healing, knowing he’d probably need it. Sarnyx was brutally honest about my chances, which were apparently “not good but not hopeless.”
And Kaelren watched everything, keeping his distance, his anger palpable. He looked exhausted—something I hadn’t noticed before, too busy being terrified or angry myself. Even standing at a distance, he was imposing—tall enough that most of the crew had to look up to meet his eyes, with the kind of build that came from actual combat rather than a gym. His dark hair was perpetually tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it, and the thorn-laced leather armor he wore looked like an extension of his corruption rather than protection from it.
“When it happens,” he said abruptly, when the others were distracted, “don’t fight it.”
I looked at him, surprised. This was the first time he’d offered advice that wasn’t wrapped in cruelty or contempt. “That seems like bad advice.”
“Fighting makes it worse. Trust me.” He gestured at his carved marks, and for a moment I saw past the anger to something else—regret, maybe. Or shame. “I fought. Look what it got me.”
“Corruption? Pain? Slow death?”
“All of the above.” His smile was bitter, and I realized this was the closest thing to kindness he’d offered since I arrived. Not comfort—he’d made it clear he didn’t do comfort—but truth. Raw, honest truth that might actually keep me alive.
He was trying to save me from his fate. The thought hit me harder than it should have.
“Learn from my mistakes,” he said, and there was something almost pleading in his voice, buried under layers of frost and fury.
“And if I can’t?”
“Then you die horrifically instead of peacefully.” The walls slammedback up, his expression going cold again. But I’d seen behind them, just for a moment. Seen someone who’d been where I was standing, who’d made the wrong choice, and who didn’t want to watch someone else make it too.
Even if that someone was wearing marks he thought should be his.
Before I could respond—before I could acknowledge what he’d just given me—the marks flared. Not just warm now but burning, like someone had poured liquid lava under my skin. I gasped, doubling over, and suddenly everyone was moving.
“It’s happening,” the Sage said. “The first threshold.”
“What do I do?” I gasped through the pain.
“Choose,” they said simply. “Control or chaos. Master or servant. Human or other.”
“Those are terrible options!”
“They’re the only options.”
The pain increased, and I felt myself starting to change. Not physically—not yet—but something fundamental was shifting. The human parts of me were being overwritten, replaced with something older, wilder, more in tune with the growing things.
“Get away from me,” I gasped, terrified of what I might become.
“No,” Kaelren said flatly. “If you lose control and kill everyone, I need to be close enough to stop you.”
“How reassuring.”
“It’s practical. Someone needs to be ready to put you down if you become a threat.”
Through the haze of pain, I felt a flash of anger. “You’d kill me?”
“Without hesitation,” he said, and meant it. “The marks should have been mine. If you waste them by losing control, I’ll end you myself.”
The pain peaked, and suddenly I was somewhere else. Not physically—my body was still in the grove—but my consciousness was in the green. The space between spaces where all growing things connected. I could feel every root, every leaf, every flower in the realm. Could feel the rot eating at the edges, the corruption spreading, the slow death of everything.
