The remaining riders pulled back. These beings that had never known fear—they retreated, melting back into the shadows, leaving destruction behind.
The forest path was destroyed. Trees were split and transformed, the ground torn up. What had been a simple trail now looked like a battlefield where reality itself had fought. The transformed Hunt riders stood frozen—shadow trees, strange flowers, singing fountains.
Elle and I still stood back-to-back, hands clasped, power fading but not gone. Through the bond, I felt her exhaustion, her horror at what we’d done.
“We did that,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She turned to face me, eyes wide with fear and lingering power. “Kaelren, what we just did… that wasn’t natural.”
“No,” I agreed. “We changed them into something unnatural.”
“But it saved us.”
“Did it?” I looked at the transformed riders, the impossible trees. “We didn’t save anyone. We just remade them into something else. Something that shouldn’t exist.”
She pulled her hand from mine, and the loss felt like part of me had been ripped away. “Is that what we are? Something that shouldn’t exist?”
Before I could answer, Vashael approached, golden skin splattered with blood. “We need to move. Now. The Hunt doesn’t retreat—they regroup. Next time will be worse.”
Nimor flickered into view, barely holding his shape. “There’s a safe house. Three miles north. Old Root-cult monastery. The Hunt won’t follow us there.”
“Why not?” Elle asked.
“Because,” Eltrien said quietly, stepping forward with the Sage beside him, “it’s where you died in iteration fifteen. Even the Hunt respects cursed ground like that.”
Everyone stared at him.
“What?” He blinked, genuinely confused. “Did I say that out loud? I meant… it’s warded. Very strongly warded.”
I grabbed his throat, lifting him off the ground. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Everything,” he wheezed, completely calm. “But right now, Elle needs somewhere safe to process what just happened. Look at her.”
I looked. Elle’s marks were pulsing erratically. Reality around her was unstable—flowers grew from her footprints, died, then grew again. Her hair floated like she was underwater. Her eyes kept changing colors.
“She’s hitting the second threshold,” Eltrien continued despite my grip on his throat. “Your combined powers accelerated it. The first threshold was choosing to accept the power. This one… this is where she becomes something more than human. If we don’t get her somewhere with proper Root-resonance to anchor her through the transition, she might not survive it.”
“Don’t say it,” I snarled, dropping him.
“I warned you all there would be more thresholds,” the Sage interrupted. “Each one takes more of her humanity. This one’s happening faster because of what you two just did together.”
Elle laughed, sharp and bitter. “Great. So I’m not just destabilizing—I’m transforming again?”
“The second threshold is always the hardest,” the Sage said, stepping forward with unusual gravity. “This second transformation is surrender. You must let go of what you were to become what you’re meant to be.”
“That’s not ominous at all,” Elle muttered.
“Only if we don’t move,” Vashael said urgently. “Kael, she needs—”
“I know what she needs.” I moved closer to Elle but kept my hands at my sides. Through the bond, I could feel her unraveling, her existence becoming uncertain. Every instinct screamed at me to grab her, to anchor her like I had during the battle. But I could also feel how unstable she was—one wrong touch might shatter her completely.
It was killing me, standing this close without touching her. My marksburned with the need to connect, to claim, to protect. But I wouldn’t risk breaking her.
“Elle, look at me,” I commanded.
She did, and I saw multiple versions of her reflected in her eyes—like looking at her through broken glass where each piece showed something different.
