The world came back in pieces. I felt the cold, wet ground through my clothes, heard my own rough breathing, and sensed the Elderwood's deep, tired vibe—like it was both hurting and grateful. Lyra's hands were steady on my shoulders, her Violet Chroma a bright, clean light washing away the psychic gunk I'd just taken in.
Breathe, Kaelen. Just breathe. You're okay, she said. Her voice was my lifeline.
I sat up, dizzy. My body felt empty, scraped raw. The memory of the Sorrowseed's nasty energy was like a stain on my soul, a cold, greasy feeling I was afraid wouldn't go away.
Then I saw Finn. He hadn't moved, but his stubborn attitude was gone. He was staring at the Elderwood, at the black stuff messing up its trunk, with a look of complete shock. He'd seen something big—a rescue—come from the very force he thought was only for wrecking things.
You… you took it in, he whispered, his voice shaky. The bad stuff. You didn't just get rid of it. You carried it.
I didn't say anything. I just looked at him, letting him see how beat I was, the pain, the lingering awfulness of the Heartrot's hate.
Lyra helped me stand. My legs were wobbly, but they held. We can't stay, she said, not really giving me a choice, but she was gentler now. The energy we made will pull people. We need to find a safe place, and you need some real rest.
She didn't gloat at Finn. She just untied him. He stared at his hands, moving his fingers like he was seeing them for the first time.
The ward's still up, Lyra told him, sounding neutral. But you're not tied up. Try to bolt, and you'll suffer the repercussions.
He nodded, slow and dazed. He didn't seem like a prisoner anymore. More like a guy who'd just seen his world fall apart.
We went deeper into the Wildwood, the mist closing in behind us. The forest felt different now. The old trees seemed to know what had happened. Their Chroma felt closer, more aware. A branch would move aside, roots seemed to flatten themselves for us. The Wildwood was noticing us. Helping us.
Lyra led us to a sheltered spot where the mist cleared, and a small spring trickled out from a big willow tree's roots. The Chroma here was a soft blue-green. A place for healing.
Rest, Lyra said, pointing to some soft moss under the willow. I'll keep watch.
I didn't argue. I flopped onto the moss, its gentle vibe soothing my nerves. I fell asleep fast, but it wasn't restful. My dreams were a mess of the last few days—the screeching Blight, the silent valley, the Ash-Singer's burning eyes, and the Elderwood's painful groan, all mixed together in a nasty swirl.
I woke up to the smell of cooked veggies and the dim glow of twilight through the willow. Lyra had a small fire going. Finn was sitting nearby, staring into the flames, still looking haunted.
I sat up, my body sore but my head clearer. The yucky feeling of the Sorrowseed was still there, but it felt farther away.
Lyra gave me a cooked tuber. Eat. You need to get your strength back.
While I ate, it was quiet and uncomfortable. Finally, Finn spoke up.
They told us you were vandals, he said, his voice quiet, looking at the fire. That you Aurelians were trying to keep the world messed up on purpose because you liked the old ways. That the Grey-Scribe was just a force of decay. He finally looked at me. They didn't say you could… feel. That you could get hurt. That you'd give yourself.
The Prime Chroma likes things simple, Lyra replied, not meanly. It makes the propaganda easier. It's easier to get people to hate a monster than a person.
What happened to you? I asked Finn, without thinking. Why'd you join them?
He was quiet for a while, the fire crackling. When he spoke, he sounded distant, like he was lost in a memory.
I was helping a mapmaker in a city by the sea, he began. The Chroma was… wild. The red in the markets, the blue of the ocean, the yellow of people wanting things so badly. It was cool, but exhausting. I felt everything, all the time. If someone betrayed me, it felt like a punch. All the poor people were constant pain.
He poked the fire with a stick. Then the Ash-Singers showed up. Not with violence, not at first. They were like philosophers, like healers. They had meetings in the squares. They said the Clarifying wasn't destroying things, but freeing them. They said we could be free from living with our feelings. They showed us, gently dimming the Chroma in a bad part of town. The fighting stopped. People weren't so desperate. They got… calm. Peaceful.
He looked up, like he wanted me to understand. I thought it was amazing. I was a kid drowning in feelings, and they saved me. They tested me—I could sort of sense Chroma—and they hired me. They gave me something to do. They gave me order.
And what was the price? Lyra asked softly. The dead valleys? The Sorrowseed?
We were told it was… taking out the bad parts, Finn said, sounding ashamed. Getting rid of the sick, wild stuff so the world could get stronger. We were told the silence wouldn't stay forever, that things would become something great. I… I bought it. I didn't want to see all those dead places. It was easier to believe it.
He'd been a boy wanting peace, and something awful had lied to him. I understood. How many times had I wanted that silence I know so well to stretch to my own crazy feelings? The Prime Chroma's promise worked because the world is, sometimes, a mess.
The peace they promise is a lie, Finn, I said, my voice soft but firm. It's not calm. It's not caring. I lived in a place where it happened. They don't laugh or love as hard. They just… are. Is that what you want?
He didn't say anything, but I could see the battle on his face. The soldier was gone, replaced by a confused, guilty man.
The next few days were weird. Finn wasn't a prisoner, but not a friend. He walked with us, his Chroma-sense muted by Lyra's ward, but he was paying attention. He pointed out Ash-Singer markings—a broken branch, a faint bit of their energy—helping us avoid them. He was trying to make up for what he'd done, one little thing at a time.
Lyra let him, but watched him closely. We couldn't trust easily.
I was getting better slowly. The Heartrot thing had messed with my senses. Like taking in all that awful stuff had cleaned me out, made me more aware. Now I could sense the past in a stone, the memory of light in a leaf. But I also felt the sad stuff more—the ghost of a kill, a fallen tree's pain.
It was in one of those moments that I sensed something. We were following a trail along a ridge when something new touched my awareness. It was faint, like a whisper from far away, but I knew what it was.
It was a thread of pure Grey.
But not mine. Mine was a quiet nothing, a blank space. This was different. It was an active Grey. A energy with intent. It felt like… a .
I stopped, almost bumping into Finn.
Kaelen? Lyra asked, reaching for her rod.
Do you feel that? I whispered, closing my eyes.
Lyra was still for a moment. I don't. The Wildwood drowns everything else out.
Not for me, I said, my heart speeding up. It's… like me. But not. It's a Scribe's power. And it's calling us.
Lyra's eyes went wide. Another Scribe? One that isn't with them? Can you follow it?
I nodded. This way.
The took us off the trail, down into a ravine where the mist was thick and cold. The Wildwood's Chroma was strong here, a mess of life. The grey thread was a straight line through it, a needle guiding us.
We pushed through some vines and stepped into a small clearing. There was someone standing there.
An old man in dusty robes. He was leaning on a staff, looking at me. He was completely Grey. Not just his clothes, but everything about him. His Chroma was a perfect void. It was so quiet, it was loud. He was the source of the .
Lyra of the Aurelian Guard, he said, his voice dry, like leaves in the wind. You have done well. I have been waiting. He looked at me, and smiled a little. And you must be Kaelen. The last real hope. The Grey Prince himself. I am Elias. And I think you're looking for me.