The palace was alive in a way Aelwyn had never known.
Corridors shimmered as though the walls themselves remembered her touch of the crown. Servants whispered in the shadows, their eyes wide with fear and fascination. Even the tapestries seemed to shift subtly, the embroidered figures leaning forward to watch.
Aelwyn could feel the crown humming beneath her pillow as she crept from her room, drawn once again to the pulse of Thornwilde's magic that stretched through the palace like veins of silver light.
She barely noticed the air tightening around her.
Then it happened.
A single step into the courtyard and the world shifted. The air thickened, bending light into faint spirals. Aelwyn's hands twitched, almost without her control, and a silver glow erupted from the crown, shooting upward like a fountain of liquid moonlight.
The palace guards screamed, stumbling back as the glow expanded. Flowers—crimson, violet, and silver—sprouted in impossible patterns from the ground, twisting and unfurling in moments. Some bloomed in midair, floating like tiny stars before drifting to the earth.
The phenomenon terrified and exhilarated her at once. She had not willed it, yet it obeyed her heartbeat. Magic had never been this loud, this alive.
From the shadows of the courtyard, Caeron Vael appeared, his sword drawn, eyes blazing. The air thrummed against him, and yet he moved as if carved from stone. Every instinct he had honed over decades of oaths told him the crown's bloom was both a miracle and a warning.
"Aelwyn!" he shouted, voice cutting through the chaos. "Control it! Do not let it consume you!"
"I… I didn't do this!" she cried, panic threading through her words. The flowers quivered, petals twisting into shapes like faces, eyes blinking open. Whispers filled the courtyard—soft, urgent, ancient voices repeating memories she did not know she held.
Caeron advanced cautiously. "The crown chooses, yes—but it listens too. Calm yourself, or it will take more than you can give."
High above, in the palace towers, Mireth watched with a faint, cryptic smile. She had predicted this moment long ago, but even she could not anticipate the brilliance of the silver bloom.
"Power," she whispered, "always demands its price. And the child is learning the first lesson."
Aelwyn's breath came in ragged gasps. The silver flowers now hovered around her, spinning, releasing faint sparks of light. She felt dizzy, her mind teetering on the edge of comprehension. Then a sharp, whispering pain struck her chest—the first real cost of touching the crown.
Memories flickered like candles: the face of a nurse she barely remembered, a lullaby she had never sung, the echo of Caeron's warning—but her name felt different, as if someone else's memory had sewn itself into her soul.
Caeron's eyes narrowed. "The crown is taking from you! Focus on what is yours—your heartbeat, your breath, your will! Bind it to you!"
Aelwyn closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Slowly, the spinning flowers slowed, hovering in gentle arcs rather than chaotic bursts. The silver glow dimmed but remained, thrumming in harmony with her heartbeat. The crown pulsed softly, almost approvingly, but the ache in her chest lingered.
"You see now," Mireth said from the tower balcony, her voice echoing through the courtyard, "the crown does not give without taking. And the world does not forgive mistakes."
A palace messenger arrived, wide-eyed and breathless. "Your Highness… the Ashkai envoys… they are here. They demand to speak with the king immediately. They claim the crown's aura has reached their borders."
Aelwyn felt a chill. Ashkai. The empire of fire and oaths. Long feared and long hated, their armies would not ignore the crown's awakening.
"The first thorn," Caeron muttered, "has drawn their attention. And soon, the world will see the ripple it creates."
Aelwyn looked at him, eyes wide. "They… they will come for me?"
He shook his head. "No. For the crown. But we both know the crown does not distinguish between bearer and world. And now… it has begun."
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the courtyard was bathed in the silver glow of the bloom. The palace gates trembled. Somewhere deep in Thornwilde, Kethrin Nine-Laughs laughed softly, as if in approval. The trees whispered:
"The child awakens. The thorn blooms. Let the kingdoms tremble."
Aelwyn's small hands hovered over the crown once more, her fingers tingling. This time, she did not hesitate. She would not fear the crown's power. She would learn it, command it, and survive its cost.
But she did not yet understand how much it demanded—or what the world beyond the palace would take in return.
Chapter Ending:
From the shadowed balcony, Mireth's eyes glinted like molten silver.
"So it begins… the first battle of many, and the price of legend is already set."
In the distance, the faint rumble of marching boots reached the palace. Ashkai was moving. And Eirathae would never be the same again.