The steps were slick with sap.
Cael followed the vine-girl in silence, the only sound the distant drip of water and the creak of root-wood shifting above. The forest grew quieter with each step—as if the Thornwood had hushed to let them pass.
She did not look back.
The passage opened into a vast chamber carved from earth and living wood.
Roots twisted into arches overhead. Bioluminescent vines glowed along the walls, illuminating what could only be called an altar.
And at its center…
A crown.
Not gold.
Not silver.
But thorn and vine, woven with glassy thorns and living sap. It pulsed faintly with green light—like a heart.
"The Vine Crown," she said softly. "The last crown Albion grew. Never worn. Never claimed."
Cael stepped closer.
"What is it?"
"Balance," she whispered. "The answer to blade and flame. A relic born not of war, but of memory."
The Scabbard at Cael's back stirred, uneasy.
"You brought me here for this?"
"I brought you because you chose thorn over fire. And now it grows in you."
Cael looked down at his hand. The vine-bracelet had spread further—up his forearm now, blooming faint red blossoms across his skin.
"Is it… changing me?"
"Yes," she said.
"But not into something lesser."
She stepped to the altar and touched the crown.
The vines reacted—uncoiling like snakes, presenting it to her.
"I wore it once," she said. "Briefly. I saw what the forest wanted to be. But I wasn't strong enough."
She turned to Cael, her eyes glowing brighter now.
"You might be."
Cael stared at the crown.
It wasn't power like the Scabbard. Not the sharp edge of kings or the fire of knights.
It was life. Wild, uncontrollable. And impossibly old.
"Why me?" he asked.
"Because you bled first," she said. "And because the Scabbard chose you."
She paused, voice softer now.
"Or perhaps… because the old powers are afraid of you."
The crown pulsed once more.
It felt… close. As if it knew his name.
"You do not need to wear it," the vine-girl said. "Not yet."
"But you must decide."
She reached into the altar, withdrawing a small, curved blade of stone and bark—twisting with tiny veins of glowing sap.
"Touch the crown with this, and you will forge a bond. Not full mastery. But an agreement. The Thornwood will recognize you."
Cael stared at the dagger.
The Scabbard whispered—don't.
But the crown whispered back—grow.