Cael took the dagger.
It was warm—alive.
Tiny pulses ran along its bark-etched hilt, like veins carrying sap. The blade was sharp, but not in the way of steel. This was nature's edge. It would not cut flesh unless asked.
It only cut truth.
He turned to the crown.
The vine-girl stood still, hands folded, watching without a word.
Cael hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then pressed the blade gently to the base of the crown.
The chamber shook.
Roots curled violently. The air thickened. A low groan echoed through the Thornwood, as if the forest itself had drawn breath.
The crown bloomed.
From its thorns, tiny white blossoms unfurled. Glowing spores drifted upward like starlight. Vines crept down the altar and around Cael's wrist, linking with the red thorn-bracelet he already wore.
And then—
The world entered him.
Visions struck like lightning.
He saw:
A grove of druids kneeling in silence, their eyes hollow with sacrifice.
A child born of thorn and fire, screaming in a cradle made of roots.
A black sword plunged into the heart of a dying forest, sealing it in slumber.
A golden knight, aflame, riding into a storm of petals.
And then—
He saw himself.
Older.
Wreathed in vines.
Crowned.
Cael collapsed.
When he came to, the chamber had gone still.
The vine-girl knelt beside him.
"You live," she whispered, sounding almost surprised.
"What… did I see?" he rasped.
"Memory," she said. "Not yours. Ours."
She touched his chest.
"You're Thornblooded now. The forest remembers you."
Cael felt it.
The Scabbard was silent—but no longer alone. Something else pulsed in him. Wilder. Hungrier. Balanced.
"You've bonded," she said. "And now, others will know."
"Others?"
"The ones who watch relics. The ones who decide who lives… and who doesn't."
She looked up toward the roots above.
"They will come for you, Thornbearer."
Cael stood, heart pounding.
He didn't feel stronger.
He felt changed.
Every heartbeat echoed with root and leaf. The Thornwood no longer loomed around him.
It breathed with him.
The vine-girl rose.
"You should leave this place. For now."
"Will I see you again?"
She smiled faintly.
"You will hear me in the rustle of leaves. In the thorn that draws blood. I'm never far."
As Cael turned to leave, a sound echoed up the tunnel.
Footsteps.
Metal. Boots. Voices.
Not forest-born.
Not welcome.
"They've found you," the vine-girl whispered.
Cael tensed.
"Who?"
She placed a hand on the altar, and a second passage opened—roots parting to reveal a tunnel leading deeper, away from the approaching noise.
"You can't fight them yet," she said. "Choose quickly."