Page 105 of Shattered Crown

“Is he alright?” Diana asked, concern evident in her voice.

“I think so,” Thorne replied, feeling Silas's heartbeat stabilize. “The transformation was successful, but maintaining it against the Shadowblight's attack was too much.”

Nathaniel knelt beside them, examining Silas with careful attention. “The texts suggested this might happen. The ritual transforms the volunteer, but wielding that transformation requires practice, strength, development.” He touched the faint markings on Silas's skin. “These are the anchors. He can access the Bridge state again when he's recovered, I believe.”

Silas opened his eyes slowly, familiar brown now flecked with gold-green. “It escaped,” he said, voice hoarse. “But not unchanged. We wounded it. Revealed it. Made it vulnerable in ways it wasn't before.”

“Rest,” Thorne commanded gently. “You've done enough for now.”

The next hours passed in organized retreat. Wounded were tended, the dead honored, the transformed forest navigated cautiously. Though the direct assault had ended, everyone sensed the change—the Shadowblight was no longer concentrated but dispersed, no longer attacking directly but infiltrating subtly.

Silas slept deeply as his body recovered from the strain of transformation. When he finally awoke near sunset, he was stronger but still weak, like someone recovering from extreme exertion.

“I remember... everything,” he told Thorne quietly as they sat together at the camp's edge. “What it felt like to be the Bridge. To see both realms simultaneously. To exist between states of being.” He flexed his hand, watching as faint luminescence briefly traced his veins before fading. “It's still within me. Dormant but present.”

“Can you access it again?” Thorne asked.

“Not yet. Maybe not for some time.” Silas touched the markings on his skin. “But I will. The ritual changed me permanently, Thorne. I'm the Bridge now, even when I appear human.”

“And the Shadowblight?”

“It's free, but differently than before. No longer concentrated in vessels like Sebastian, but dispersed widely. Weaker in direct assault but more pervasive in influence.” Silas's expression grew troubled. “We didn't defeat it. We just changed the nature of the conflict.”

As night fell, they gathered the leaders for council. Though physically diminished, Silas's insights carried new weight—he had seen realms as no one else could, had briefly touched the fundamental patterns underlying both worlds.

“The war isn't over,” Silas explained. “The Shadowblight will work through subtle corruption now, turning mind against mind, heart against heart, playing on fears and divisions.”

“And Sebastian?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

Silas's expression softened with unexpected compassion. “His final choice was his own. Not corrupted, not controlled. He saw what the Shadowblight would do if bound to a vessel during my transformation, and he chose to free it instead—knowing the risk but hoping its dispersed form would be more vulnerable.”

“A sacrifice,” Diana concluded.

“Yes. Perhaps the only truly free choice he'd made in years.” Silas looked toward the horizon, where corruption had thinned but not vanished. “He bought us time, understanding, opportunity. We need to use it wisely.”

After the council disbanded, Thorne walked with Silas to a quiet spot beneath the stars. They needed no words immediately, content to simply exist together after the day's transformations and losses.

“I thought I might lose you today,” Thorne finally admitted, his usual strength giving way to vulnerability.

“For a moment, you did,” Silas replied honestly. “Becoming the Bridge... it changed me in ways I'm still discovering. Part of me exists beyond the physical now, even when I appear normal.”

“But you're still you,” Thorne said, half statement, half question.

Silas smiled, the expression achingly familiar despite the new flecks of gold in his eyes. “Yes. Changed but constant. Transformed but present.” He took Thorne's hand, their touch creating a faint glow where skin met skin. “And still yours, if you'll have me in this new form.”

A shimmering frost materialized before them, crystallizing into an elegant archway of ice. Through this portal stepped Queen Mab, her beauty as terrible and captivating as ever. The Winter Court monarch's gown of crystalline ice caught the morning light, fracturing it into countless prisms that danced across the clearing.

“So,” she pronounced, her voice carrying the bite of arctic winds, “you have survived. Interesting. Not victorious, perhaps, but... changed.”

Silas straightened, still weak from his transformation but unwilling to show vulnerability before the Frost Queen. “Your Majesty. The Shadowblight has been wounded, revealed, made vulnerable. Our alliance held.”

“Indeed.” Mab's silvery eyes studied him with newfound respect, noting the faint golden-green flecks in his once-human eyes, the subtle markings that traced his skin. “You've become something... unexpected. The Bridge exists, if incomplete.”

“Our bargain,” Thorne said, his cosmic voice steady despite his exhaustion. “It stands?”

Mab circled them slowly, frost patterns forming beneath her steps. “The terms were specific, Guardian,” she said, her voice like ice cracking across a winter lake. “Defeat the Shadowblight, or forfeit contested territories to Winter's dominion.”

A cold smile played across her perfect features as she reached out with a finger of living ice, tracing the air before Silas's chest where the Bridge's power lay dormant. “You've changed the game entirely. The Shadowblight no longer exists as it once did. Neither do you.” Her gaze shifted to include Thorne. “Nor you.”

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