Page 4 of Shattered Crown

“Earth to Silas,” Kai waved a hand in front of his face. “You're doing that thing again where you disappear into sex flashbacks.”

“Sorry.” Silas shook himself back to the present. “It's just... intense. Everything feels more real now. More connected.”

“That's what happens when you bang a nature god, I guess.” Kai's tone was light, but his eyes remained watchful on their surroundings. “Speaking of connections, we're getting close to civilization. Might want to dial down the magical pheromones before you cause a riot.”

The transition from forest to village outskirts felt like stepping from summer into autumn. The wild magic receded, replaced by the mundane energies of human settlement. Silas felt the loss keenly, an almost physical ache as the comforting presence of the Eldergrove faded.

He touched the flower in his hair, drawing comfort from this piece of Thorne he carried. The crystal warmed in response, a gentle reminder that their connection transcended physical distance.

The village market bustled with morning activity. Colors and sounds assaulted Silas's heightened senses... spice merchants calling their wares, children laughing, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer. He recognized faces in the crowd, people who now looked at him differently. Some with respect, others with wariness, all with the recognition that he belonged to something older and wilder than their small human settlement.

As they dismounted, Silas caught sight of a figure that made his blood run cold. A messenger in royal colors, speaking with one of the village elders. The morning's peace suddenly felt fragile, like ice crackling under too much weight.

“Kai,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the messenger. “See that?”

“Yeah.” Kai's casual demeanor sharpened into alertness. “Want to leave?”

“No.” Silas squared his shoulders. “We need supplies. And information. Just... stay close.”

The herb merchant's stall offered temporary refuge from the crowd. The elderly woman who ran it had always been kind to Silas, but now she treated him with something approaching reverence.

“For your lady Agnes,” she said, carefully wrapping the requested herbs. “And these...” She added several protective charms to his package. “On the house. For what you've done for the forest.”

“I haven't done anything,” Silas protested.

Her knowing smile made him flush. “Haven't you? The Eldergrove sings differently these days. Happier.” Her eyes flicked to the mark on his neck, the flower in his hair. “Love changes everything, young master. Even ancient forests.”

She leaned closer, voice dropping. “Royal soldiers passed through yesterday. Asking questions. Be careful.”

“Livestock gone strange near the Blackthorn estate,” an old farmer muttered to the herbalist as Silas collected his package. “Eyes clouded black, walking in perfect circles until they drop dead.”

“Shadow sickness,” the woman replied, her voice dropping lower. “Just like in the old stories. My sister's farm lost three cows last week—found them with their hooves burnt, like they'd walked through fire.”

The herbalist passed Silas his bundle with trembling hands. “Be careful on the northern paths, m'lord. Strange visitors coming and going at all hours—foreigners with odd accents and covered wagons. Not natural, the way even the birds go silent when they pass.”

Silas's hand went automatically to the crystal. Should he alert Thorne? No, not yet. He needed more information first.

The growing sense of wrongness followed him through the market. Each stall brought new whispered warnings—a missing child from the western hamlet, water turning brackish in wells that had been sweet for generations, night terrors plaguing even the most stoic villagers. The stories shared common elements: darkness, corruption, inexplicable changes to once-familiar things. Most troubling were the mentions of the Blackthorn estate. Sebastian had been quiet since their last confrontation, but these reports suggested he was far from inactive.

Silas moved deeper into the market, hoping to overhear more concrete details. What exactly was Sebastian planning? How widespread was this “shadow sickness”? He carefully selected mushrooms from a vendor known for gathering near the borders of the Eldergrove, using the transaction as cover to question the man about what he might have seen in his foraging.

As Silas examined the rare mushrooms at the vendor's stall, a chill ran down his spine. Someone was watching him.

A man in a simple gray cloak stood nearby, pretending to admire the produce. There was nothing remarkable about him — and that was the problem. Too ordinary, too clean. He didn't belong.

Their eyes met briefly. The man gave a small, knowing smile, as if they shared a secret Silas didn't yet understand.

“You look well,” the man said casually, selecting a mushroom. His voice was unremarkable but carried a strange weight, a sense of something hidden beneath the surface. “The forest agrees with you.”

Silas kept his tone neutral. “It's been educational.”

“I imagine so.” The man inspected the mushroom with unnecessary care. “Change is coming. The old ways wake. The new ones stir.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it's simply balance reasserting itself.” His gaze flicked meaningfully to the key at Silas's throat. “Some bonds, once forged, are not easily severed. Even if some would like them to be.”

Before Silas could respond, the man placed a coin on the stall table, nodded politely, and disappeared into the bustling crowd — leaving behind a knot of unease and more questions than answers.

---