Page 54 of Shattered Crown

“My father's been tracking the shadow entity for years,” Lyra continued. “He believes it's connected to something ancient in the Ashworth bloodline.”

“Connected how?” Silas asked.

“That's why we need to reach him. He has documents, theories.” She glanced at him. “And he'll want to meet the Ashworth who finally bonded with a guardian. It's what he's been hoping for all these years.”

They pressed on through increasingly wild territory. As night fell, Silas felt an increasing pull toward the Eldergrove. The living bracelet writhed against his skin, responding to Thorne's distress. During their evening camp, Lyra noticed his distraction.

“The bond is calling you,” she observed.

Silas nodded, absently rubbing the bracelet. “He needs me. I can feel it.”

“We can't do anything until we understand what we're facing,” Lyra said gently.

* * *

They endedup overlooking a hidden valley sanctuary. The ancient site radiated power even to Silas's untrained senses. A circle of standing stones dominated the center, each carved with symbols that seemed to shift when viewed directly. The grass within the circle grew in perfect symmetry, untouched by wind or weather. Around the circle perimeter, a ring of roses grew—unusual roses without a single thorn, their petals shifting between white and silver in the morning light.

“It's beautiful,” he breathed.

“It's been waiting centuries for this moment,” Lyra corrected, her voice soft with reverence.

They descended carefully, aware that Sebastian's forces couldn't be far behind. The valley felt timeless, as if it existed slightly outside normal reality. Birds sang melodies that seemed to contain words just beyond understanding, and flowers bloomed out of season.

As they approached the stone circle and its guardian thornless roses, a figure emerged from the morning mist—one that hadn't been there moments before.

The man stood tall despite his years, his posture marked by quiet strength rather than weariness. Scars traced his face and hands, evidence of battles endured in places far from home. His clothing blended elements from many cultures, both practical and elegant, like someone who had lived many lives. A single thornless rose was pinned to his collar—the sign they had been told to seek.

Silas slowed, wary.

The man studied him for a long moment, then offered a faint smile.

“Cousin,” he said at last, the word landing with quiet gravity. “You've grown into your truth.”

Silas blinked, startled. “You're... Nathaniel?”

A nod. “I am.”

Silas's throat tightened. He hadn't known what to expect—but it wasn't this. “I've made so many mistakes.”

“As have we all,” Nathaniel said gently. “That's rather the point. The shadow feeds on our failures—on the wounds we can't forgive in ourselves or each other.”

Lyra approached her father, and for a moment, the carefully constructed barriers between them seemed to crumble. She stopped just short of an embrace, her hands fluttering uncertainly.

“Father,” she said, voice catching. “It's been...”

“Twenty-three years,” Nathaniel finished. He reached out and touched her face with a weathered hand. “You were still practicing your first spells when I left.”

“You were teaching me the binding of flowers,” Lyra whispered. “Making them bloom out of season.”

“And you always chose the thornless roses.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Because you said beauty shouldn't hurt.”

For a moment, they simply stood there, decades of separation bridged by memory. Then Lyra stepped forward and embraced him properly, burying her face in his shoulder as a child might. Nathaniel held her close, his own eyes bright with unshed tears.

“You've become remarkable,” he murmured into her hair. “Your mother would be so proud.”

“I wish she could have met you again,” Lyra said, pulling back to look at him. “She kept your journals. Taught me everything you'd written about the shadow's influence.”

“She was always the wiser one,” Nathaniel admitted. “I was too angry when I left. Too hurt by the betrayal.”

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