Page 64 of Shattered Crown

“You’ve been quiet,” Thorne said softly.

Silas exhaled, but it wasn’t quite a sigh. “I’ve been thinking.”

“I know.” Thorne’s gaze followed his. “The river runs forward, and so do we.”

Silas tilted his head toward him. “That’s your poetic way of saying I’m brooding again.”

“Not brooding. Just carrying more than your share.” Thorne’s hand brushed his. “You always do.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Thorne added, “You're afraid of what’s waiting at the end. Aren’t you?”

Silas didn’t answer immediately. He swallowed, eyes still fixed on the mountains in the distance. “Everyone’s betting everything on what happens next. They don’t even understand what it might cost.”

“And you think you do?”

“I don’t know what shape it takes,” Silas admitted, voice low, “but I can feel it—pressing in. Like the magic itself knows what’s coming, even if I don’t.”

Thorne nodded, his voice quieter now. “And you think you’ll have to change to meet it.”

Silas finally turned to him, eyes shining with something between resolve and sorrow. “I don’t think. Iknow. There’s no way through this where I stay exactly the same. I might not be human after this. Not fully.”

Thorne’s brows drew together, but his voice didn’t waver. “And if that happens, you’ll still be you. I’ve watched you change already, Silas. You’ve grown into someone who sees both the roots and the sky—and I lovethatman. Not his blood, not his title. You.”

“But if I lose myself?—”

“You won’t.” Thorne stepped in, touching Silas’s chest. “Because you’re already anchoring yourself to love and mercy. Whatever transformation comes, it’s not a loss. It’s a becoming.”

Silas looked down at Thorne’s hand on his heart. “And if I become something monstrous?”

“Then I’ll love the monster, too,” Thorne said simply. “If it’s you, it’s worth saving.”

* * *

A rider slippedthrough the perimeter of their camp. Silas rose at once, tension knotting his chest, until the flickering firelight revealed a familiar figure dismounting.

“Cousin,” Nathaniel said as he approached, his voice rough but steady. “You have done well to come this far.”

Silas accepted the offered forearm clasp, feeling the strength still coiled within the older man.

Nathaniel’s gaze shifted past him, settling on Thorne. He hesitated for a breath, then stepped forward with deliberate respect.

“And you must be Thorne,” Nathaniel said. “The guardian I have heard so much about. It is an honor to finally meet the one who stood beside our bloodline when so many others turned away.”

Thorne inclined his head, his voice low. “It is an honor to stand with those who still remember what was lost.”

The moment held weight, an unspoken acknowledgment that neither side had walked an easy road to reach this point.

They gathered in Silas’s command tent, the flickering lamplight throwing long shadows as Nathaniel unrolled worn parchment and ancient diagrams across the table.

“The ritual we need is the same one attempted centuries ago,” Nathaniel began, tracing the intricate runes with a scarred finger. “The one that failed when the first pact broke and the realms fell apart. It was never meant to be a weapon. It was meant to be a bridge.”

Thorne’s eyes darkened, memories stirring beneath the surface. Silas felt the tension in their bond tighten like a drawn bowstring.

“The Ashworth who volunteers does not die,” Nathaniel continued. “Not in the way we once feared. They become something new. A permanent link between the human and guardian realms, able to hold both magics within a single soul.”

Silas leaned forward, his mind racing. “What does that mean practically? What would I become?”

Nathaniel shook his head, grim. “No one knows for certain. It has not been done properly since the first breaking. The old texts suggest the transformed one is neither fully human nor guardian but something beyond both. A living bond that can sustain the new world we are trying to build.”

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