Page 9 of Shattered Crown

“Wait.” He pulled away from Thorne, drawn to investigate.

The hidden alcove opened at his touch, revealing artifacts that made his breath catch. Portraits, documents, personal items—all bearing the Ashworth crest but ancient, forgotten.

One painting stopped him cold.

Two men stood side by side, one a perfect mirror of himself, the other unmistakably Thorne. But the nameplate read “Marcus and Lysander Ashworth,” with dates suggesting brothers, not a single betrayer.

“Thorne?” His voice shook. “You need to see this.”

Thorne approached slowly, as if the painting might attack. When he saw it, he went perfectly still.

“Lysander,” he whispered. “I... I'd forgotten that name.”

“Lysander Ashworth,” Silas said, his mind racing through the fragmented family histories he'd studied. “He was mentioned in our oldest family records, but only in passing—a footnote, a cautionary tale of weakness. He and Marcus were brothers, but Lysander mysteriously vanished from the official histories after a certain point.” He traced the gilded frame with trembling fingers. “My tutors always glossed over him, saying only that he'd failed the family somehow. That he'd chosen 'sentiment over duty.'”

“Brothers,” Thorne repeated, his voice distant. “Not one man. Brothers who...”

“Who took different paths,” Silas finished, memories of hidden archives surfacing. “There was a manuscript—one I found in my father's restricted collection. It mentioned Lysander as 'the lost heir' who'd 'succumbed to forest enchantment.' I always assumed it was propaganda, justifying his removal from succession.”

Thorne's hand hovered over the painting, not quite touching it. “The story I've carried for centuries... it was Marcus who betrayed our pact, who turned against the forest after pledging alliance. But there were two of them? Brothers, not a single betrayer?”

“This changes everything,” Silas said. He examined other documents in the alcove—letters, journals, sketches showing both brothers in the forest. One journal entry caught his eye:

L. meets again with the Guardian today. M. grows increasingly suspicious of their bond.

He held up the journal. “While Marcus negotiated political alliances with you, Lysander was...”

“Forming a different kind of bond,” Thorne said, memories visibly struggling to surface. “I remember fragments now. Two faces, similar but distinct. One cold and calculating, the other warm and curious.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “How could I forget something so fundamental? How could I merge them into a single betrayer in my mind?”

“Trauma,” Silas suggested gently. “Or perhaps deliberate manipulation. If someone wanted to ensure the breach between humans and guardians remained permanent...”

“They would erase the brother who sought unity,” Thorne finished. “Remove even the memory of another path.”

Silas continued examining the artifacts, piecing together a story that had been systematically erased from both human and guardian histories. “Lysander didn't just disappear—he was exiled. These documents suggest he continued to advocate for guardian alliances even after he was removed from succession. He believed in a different future than the one Marcus created.”

“A future where humans and guardians remained connected,” Thorne said, his voice growing stronger as memories crystallized. “Where we didn't retreat into separate realms.”

Before they could explore further, the crystal in Silas's pocket flared with warning. Something was happening above.

They raced back to the surface, emerging into early evening light. The forest had transformed in their absence. Trees moved restlessly, their branches forming defensive patterns. Spirits materialized from shadow and mist, looking to Thorne for guidance.

“The council gathers,” Elder Willow's voice rustled through the leaves. “All must prepare.”

Thorne's demeanor shifted instantly from shaken to commanding. Power radiated from him in visible waves as he strode through the forest, issuing orders, checking defenses. His free hand never left Silas's waist, keeping him close as they moved between gatherings of forest denizens.

The sacred grove hummed with activity when they arrived. Ancient spirits Silas had only glimpsed before now stood in full manifestation—beings of bark and stone, water and wind, starlight and shadow.

“The humans mass at our borders,” announced the Oak Queen, her voice creaking like old wood. “Their magic reeks of iron and death.”

“We know,” Thorne replied, pulling Silas closer. “We've seen their preparations.”

“And what of him?” A spirit of living flame gestured at Silas.

“With us,” Thorne said firmly. “Always.”

Silas felt the weight of ancient eyes studying him, measuring his worth. The crystal at his throat pulsed in time with his racing heart.

“Your bond changes everything,” Elder Willow observed. “Makes us stronger, yes, but also vulnerable. They will use it against you.”

---