Page 90 of Shattered Crown

Briar fought nearby, using their small size to dart between larger combatants, striking at vulnerable points with precision that belied their usual playful nature. But even they showed signs of exhaustion, movements becoming less fluid, reactions slower.

The corrupted guardian pressed his advantage, antlers glowing with dark power. “You weaken, brother. Accept the inevitable.”

Thorne parried desperately, feeling corruption trying to seep through his defenses. For a moment, he glimpsed what the shadow offered: power without limit, freedom from pain, evolution beyond current constraints. The temptation whispered seductively, promising an end to struggle.

Elder Willow's voice cut through the chaos. “Enough!”

She manifested fully for the first time in centuries, her true form towering above the battlefield. Light poured from her essence, so bright it seemed to burn away shadow itself. Corrupted creatures screamed and fled, unable to bear her radiance.

The corrupted guardian Thorne had been fighting simply... stopped. For a heartbeat, recognition flickered in his eyes. “Mother,” he whispered, using the ancient term of respect. Then the darkness surged back, and he fled with the rest.

But the effort cost Elder Willow dearly. Thorne watched in horror as her form began to dissolve, edges fraying like mist in morning sun. She swayed, the ancient tree that housed her essence groaning with strain.

“Elder Willow, no!” Briar cried, rushing to her side.

She collapsed back into her tree form, bark splitting as corruption fought her fading power. The battle still raged around them, but Thorne saw only her deterioration, felt it like knives in his soul.

“You must... preserve... the heart,” she gasped, each word seeming to cost years of existence.

The corruption pressed its advantage, sensing weakness. Shadow creatures regrouped, preparing for another assault. Thorne looked at their depleted forces, at Elder Willow's failing form, at Briar's tear-streaked face, and made a decision that tore at his soul.

“Fall back!” he commanded. “Retreat to the inner groves!”

Guardians looked at him in shock. Retreat was not in their nature.

“We cannot hold this ground,” he insisted. “Better to sacrifice territory than lose everything.”

“But the ancient trees,” Oak-Lord protested. “The sacred springs...”

“Will mean nothing if we all fall here,” Thorne cut him off. “Retreat. Now.”

Slowly, grudgingly, they obeyed. The retreat was orderly but painful, each step backward feeling like betrayal. Ancient trees fell to corruption in their wake, their death-screams echoing through magical channels. Thorne felt each loss like a physical wound, the forest's agony becoming his own.

Briar stayed close to Elder Willow during the withdrawal, their small hands glowing with healing energy they poured into her failing form. “Stay with us,” they pleaded. “Please, grandmother, stay with us.”

The endearment, rarely used, spoke to the depth of their connection. Elder Willow had been mother, teacher, and guide to generations of forest spirits. Her loss would devastate them all, but none more than those who'd known her longest.

They established new defensive lines around the heart grove, concentrating their remaining power. The outer forest was lost, at least temporarily, but the core remained protected. Exhausted guardians worked to reinforce barriers, knowing another attack would come soon.

As night deepened, Thorne found Elder Willow barely conscious. Her essence had dimmed to mere embers, and the tree that housed her showed more black than silver. Briar sat at her roots, openly weeping now that the immediate battle had paused.

“Don't go,” Briar whispered. “We need you. I need you.”

Elder Willow's form flickered weakly. “All things... must change... little one. Even ancient things.”

“But who will guide us? Who will remember the old songs, the deep magic?”

“Thorne will remember. And you... you will help him learn.” Her gaze found Thorne, holding meanings too complex for words. “The choice comes now. Whether you will it or not.”

Around them, the forest began to fail catastrophically. Leaves fell in great drifts, streams ran backward before drying completely, flowers wilted and crumbled to dust. The magical network that sustained the Eldergrove unraveled like a tapestry pulled thread by thread.

The council gathered again as Elder Willow's light guttered like a candle in wind. Ancient protocols were observed, rituals older than human civilization marking the transition of power. Briar clung to Thorne's side, seeking comfort even as they prepared to lose their oldest friend.

Some members objected to Thorne's succession, citing his bond with Silas as a potential weakness.

“He is compromised,” Oak-Lord declared. “Divided loyalty serves no one.”

“His division is his strength,” River-Singer countered. “We need new perspectives, new connections.”

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