The rafts glided in silence across the ke, guided by the bluish light flowing beneath the elves’ hands. A thin mist veiled the water, and the isnd at the center seemed to float between two worlds. Upon it, the great tree of cherry-colored leaves rose like an ancient guardian, luminous even without sunlight.

  Alden kept his fingers clenched around the raft’s rail.

  With every meter that brought them closer to the Tree, the pounding in his chest grew stronger.

  “Do not fear the Tree,” Maelorin said without turning. “Only those who hide their hearts have reason to fear it.”

  Alden swallowed. He was no longer sure which frightened him more: being accepted… or not.

  They disembarked in silence. The isnd itself seemed to hold its breath.

  Maelorin turned to him.

  “Come forward, bearer. Let the Tree recognize you.”

  Alden walked toward the trunk. Luthara followed for a few steps, then stopped, as if she understood that this step was his alone.

  Lyanna remained behind, uneasy.

  Alden pced his palm against the bark.

  An instant of nothing.

  Then—everything.

  His vision shattered like a mirror.

  A woman’s face, caught between light and shadow.

  Dark hair stirred by a gentle wind.

  Green eyes, intense, gazing at him from very close.

  A whisper he could not understand.

  A feeling of loss… and of recognition.

  Alden inhaled sharply. The world returned.

  Then the breeze rose.

  Cherry-colored leaves lifted from the ground, spiraling around him in a slow, perfect arc. Amber light ignited his eyes.

  Lyanna stepped forward, armed.

  The breeze shifted.

  The leaves formed a circle around her.

  Her green eyes shone, answering Alden’s amber glow.

  For a single heartbeat, an invisible thread seemed to bind them, trembling between the two.

  The wind died.

  Silence fell like a seal.

  A hawk descended through the mist, dropping a short, ancient staff into Lyanna’s hands. The stone set at its tip gleamed with emerald light.

  Maelorin spoke with the gravity of an ancient judgment:

  “The Tree has not seen only him. It has chosen you as well.

  The relic recognizes you. Its name is Velyss.

  Your destinies have just become entwined.”

  Lyanna closed her fingers around the staff, her pulse trembling.

  Alden looked at her; she held his gaze.

  Nothing was the same anymore.

  ***

  Far from the isnd, in the capital of Valdara, the pace gates opened to admit Riven.

  He crossed the marble halls with silent, measured steps. In the throne room, King Edramon Valdareth straightened slightly at the sight of him. Light from the stained-gss windows fell across the king, revealing the blend of fatigue and pride in his eyes.

  After the formal greeting, Riven spoke without preamble:

  “Lord Gathor is searching for a group of travelers. Among them, a marked youth.”

  The king’s expression hardened.

  “Is the boy tied to the prophecies?”

  Riven did not hesitate.

  “The matters of Lord Gathor are not to be questioned.”

  The air in the hall seemed to tighten.

  The king held his gaze, forcing calm. He could not afford to tremble. He could not show weakness. Gathor’s shadow had shaped Valdara’s fate from the day Edramon watched his brother murdered and the kingdom reduced to a vassal. His throne was not an honor—it was a burden, a chain.

  “Knowing more details would allow us to act precisely,” Edramon replied. “My realm faces unrest. I could better serve Lord Gathor if I knew what to look for.”

  Riven inclined his head slightly, his voice edged like steel:

  “A king who cannot control his nds does not deserve to be king.”

  The words struck like a blunt blow.

  Edramon clenched his fists, but his voice remained steady.

  “I am Edramon Valdareth, descendant of Halvor. I fulfill my duty.”

  “Do better,” Riven said. “Lord Gathor does not tolerate mistakes.”

  At st, the king nodded, swallowing his anger.

  “My men will watch all of Valdara. If that group enters or draws near… we will find them. And we will stop them.”

  Riven inclined his head and turned away. His footsteps echoed in a dry, calcuted rhythm across the marble as he departed without haste.

  Edramon followed him with his eyes, keenly aware of how each heartbeat still thundered in his ears while the envoy’s shadow faded down the corridor.

  ***

  The hawk beat its wings once, stirring a gentle swirl of pink leaves that drifted down over Alden and Lyanna.

  Velyss pulsed green in her hand; the Mark answered with a warm throb beneath his shirt.

  Two fshes.

  Two lights recognizing one another without words.

  The bird traced a wide circle above them and rose into the air, vanishing toward the horizon, swallowed by the ke’s pale glow.

  No one spoke. Only silence remained—deep, expectant.

  Alden touched his chest. He could still feel the echo of the vision: green eyes, blurred and ancient, fading as quickly as they had appeared.

  Lyanna tightened her grip on the staff, breathing deeply, as if something within her had awakened without asking permission.

  Maelorin inclined his head solemnly.

  “The Tree has answered,” he said. “And the path is no longer the same.”

  A final breeze crossed the isnd, light as a whisper.

  Alden understood then what truly mattered:

  The trial had not ended.

  It had only just begun.