Elira crouched low in the underbrush, her breath steady and controlled. She could feel the forest around her vibrating with an unnatural energy, the pulse of Caelan's power bleeding into the very air itself. Each step he took seemed to ripple through the Weave, his resonance carving a path for them to follow. But it wasn't just his power that worried her—it was the chaos. The raw, unbridled chaos he carried, something far more dangerous than any of them could have imagined.
The Watcher was close behind her, his presence as silent as death, his gaze fixed ahead. He was the one who had trained her, had taught her everything she knew about the hunt, and now his command was absolute: find him, before he finds the Blackroot.
The weight of that mission sat heavily on her shoulders. Caelan's power was growing too fast. It had to be contained, and it would be her hand that dealt the blow.
If she was strong enough.
"He's close," The Watcher murmured, his voice barely more than a breath, but there was something cold in his tone that made Elira's heart stutter. He didn't sound like the man she knew. There was something more—something in his eyes that spoke of ancient knowledge, of secrets that had been buried for too long.
"You can feel it, can't you?" she asked quietly, her eyes scanning the path ahead, searching for any sign of Caelan. "His power is… different."
The Watcher's reply was a low growl, his eyes narrowing. "It is like a wound in the Weave. One that grows deeper with every breath he takes. It's too dangerous. If he reaches the Blackroot..." His voice trailed off, but the implication was enough.
Elira didn't need to ask what would happen if Caelan reached the Blackroot. The corruption was worse than death. The Blackroot was a creature that had long been forgotten, buried beneath centuries of blood and ash. It was a force of nature, older than the kingdoms, older than the Weave itself. Those who attempted to control it were doomed to become its thralls, their minds shattered, their souls consumed by the darkness that thrived within it.
Caelan could not be allowed to reach it. No matter the cost.
They pushed forward, slipping through the dense foliage, moving as one with the shadows. The air grew thicker the deeper they ventured, the trees closing in around them like ancient sentinels. The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy now, leaving them in near-complete darkness. Only the faintest whispers of wind could be heard, carrying with it the faintest trace of Caelan's presence.
Suddenly, Elira stopped, her body tense. She raised a hand, signaling the Watcher to hold.
There it was again.
A faint crackle of energy, sharp and erratic. The pulse of his power—unpredictable, untamed.
She turned to the Watcher, a wordless command passing between them. With a swift nod, he stepped forward, his every movement fluid and quiet as he took the lead, following the trail of magic with unerring precision.
Elira followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence was unnerving, as if the very forest had become a living, breathing entity, watching their every move.
Then, just as she felt they were on the cusp of finding him, the earth beneath them trembled.
Elira's instincts kicked in. She spun to the side, her dagger drawn, but there was no need. The ground had cracked open, a massive rift forming before them. The air pulsed with raw energy, the Weave itself warping and twisting in response.
It was Caelan.
The Watcher hesitated for a moment, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and recognition. "He's awakening," he muttered under his breath.
Elira knew what that meant.
The boy was tapping into something far more dangerous than even they had anticipated.
The crack in the ground widened, and before them stood Caelan—his figure glowing faintly, surrounded by a field of shimmering, crackling energy. His eyes were wide, his expression focused, as if he were seeing something far beyond their world.
"He's trying to control it," Elira whispered, her voice tight. "We need to stop him now."
But it was too late.
The Weave surged around him, wild and uncontrolled, responding to his call. The air shimmered with raw magic, bending to his will. And for a brief moment, Caelan seemed to glow with an otherworldly light, his power surging outward in a wave that sent tremors through the forest.
The Watcher stepped forward.
His movement was precise, lethal, as he unsheathed his blade with a silent grace. Elira moved to follow, her dagger raised, but something stopped her. A cold feeling swept over her—a warning, perhaps. She hesitated, eyes narrowing as she studied the boy before her.
He was changing.
Something deep within her stirred.
The Watcher's sword was raised high, poised for the kill, but Elira's instincts flared to life, a strange, unfamiliar urge filling her. She knew what he would do—what he was trained to do—but her own hands trembled as they gripped her weapon.
Was it her duty to stop him, to end Caelan's life before it was too late? Or was there another way?
Her gaze flicked back to the Watcher. He was ready.
But Elira wasn't sure anymore.
Was he truly the enemy? Or was he a tool of something much darker?
She couldn't ignore the doubts stirring inside her. She couldn't simply follow orders.
Not when she was beginning to understand the gravity of the situation.
As the energy crackled and surged around them, Elira made her decision.
She would no longer be just a tool of the hunt.