Page 70 of Shattered Crown
“Nathaniel!” he called. “Something's wrong!”
The elder Ashworth hurried in, examining the magical fields around Thorne. “The Shadowblight left hooks in his essence. They're fighting the healing magic.”
“Can you remove them?” Silas demanded.
“Not without risk,” Nathaniel admitted. “But there may be a way to hold it at bay. Your bond with him is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. If you can become his anchor, give him a stable point of reference, his essence might be able to resist the corruption’s pull. But you will not be removing it. Only suppressing it.”
Silas didn’t hesitate. “Tell me what to do.”
Nathaniel gave quick, precise instructions. The process required total openness. Silas had to lower every mental defense, drop every barrier. He would need to fully invite Thorne into his consciousness, blending their souls more intimately than ever before.
“This is dangerous,” Nathaniel warned again, his voice grim. “If the corruption sees a crack in your focus, it might transfer. You could end up carrying it too.”
Silas reached for Thorne’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “I trust him,” he said simply.
The room dimmed as Silas closed his eyes and let himself fall inward, reaching through the bond like plunging into deep water. He felt Thorne’s pain almost immediately, raw and tangled, alive with shadows that writhed like oil on fire. The Shadowblight clung to his soul with needle-sharp tendrils, pulsing with malevolent will.
Silas let go of himself. He projected calm, love, and certainty. These were not just emotions but structure, scaffolding to hold Thorne up from within. He visualized memories: the first time they kissed under moonlight, the scent of moss and frost on Thorne’s skin, the unspoken promises exchanged in silence.
Thorne’s essence responded slowly and hesitantly. Then, like a vine reaching for sunlight, he clung to the offered strength. Together, their magic fused. Guardian green threaded with Silas’s golden warmth, wrapping around the corrupted fractures in Thorne’s being.
Pain lanced through Silas as the Shadowblight resisted. It recoiled and bit back, showing him glimpses of every fear he had buried—failure, loss, becoming his father. But he did not waver. He stood firm in the center of it all, breathing Thorne’s name like a prayer.
Kai brought food that went untouched. Elena stood guard, silent but tense. Nathaniel murmured protective incantations, keeping the ambient magic steady.
Hours passed like centuries.
Thorne screamed once. His physical body convulsed, then went still. The waters of the pool flashed brilliantly as they drew some of the corruption from him. Black wisps rose from his form, dissolving into the crystalline formations that surrounded the chamber. His form, once flickering like an unstable flame, began to stabilize. Not whole. Not healed. But anchored.
Silas slumped forward, drenched in sweat, his hands still clutching Thorne's.
Nathaniel placed a hand on Silas's back. “He is not fully cleansed,” he said gently. “But he is stable for now. You were able to extract some of the Shadowblight's influence, though complete purification will take time. The Heart Sanctum's magic will continue the process while he recovers.”
Silas lifted his head, eyes bloodshot but defiant. “Then we keep him here until he's completely free of it. Until we find a way to end this for good.”
Nathaniel gave a quiet nod of respect. “Your bond surprised the Shadowblight. It wasn't prepared for the strength of your connection. That gives us an advantage.”
Elena crossed her arms. “A narrow one.”
“Small advantages win wars,” Nathaniel replied. “And this war is far from over.”
16
AFTER THE FALL
The crystalline chamber within the Heart Sanctum hummed with healing energy. Silas lay on a bed of living moss, every muscle in his body screaming in protest whenever he attempted to move. His magical reserves were empty, drained to dangerous levels during the battle with Sebastian. The defeat played on endless loop in his mind, each memory bringing fresh waves of frustration and self-doubt.
Thorne rested nearby in the luminescent pool, his guardian form still flickering occasionally despite the sanctum's restorative magic. The sight made Silas's chest tighten with worry. He forced himself upright despite the pain, moving to the pool's edge to reach for Thorne's hand.
“You need to rest,” Silas murmured, his voice rough from exhaustion.
“Look who's talking,” Thorne managed, though his attempt at humor was undercut by the way his edges blurred and reformed beneath the glowing water.
Kai ducked through the archway of intertwined roots, carrying a tray of potions and salves. “Good, you're both awake. Time for another round of my grandmother's special healing brew.” He set the tray down on a crystalline outcropping and began sorting through various vials. “Fair warning, it tastes like ass and probably violates several natural laws, but it works.”
“Your bedside manner needs work,” Silas grumbled, accepting the offered potion.
“My bedside manner is fucking delightful,” Kai retorted. “Now drink up, your highness. We need you both functional again.”
