Chapter 26. Crimson Kin

The path Thorne chose threaded through shadows no traveler’s map would dare mark. Gnarled roots knotted the earth into ridges, and arching branches draped above like cathedral vaults hung with moss. Pale shafts of late-afternoon light pierced the canopy in narrow beams, illuminating motes of dust that danced like spirits in the silent green. Every step pressed into a plush carpet of decaying leaves and emerald moss, releasing the scent of wet stone and old magic. Here, in the heart of Rootwild, even the wind spoke in hushed tones—lest it disturb the ancient trees that had stood since before memory was born.

Aeryn followed without hesitation. She felt the forest’s pulse in her veins—the same steady rhythm that had begun its slow burn in her chest the night of the Bone Choir. That pressure, like molten iron cooled too quickly, told her this was no pilgrimage of answers. It was a homecoming to a truth her tongue had yet to name, a reclamation of blood and vow long buried.