✧ Chapter Thirty-Five ✧
The Ink Between Trees
from Have You Someone to Protect?
by ©Amer
The forest kept its own secrets.
Caelum moved like a shadow between trunks older than most bloodlines. His boots brushed pine needles without sound, his cloak trailing like dusk through the quiet. The river was far now, and so were the echoes of spells and splashes. Here, the trees leaned closer—bent with memory—and birds no longer sang.
He passed the old marker stone—half-sunken into the roots of an ash, weathered smooth. Thirty paces more brought him to the hollow.
There, tucked behind a moss-draped rock, was the letter. Sealed in wax. Weighted with a carved stone marked by three arrows piercing a sun.
He knelt. Opened it.
The script was rushed, but unmistakable.
Caelum— I've done what I can on my end. The record of her line is buried deep, but I found something. The name Thorne Amer was erased from the Solaran registry not just once—but twice.
And I think someone wanted it that way.
There's more. Too much for a letter. We need to speak.
Meet me where the pines lean east. You'll know it.
Caelum folded the letter slowly. The ink had barely dried. His fingers paused over the paper, lingering longer than necessary.
She was alive. Still watching. Still helping.
She was not merely a shadow from his past—this woman was a cornerstone of his survival, a figure who had shaped the man he'd become in ways no one else could.
If she had stepped into the light, would another story begin? Would another truth rise?
Then his expression shifted. He reached into his coat for a fresh scroll and inked a swift reply—steady despite the chill crawling up his spine.
Not yet. Stay where you are. If she remembers too soon, the seal will rupture—and not even I can contain that fallout. She's learning.Trust me.
Trust the vow.
He sealed it with his crest—a lion crossed with a sword—and returned it to the hollow.
The wind stirred. A pinecone dropped behind him. He didn't flinch.
"So it's beginning again, isn't it?" he murmured.
He tucked the letter away now, his expression unreadable, and turned toward the path that would lead him back to the bookshop. But part of his mind—his guarded, scarred mind—remained behind, with her.
The lights were low when Elias and Lhady stepped into the bookshop.
The storm outside hadn't reached them fully yet, but the air tasted of it. Lhady moved slowly, wrapped in a robe Allen had delivered, her hair damp and clean, her silence thick.
Elias said nothing as he lit a candle. He set the parcel from Allen down by the hearth and gestured gently.
"Drink," he said, passing her a cup of tea.
She did. Wordlessly.
Only after a long moment did she ask, "Will you tell him?"
"No," he said.
Then, quieter, "But you should."
She nodded faintly. Her eyes drifted to the gift. "Allen's parcel… I forgot it was even my name day next week."
"You nearly forgot your life today."
The words struck deep. She didn't respond.
He watched her for a moment longer, then turned toward the kitchen. "Rest. I'll handle dinner."
"Thank you," she whispered before climbing the stairs.
Elias remained, his gaze on the river-dirt beneath her nails. He exhaled through his nose.
"Just like your father," he muttered. "Too stubborn to float. Too soft to fall."
Across town, the inn's gaslamp buzzed faintly as rain thickened to a steady drumbeat against the cobblestones.
The door creaked open.
Silas stepped in—dripping wet, braid half-undone, boots leaving puddles on the polished floor. He looked as if he'd fought the river and barely won.
A voice called from the lounge:
"Gods, what dragged you into the lake?"
Malric appeared at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed. Amused at first—until he saw what Silas held.
The violet shawl.
Malric's smile dropped. "Wait. Is that—?"
Silas met his gaze. "She almost drowned."
Malric's expression sharpened. "What?"
"I pulled her out. She wasn't breathing. Someone who's with her said she was dreaming, but—"
He stopped himself. Shook his head.
"She's alive. That's all that matters."
Malric came closer, more serious now. "Silas… where were you even going?"
"I was… practicing what to say," Silas said, almost embarrassed. "I thought I could just walk in like nothing had changed."
He gave a hollow laugh. "And instead, I pulled her out of the river."
Malric looked down at the shawl, mended at the corner where Caelum once stitched it. "So… you saw her again. After all these days."
"She didn't see me," Silas said. "She was unconscious."
"And someone was with her?"
Silas's jaw tightened. "A man. Silver hair. Looked like he knew silence better than anyone. He carried her like she weighed nothing. Like he belonged there."
"Do you think she trusts him?"
"I don't know," Silas admitted. "But I hated how right it looked."
Malric said nothing.
Silas glanced down at the shawl again. His fingers were trembling. "She was always surrounded by good people. Caelum. Her friends. But this one… he felt different. Like he already knew everything."
"You're not too late," Malric said softly. "You just came late. There's a difference."
Silas didn't respond.
Malric exhaled, hands on his hips. "You're not staying quiet this time, are you?"
Silas looked down at the wet fabric in his grip, thumb brushing the stitch Caelum had once sewn into the corner.
"No," he said softly. "I'm not."
Back at the bookshop, the tea had gone cold.
Lhady stirred from her chair and walked toward the window. Rain tapped lightly on the panes. The street outside was empty.
Or so it seemed.
She pressed a hand to her chest. The sigil beneath her blouse pulsed faintly, as if echoing something forgotten.
Then it hit her.
Her shawl.
She'd left it behind.
Outside, soaked in the rain, a figure stood unmoving across the street.
He clutched something close to his chest.
A violet shawl—still damp. Worn. Mended at the corners.
But it wasn't Silas.