Synopsis ( continues after where episode one left off)
The battle shakes the clearing.The assassin's boots skid across the moss-covered earth, digging grooves into the ground as he struggles to steady himself. His arm trembles slightly—whether from pain or fear, even he doesn't know.
Across from him, Itarim stands transformed—barefoot, primal, his breath heavy but controlled. His hair flickers faintly with streaks of purple energy as it flows in the wind. The forest seems to pulse with him. Nature bends to his awakening.
"I underestimated you," the assassin growls, raising his weapon again. "No matter. Beast or not, you'll die like the rest."
He throws a flurry of blades—silent, swift, deadly.
But Itarim is faster.
He moves like a blur, weaving between the flying weapons with beastly instinct. One blade grazes his shoulder—but it barely slows him. He's in front of the assassin again, and this time his claws strike true.
SLASH!
The assassin is hurled into the ancient tree's roots, blood painting the bark. He groans, coughing, and tries to rise—but Itarim is already above him, hand pulled back for a final strike.
"This ends now!" Itarim snarls.
Suddenly—
"ITARIM!!"
Grey's voice pierces the haze.
Itarim halts. His claw, inches from the assassin's neck, trembles. He turns slowly—his glowing eyes wide, his face animalistic but still… familiar.
Grey, barely standing, meets his gaze.
"Don't… don't lose yourself."
Itarim's breath catches. His claws retract slightly. The pulsing energy around him begins to flicker—violent, unstable.
He clutches his head, stepping back from the assassin.
"I… I can't… I don't…"
The transformation fights to hold on, but Itarim's humanity claws its way back. His hair loses some of its glow. The claws recede. His breathing slows.
"You're not a monster," Grey says, voice weak but firm. "You saved me…"
Behind them, the assassin vanishes into the shadows with the last of his strength—injured but not dead. The battle is over… for now.
SILENCE FALLS ONCE MORE
The clearing lies in ruins. Roots torn. Ground cracked. The massive tree remains still, watching as always.
Itarim stumbles toward Grey and drops to his knees beside him.
"I'm sorry… I couldn't stop myself…"
Grey smiles weakly. "You protected me. That's all that matters."
From the treeline, Sensei Mark bursts through, eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the scene—and Itarim's state.
"By the gods…" he breathes. "Itarim… your Primal form…"
"Sensei…" Itarim turns, exhausted. "I… think something's wrong with me…"
Mark kneels beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, calming the boy's trembling body.
"No, Itarim. What you've done… it's unheard of. To awaken without the Rite? You've just rewritten the rules of blood."
He looks at Grey, unconscious again, and then at the sky as clouds roll across the moon.
ELDER'S CHAMBER – UNKNOWN LOCATION
Location: Deep beneath the roots of Manalith's central Heartwood Tree, a stone chamber is lit only by glowing moss and violet firebowls. Seven cloaked elders sit in a crescent, facing a floating crystal that pulses with residual energy from the assassin's failed mission.
The crystal dims. The room falls into silence.
An elder slams a wrinkled fist on the table.
> Elder Varin: "So the boy has obtained a Primal form… but he isn't even of royal blood! This defies centuries of natural law!There's no hiding anymore. The council must be informed. And our bloodlines… must be questioned."
Another elder leans forward, fingers clasped under her chin, her voice sharp and steady.
> Elder Saerra: "That's not the issue here. A trained assassin infiltrated Manalith's borders—and nearly succeeded in killing one of our own. Our defenses failed. The question is… how?"
A third elder, older than the others and half-blind, speaks from the shadows.
> Elder Rhon: "The wards have not been broken in decades. For someone to pass through unnoticed… either they were granted entry...Or something within our forces has changed"
The chamber grows tense.
Elder Varin (scoffing): "You're suggesting our boarders welcomed the assassin?"
Elder Saerra: "No. I'm saying something else is in play… also about that boy the Tree of Witness responded to him. His awakening shook the entire ward network. It wasn't just a Primal surge."
A long silence. Then a younger voice, belonging to a shadowy figure who has remained silent until now, speaks:
Elder Thayne:"The Tree of Witness recognized him. It only echoes with those connected to the Primordial Line."
A long pause follows.
Elder Thayne: "The Tree of Witness recognized him. It only echoes with those connected to the Primordial Line."
Gasps ripple through the chamber.
Elder Varin: "You're suggesting he carries an unknown royal bloodline?"
Elder Rhon: "That would mean the boy is not a false prince… but a true heir."
Elder Varin (gritting his teeth): "Or a threat we should've destroyed when we still had the chance."
Suddenly, the central crystal pulses again—faint but insistent. A new signal.A second assassin has crossed the border.
One of the elders gestures to the shadows behind the council, where a twisting vine-carved doorway slowly opens.
A figure steps forward.
He wears no crest. No color. Only pitch-black leathers, bound tight to his form, with a hood that casts his face in darkness. The torchlight reflects off a carved bone mask—jawless and silent. A faint, silver rune glows on the back of his right hand.
Elder Thayne: " I summoned the Shade Hollow Root."
The figure kneels before the council.
Elder Saerra: "Shadowbrand, you are to keep an eye on the boy known as Itarim. If he is what we fear… or hope… you are to ensure he is brought before us. Unharmed."
Elder Varin (grumbling): "And if he resists?"
The masked figure tilts his head slightly.
Elder Saerra: "Use force. But do not kill him. Not yet.Also take care of that second assassin do not kill him or her,we need to find out who's there source"
The Shade says nothing—only melts into the stonework behind him, vanishing into shadow.
The flames around the chamber darken to a deep indigo as the scene fades.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING BACK AT THE
CASTLE – GREY'S ROOM – MORNING
Soft sunlight filters through tall, arched windows carved with sigils of protection and royalty. The room is warm with golden hues, its silence broken only by the subtle chirp of birds and the crackle of a distant fireplace. Grey stirs in a large, cushioned bed adorned with silken sheets and protective runes woven into the edges.
His eyes flutter open—then squint against the light.
At his bedside sit Itarim, looking exhausted but calm, he watches Grey closely, though his face is composed.
> Grey (blinking): "Ugh am I dead… I feel like I got stepped on by a wildhorn…"
A quiet chuckle draws his attention.Itarim chuckles softly, clearly relieved.
Sitting on a nearby stool, arms crossed, Itarim gives a crooked grin—worn but genuine. A few scratches still mark his skin. His eyes are tired… but his presence is calming.
Grey groans and tries to sit up. Itarim steadies him.
Itarim: "You almost were. Drama queen.Well, to be fair… you kinda got smacked saving me from a crazy assassin. So yeah. Wildhorn works."
Grey: "That assassin… the forest… are we safe?"
Itarim (softly): "Yeah. He's gone."
He blinks at Itarim's hair, now shorter and mostly back to its usual silver-grey, but faint purple streaks still remain.
Grey (half-smiling): "Your hair's still weird, though."
Itarim (grinning): "Says the prince with the royal cowlick."
Grey (grinning weakly): "I save your life one time, and suddenly you go feral on me. What was that even?"
Itarim looks away briefly, unsure how to answer. The tension is broken by the sound of water being poured into a silver cup.
Sensei Mark (stepping into view): "A manifest of his Primal form congrats."
He sets the cup beside Grey, nodding toward it.
> Sensei Mark: "Drink. You'll need your strength. The forest took more from you than just blood."
Grey accepts the cup, sipping with a thankful nod. His gaze shifts between Mark and Itarim, curiosity peeking through the haze.
Grey: "So… what did happen? Did I imagine the claws, the long hair, the whole 'my best friend turned into a spirit-beast' thing?"
Itarim (quietly): "I don't remember."
Grey: "It looked angry."
Itarim (half-smirking): "It was"
They laugh, briefly, before a comfortable silence settles. Grey's gaze turns to Sensei Mark, who hasn't said a word.
In the corner, Sensei Mark leans quietly arms crossed against the window frame. Mark watches the boys closely closel, his face unreadable. Inwardly, his thoughts spiral like a storm.He glances back at the boys—Itarim, looking stronger by the second, and Grey, who's already cracking a joke despite broken ribs.
(Sensei Mark's inner thoughts)
"He awakened without guidance. Without the Rite. Without being from a royal bloodline . That should be impossible. Unless…"
"Unless it's true the Primordial Line never ended."
"And if the Elders feel threatened, they'll do worse than send Shades."
Grey: "Sensei?"
Mark's voice is calm, but inwardly, he is anything but.
Sensei Mark (aloud): "You both were lucky. And foolish. You should've come straight back once you sensed danger. You were almost killed."
Itarim and Grey glance at each other, their boyish guilt plain.
Itarim: "We didn't know we were being followed…"
Sensei Mark: "That's the point. Next time, you might not live to learn from it."
Grey (quietly): "Will there be a next time?"
Mark sighs, walking toward the door.
Sensei Mark: "There always is. Rest, both of you. Today… is your birthday. Try to act like kids for once."
He leaves the room, the door clicking gently shut behind him.
As he walks down the stone hallways of the castle, his face tightens.
(Mark, internally)
" After this… the forest won't let them stay children for long."
INT. CASTLE – ROYAL GARDEN – LATER THAT DAY
Children run and laugh. Bright cloths drape the trees and food lines tables of carved oak. Nobles and servants alike gather for the joint birthday of Grey and Itarim—an old tradition renewed each year.
Grey and Itarim sit side by side under a canopy, both in ceremonial tunics.
But in the distance, hidden among the trees, a figure watches. Cloaked in black, face masked in bone, the Shade known as Shadowbrand waits—silent and unseen.
Hollow root (to himself): "so this is boy that has caught the attention of council,what an odd one"