The three standing stones loomed against the twilight sky like ancient sentinels, their weathered surfaces etched with symbols that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of one's eye. Adrian halted the travois, his enhanced vision revealing networks of magical energy pulsing through the monoliths—power sleeping but not dormant, waiting rather than forgotten.

"We're here," he murmured to Karl, whose condition had deteriorated despite the Bloodroot's effects. The old hunter's breathing came in shallow gasps, his life force flickering dangerously faint to Adrian's newly heightened perception.

Grim whined softly, pressing his massive body against the travois as if lending his warmth to his failing master. The hound's loyalty had proven invaluable during their three-day journey, tracking game for food and alerting Adrian to potential dangers well before they became threats.

Beyond the standing stones, nestled in a naturally formed hollow, stood a small structure that defied easy description. Part cottage, part living tree, its walls seemed to grow from the earth itself, branches and roots forming intricate patterns that served as both support and decoration. A soft golden light glowed from within, spilling through windows made of what appeared to be amber rather than glass.

As Adrian approached, pulling the travois carefully across the threshold formed by the standing stones, the air changed perceptibly. The forest's natural sounds—insects, rustling leaves, distant animal calls—fell away, replaced by an almost musical hum that vibrated just below the threshold of normal hearing. To Adrian's enhanced senses, it manifested as ripples in the surrounding energy patterns, like stones dropped into a still pond.

The cottage door opened before Adrian could announce their presence.

"I've been expecting you," said a calm, melodious voice. "Though admittedly not for another day. You made good time, Knight of Astor."

The woman who stepped from the cottage appeared neither young nor old, her true age masked behind features that somehow shifted between youthful strength and ancient wisdom depending on the angle of light. Her hair, woven with small flowers and herbs, fell to her waist in a cascade the color of autumn leaves. Her eyes, however, were her most striking feature—irises of such pale blue they appeared almost white, with no discernible pupils.

"You're blind," Adrian stated, the realization coming as he noticed how her gaze focused slightly above his face rather than on it.

A smile curved her lips. "To ordinary sight, yes. But there are many ways to see." She moved forward with confident steps, hands extended toward the travois. "You've brought Karl. His life hangs by a thread."

Adrian found himself unsurprised that she knew their names. "Can you help him?"

"That depends on how attached he is to living," she replied cryptically, her hands hovering over Karl's still form. "His body is broken, but his spirit remains strong. That's a promising foundation."

"Are you Elara?" Adrian asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I am." She straightened, gesturing toward her dwelling. "Bring him inside quickly. The night grows cold, and death circles ever closer."

Adrian carefully lifted the travois, following Elara into her unusual home. The interior proved even more remarkable than the exterior—a single circular chamber whose walls seemed alive with slow, purposeful movement. Plants grew indoors in organized patterns, their fragrances mingling into a heady, therapeutic aroma. Bundles of herbs hung from rafters formed of living branches, while shelves carved directly from the wooden walls held countless bottles, jars, and containers of various shapes and sizes.

At the room's center stood a raised platform of smooth stone, warm to the touch despite the cool evening air.

"Place him here," Elara instructed, already gathering materials from her shelves.

Adrian transferred Karl to the stone platform with gentle care, noting how the old hunter's breath came in increasingly irregular intervals. "He's getting worse,"

"Of course he is," Elara replied matter-of-factly. "He's dying. Now be silent unless spoken to. Healing requires concentration."

Adrian stepped back, watching as Elara began working with methodical efficiency. She crushed herbs in a mortar of polished river stone, added liquids from various bottles, heated the mixture over a small flame that seemed to burn without fuel, all while murmuring words in a language Adrian didn't recognize but somehow understood was ancient beyond reckoning.

As she worked, Adrian became increasingly aware of the energy patterns surrounding them. The cottage itself pulsed with power—not the raw, chaotic force he'd perceived in the forest, but something cultivated and refined, like a garden compared to wilderness. Most fascinating was how energy flowed from Elara's hands into her concoctions, infusing them with purpose beyond their physical properties.

Time seemed to flow strangely as Elara worked. Outside, night fell completely, yet the cottage's interior maintained its warm, amber illumination. Grim settled by the door, amber eyes fixed vigilantly on his master. Adrian found himself drifting into an almost meditative state, hypnotized by the patterns of energy swirling around the healer as she worked.

Eventually, Elara stepped back from Karl, wiping her hands on a cloth that seemed to dissolve into mist as soon as she finished with it. "I've done what I can," she announced. "The rest depends on him."

Adrian approached the platform. Karl's color had improved markedly, his breathing deeper and more regular. The wound in his side, which had resisted the Bloodroot's healing properties, now appeared as a fresh scar rather than an open injury. The broken leg had been set and wrapped in leaves that emitted a faint greenish glow.

"He'll live?" Adrian asked, not entirely trusting his own assessment.

"If he chooses to," Elara replied. She moved to a small hearth built into the living wall, where a kettle hung ready. "His body will heal. Whether his spirit wishes to remain tethered to it is another matter entirely."

Adrian watched as she prepared a tea, her movements precise despite her blindness. "Thank you for helping him," he said simply.

Elara paused, her unseeing eyes turning toward him with uncanny accuracy. "I didn't do it for you, Évermarked. I did it for him. Karl has been a friend to these woods for decades, taking only what he needs, respecting the old boundaries."

The use of the term "Évermarked" sent a chill through Adrian. "You know what I am."

"I know what you carry," she corrected, returning to her tea preparation. "What you are remains to be determined." She gestured to a roughly hewn wooden chair. "Sit. Karl will sleep through the night. We have matters to discuss."

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Adrian settled into the indicated chair, noticing how it seemed to adjust slightly to better accommodate his frame. "You're not surprised by my condition."

"Little surprises me anymore," Elara replied, bringing two steaming cups to a small table between them. "I've lived in these woods for longer than anyone remembers. I've seen the Évermark before, though not for several generations."

Adrian accepted the offered tea, its aroma complex and unfamiliar yet somehow comforting. "Karl's grandfather studied a woman who bore it."

"Sephina," Elara nodded. "A troubled soul. She visited me once, seeking relief from the voices of her past lives." A shadow passed across her features. "I couldn't help her. The Évermark isn't something that can be removed or suppressed. It's a covenant written in the very essence of your being."

Adrian sipped the tea, finding its taste matched its aroma—complex, layered, simultaneously soothing and invigorating. "A covenant with whom? Or what?"

"That," Elara said with a slight smile, "is the question at the heart of your journey, isn't it?"

Before Adrian could press further, the hearth fire suddenly dimmed, plunging the cottage into near darkness. The temperature dropped perceptibly, frost forming on the amber windows despite the previous warmth.

"The fire," Elara said calmly, "needs tending."

Adrian rose, moving to the hearth where only embers remained. He reached for the stack of kindling beside it, but Elara's voice stopped him.

"Not with wood," she instructed. "With will."

Adrian turned, uncertain. "I don't understand."

Elara's blind eyes seemed to see through him. "You've died three times since awakening in this age. Each death has changed you, enhanced your perception. You can see the energy patterns now, can't you? The flows and eddies of power that surround all living things?"

Adrian nodded, then realized she couldn't see the gesture. "Yes. Since my last resurrection."

"Then you've begun to awaken," she stated. "Look at the embers. Really look. See the potential fire within them, waiting to be called forth."

Feeling slightly foolish but unwilling to dismiss her guidance, Adrian knelt before the hearth. He focused on the dying embers, allowing his enhanced perception to engage fully. Beyond their physical glow, he could now perceive a different kind of light—a signature of heat and potential energy swirling within the carbonized wood.

"I see it," he murmured, fascinated by the patterns.

"Now reach for it," Elara instructed. "Not with your hands. With your will. Imagine drawing that energy upward, feeding it with the air around it."

Adrian concentrated, trying to conceptualize what she described. He pictured the energy rising, growing, expanding. To his shock, the embers brightened visibly, a small flame flickering into existence where moments before there had been only dying coals.

"Good," Elara encouraged. "Now more. Feel the connection between your intent and the fire's nature."

Adrian deepened his focus, an unfamiliar sensation spreading through his chest and down his arms—not physical warmth, but something more fundamental, as if currents of power were flowing through channels he'd never known existed within his body. The flame grew steadily, dancing higher until the hearth blazed with renewed vitality.

"I—I'm doing this," Adrian whispered, stunned by the realization. The fire responded to each nuance of his concentration, diminishing when his focus wavered, strengthening when he directed his full attention to it.

"You are," Elara confirmed. "The talent was always within you, dormant but present. The Academy sensed it in you, which is why they kept you from formal magical training."

Adrian broke his concentration, turning to her in surprise. The fire immediately settled into a normal, self-sustaining flame. "How could you possibly know about my Academy restrictions?"

Elara sipped her tea placidly. "I don't see with eyes, Évermarked. I see with other senses. Your life is written upon you like text on a page—fragmented in places, but increasingly legible with each death you experience."

She set her cup down carefully. "The Royal Sword Academy of Astor feared practitioners with natural affinity. Their history taught them that such individuals often couldn't be controlled, couldn't be bound by the rigid structures they deemed necessary for magical safety."

Adrian returned to his chair, mind reeling from the implications. "And each time I die and return..."

"The barriers placed upon your natural talents weaken," Elara finished for him. "Death strips away artificial limitations. The Évermark uses these passages between life and death to restore what was suppressed."

Adrian stared into his teacup, watching ripples form as his hand trembled slightly. "I could feel it happening. With each resurrection, my awareness expanded. But I never imagined..."

"That you would develop magical ability?" Elara smiled knowingly. "The capacity was always there, written into your very essence. The Academy didn't remove it—they couldn't. They merely... blocked the pathways of expression."

She gestured toward the hearth where Adrian's conjured fire burned steadily. "Your affinity appears strongest with fire, which is unsurprising for a warrior soul. Fire is transformation through destruction—the element of decisive action."

Adrian looked down at his hands, seeing them differently now—not just tools for wielding sword and shield, but potential conduits for power he'd never been permitted to explore. "Could this be why I was chosen for the Évermark? Because of this... affinity?"

"Perhaps," Elara allowed, her blind eyes turning toward the sleeping form of Karl. "Or perhaps the affinity is merely a tool you'll need for whatever purpose the mark truly serves."

She rose gracefully, moving to check on her patient. "This forest facilitates your awakening. Few places in the world retain such concentrated magical energy. The Helheim Woods were once the site of a great confluence—a meeting place where the boundaries between realms thinned naturally."

"Realms?" Adrian questioned, following her.

"Planes of existence," Elara clarified. "The mortal world is but one layer of reality. Beyond it lie others—the spirit realm, the elemental planes, and spaces between that defy easy categorization." Her hands moved with practiced precision as she adjusted Karl's poultice. "A great battle was fought here, centuries before even your first life. Mages of tremendous power tore at the fabric between worlds, seeking advantage against their enemies."

Adrian remembered the energy patterns he'd perceived throughout the forest, how they seemed to flow along invisible fault lines. "They damaged something."

"Yes," Elara nodded approvingly. "The boundaries remain thin here, allowing magic to seep through more readily than elsewhere. It's why I chose this place—and likely why Karl's ancestors settled here as well, though they might not have consciously recognized the reason."

She straightened, apparently satisfied with Karl's progress. "It's also why your awakening has progressed so rapidly. Three deaths in such magically potent surroundings have accelerated what might otherwise have taken dozens of resurrections."

Adrian moved back to the hearth, experimentally extending his hand toward the flames. They reached toward him like living things, responding to his unspoken invitation without burning his flesh. "I never desired magic," he said quietly. "I was content with sword and strategy."

"Few of us receive only what we desire," Elara replied philosophically. "Life—or in your case, multiple lives—has a way of providing what we need rather than what we want."

She returned to her chair, reclaiming her cooling tea. "Rest now. Tomorrow I'll show you how to properly channel what's awakening within you. Basic control, at minimum, will be necessary if you're to avoid accidentally burning down the next shelter you find."

Adrian withdrew his hand from the flames, watching them settle back into normal patterns. "And Karl?"

"Will continue healing," Elara assured him. "His body mends well. By tomorrow, we'll know if his spirit has chosen to remain with it."

Adrian nodded, suddenly aware of the bone-deep exhaustion that three days of constant vigilance had created. A simple bedroll had been prepared near Karl's healing platform, presumably by Elara while Adrian had been distracted by his magical awakening.

As he settled onto the surprisingly comfortable bedding, his last waking thought was of the Academy and their warnings about his "dangerous affinity." They had feared what he might become if his natural talents were developed. Now, centuries later and carrying the mark of undying, he was finally discovering what they had tried to suppress.

The Évermark pulsed once on his forearm, as if acknowledging this new development in its bearer's evolving nature. Adrian fell into a deep sleep, his dreams filled with fire that spoke in voices he almost recognized, calling him toward a destiny written in silver upon his skin.

Outside Elara's living cottage, the three standing stones gleamed briefly in the moonlight, their ancient symbols momentarily aligning with the pattern of the mark Adrian carried—a resonance unwitnessed save by the blind eyes of the forest's ageless guardian.