Adrian woke to the scent of herbs and the soft bubbling of a pot over a low flame. Sunlight filtered through the amber windows of Elara's cottage, casting honeyed patterns across the living walls. For a moment, disorientation claimed him—the events of the previous night seemed dreamlike in their impossibility. Had he truly conjured fire with nothing but his will?

The answer came as he noticed the hearth. The flames still danced there, but they moved in an unnatural pattern, forming shapes that resembled letters in a language he couldn't quite recognize. As he watched, they morphed into the silhouette of a bird taking flight before dissolving back into ordinary fire.

"Ah, you're awake," Elara's voice came from across the room where she stood tending to Karl. "The fire responds to your dreams, even in sleep. An uncommon talent."

Adrian sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Is that normal?"

"Normal?" Elara's unseeing eyes turned toward him, a smile playing at her lips. "There is nothing normal about you, Évermarked. But it is consistent with those who possess natural affinities rather than studied ones."

Karl's gruff voice startled them both. "Should've known you'd be trouble, boy."

Adrian was on his feet immediately, moving to the stone platform where the old hunter lay. Karl's color had improved dramatically overnight, his breathing steady and strong. The wound at his side was now merely a pink scar, and the broken leg, while still wrapped in the glowing leaves, appeared properly aligned.

"How do you feel?" Adrian asked, relief washing over him.

"Like I've been trampled by a herd of elk, then put back together by a blind witch," Karl replied, though there was no malice in his tone as he nodded respectfully toward Elara. "Thank you for your aid, Seer of the Woods."

Elara inclined her head. "The forest repays its friends, Hunter. You've taken only what you needed for decades. It remembers."

Adrian glanced between them. "You two know each other."

"Of course," Karl said, attempting to sit up before Elara's firm hand on his shoulder kept him in place. "My family has known of Elara for generations. My grandfather mentioned her in his journals."

"Your grandfather," Elara corrected gently, "was a persistent young man who asked too many questions. Much like our friend here." She turned toward Adrian. "Eat. There's porridge warming by the hearth. Once you've finished, we'll begin your first lesson."

The porridge was unlike anything Adrian had tasted before—infused with forest honey and berries that seemed to burst with energy when consumed. Each spoonful cleared his mind further, heightening his awareness of the energy patterns flowing through the cottage.

"It's enhanced with essence of Brightroot," Elara explained, seemingly reading his thoughts. "It helps open the pathways that allow magic to flow more freely through the body. You'll need it for today's work."

After breakfast, Elara led Adrian outside. Grim remained with Karl, the massive hound apparently content to serve as the old hunter's protector while he recovered. The morning air was crisp, and the forest seemed more alive than Adrian had ever noticed before—birds calling in complex patterns, insects humming with purpose, even the trees themselves appearing to sway with conscious intent rather than merely responding to the breeze.

"Your first lesson," Elara announced as they reached a small clearing near the three standing stones, "is not about creating fire, but controlling it." She gestured to a circle of stones containing the charred remains of previous fires. "Yesterday, you called the flame. Today, you must learn to speak with it."

"Speak with it?" Adrian asked, perplexed.

"Elements are not tools to be used," Elara explained, her tone taking on a teacher's cadence. "They are forces to be collaborated with. Fire especially demands respect—it is life and death, creation and destruction in perfect balance. It listens to those who understand this duality."

Under Elara's guidance, Adrian spent the morning learning to manipulate existing flames rather than creating new ones. She taught him to extend his awareness into the fire, feeling its hunger, its desire to grow and consume, but also its capacity to nurture and illuminate. By midday, he could cause flames to dance in patterns, separate into multiple smaller fires, and even momentarily suspend burning embers in the air.

"You learn quickly," Elara noted as they paused to rest. "The Academy was right to fear your potential."

Adrian frowned, extinguishing the small flame hovering above his palm. "I still don't understand why. Surely magical talent was valued in Astor."

"Controlled talent, yes," Elara replied. "Predictable talent that follows established rules and traditions. But natural affinity like yours? It operates on instinct rather than formula. It evolves rather than calcifies. The Academy built its power on the premise that magic must be regulated, systematized, and hierarchical." She smiled thinly. "People with talents like yours threatened that premise."

She rose from the stone where she'd been sitting, gesturing for Adrian to follow. "Come. There's something I must show you before we continue."

They walked deeper into the forest, away from the standing stones and Elara's cottage. The trees grew larger and more ancient the further they went, their trunks twisted into shapes that spoke of centuries of growth. Eventually, the canopy above became so dense that it created a perpetual twilight beneath, broken only by occasional shafts of sunlight that pierced through like golden spears.

"Where are we going?" Adrian asked after nearly an hour of walking.

"To the heart," Elara replied cryptically. "The forest's memory."

Just as Adrian was about to press for a clearer answer, they emerged into an unexpected clearing. At its center stood a tree unlike any he had ever seen—massive beyond reason, its trunk wide enough that twenty men linking arms could not encircle it. Unlike the surrounding pines and oaks, this tree bore silver leaves that shimmered with an inner light, casting the entire clearing in a ghostly luminescence.

But most striking were the markings covering its trunk—symbols, runes, and patterns carved directly into the bark, spiraling from the roots to the highest visible branches. Adrian's breath caught as he recognized several of the symbols—they matched those on his forearm, the very patterns of the Évermark.

"What is this place?" he whispered, awe overcoming his usual composure.

"The oldest living thing in the Helheim Woods," Elara answered, her voice softening with reverence. "The Argentleaf. It stood here when the first humans entered these lands, and it will remain long after the last departs. It has witnessed all that has transpired in this forest, including the great magical battle I told you about."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Adrian approached slowly, drawn by an inexplicable pull toward the massive tree. "The symbols..."

"Yes," Elara nodded. "The same as those you bear. The Argentleaf was damaged during the battle centuries ago. In its wounded state, it absorbed the energies released when the boundaries between worlds thinned. Those symbols appeared afterward—a record of what transpired, perhaps, or a warning."

Adrian stood before the enormous trunk, his hand hovering inches from the silver bark. "Should I touch it?"

Elara remained silent for a long moment before answering. "That depends on whether you're ready to see what it might show you."

"What do you mean?"

"The Argentleaf sometimes shares visions with those connected to the old magics," she explained. "Given your mark and your awakening abilities, it will almost certainly respond to your touch. What you see, however..." She trailed off. "That is between you and the tree."

Adrian steeled himself, recognizing the importance of this moment. Since awakening in this age with the Évermark, he had been reacting—to his resurrections, to threats, to discoveries. Perhaps it was time to take a more active role in understanding his purpose.

"I'm ready," he said, more to himself than to Elara.

He pressed his palm against the silver bark.

The world disappeared.

He was running through unfamiliar streets, armor heavy on his shoulders, sword drawn. Buildings of white stone rose around him, their architecture more elegant and precise than any he'd seen in this age. People scattered before him, their clothing strange yet somehow familiar—long robes with geometric patterns, crystal amulets gleaming at their throats.

"The eastern gate has fallen!" someone shouted. "The Academy is breached!"

He felt himself respond, his voice different yet recognizable as his own. "Get the civilians to the sanctuary! All knights to the Grand Hall!"

The scene shifted. He stood in a circular chamber whose ceiling opened to the night sky. Twelve pillars surrounded a central dais where a woman worked feverishly over an array of crystals and silvery metal implements. Her hair was silver-white, flowing loose down her back, and though he couldn't see her face, he knew her with a bone-deep certainty.

"Alenna," he heard himself say, "we've lost the outer wards. They'll be here within minutes."

The woman—Alenna—didn't look up from her work. "Then you must buy me those minutes, Captain. This is our last chance."

"The Council—"

"The Council is dead," she cut him off, her hands never ceasing their precise movements. "Their precious rules and restrictions died with them. Now we do what must be done."

Another shift. He was fighting now, his sword meeting shadowy forms that seemed more void than substance. Black robes fluttered around figures whose faces were hidden behind masks of polished obsidian. They wielded no conventional weapons, instead hurling bolts of purple-black energy that left smoking craters where they struck.

He felt power flowing through his own blade—not just skill and strength, but magic. Fire erupted along the steel with each swing, leaving trails of light in the air that persisted like afterimages.

"Hold them!" he commanded the knights fighting alongside him. "Not one reaches the chamber! For Astor! For humanity!"

Then pain—sharp and terrible, as one of the shadow-bolts caught him in the chest. He fell to his knees, vision dimming, aware that he had failed in his duty. The last thing he saw was obsidian masks surrounding him, dark energies gathering for a final strike.

Blackness. Then light again.

He stood once more in the circular chamber, but everything had changed. The elegant room was now in ruins, columns toppled, the night sky above now swirling with unnatural colors. Bodies lay scattered—knights in armor similar to his own, dark-robed figures with shattered masks. At the center, Alenna remained at the dais, but she was changed—her silver hair now floating around her as if underwater, her eyes glowing with power that seemed too vast for her mortal form to contain.

Before her, a swirling portal of darkness threatened to expand, tendrils of shadow reaching toward her like hungry fingers. With bloody hands, she worked the final pieces of a complex apparatus—silver metal forming an intricate pattern that matched exactly the mark on Adrian's arm.

"Alenna," he heard himself rasp, realizing he was mortally wounded, barely able to stand. "It's too late. They've opened the Void."

"Not too late," she replied, her voice overlaid with harmonics that made the very air vibrate. "But the price will be high." She looked at him fully now, her once-human eyes replaced by orbs of silver light. "Are you willing to pay it, my faithful knight? To carry this burden through death itself?"

He felt himself nod, knew with certainty what would happen next. "For you. For Astor. For as long as the world needs."

She smiled then, sad and terrible and beautiful. "Then come. Let us forge the covenant that will echo through eternity."

As he stumbled forward, leaving a trail of blood on the marble floor, the scene began to dissolve—

Adrian gasped, pulling his hand back from the Argentleaf's trunk as if burned. He staggered backward, nearly falling before Elara's steady hand caught his elbow.

"Breathe," she instructed calmly. "The first vision is always overwhelming."

"I saw—" Adrian struggled to articulate the cascade of images and emotions still flooding through him. "I was a knight. There was a woman with silver hair, named Alenna. A battle. Creatures of shadow. A portal of darkness..."

Elara guided him to sit at the base of the tree. "Fragments of your first life, it seems. The life in which you received the Évermark."

"The Academy was under attack," Adrian continued, details returning as he spoke. "There were people in black robes with obsidian masks. They used magic unlike anything I've seen—like concentrated darkness."

"The Shrouded Covenant," Elara nodded. "That's what they were called in the old texts. Servants of entities beyond our realm who promised them power in exchange for opening doorways between worlds."

Adrian looked up at the silver leaves shimmering above. "Alenna was creating something. The Évermark, I think. She called it a covenant." He rubbed his forearm where the mark lay hidden beneath his sleeve. "She asked if I was willing to carry a burden through death itself."

"And clearly you agreed," Elara observed. "Though I suspect you couldn't have known exactly what that entailed."

Adrian rose slowly, the disorientation from the vision beginning to fade. "There's more to see, isn't there? More memories locked away."

"Almost certainly," Elara confirmed. "But the tree shares only what you're ready to witness. To force more would be dangerous—for your mind and your spirit."

Adrian stared at the Argentleaf, the symbols carved into its bark now seeming less like random patterns and more like a language he almost understood. "Will it show me more if I touch it again?"

"Not today," Elara said firmly. "The mind needs time to integrate what you've seen. In the coming days, perhaps. For now, we should return. Your training must continue, especially in light of what you've glimpsed."

As they began the long walk back to the cottage, Adrian found himself more aware than ever of the weight of the Évermark upon his soul. He had been bound to something ancient and powerful—not just a magical artifact, but a purpose that had persisted across centuries. The woman Alenna had created the mark as some kind of last defense against a darkness he still didn't fully comprehend.

"Elara," he asked as they walked, "do you know what became of Alenna? After she created the Évermark?"

The blind seer walked several paces before answering. "The histories are unclear. Some say she sacrificed herself to complete the ritual. Others claim she ascended, becoming something beyond human. A few texts suggest she bound part of her own essence into the mark itself." She paused, turning her unseeing eyes toward him. "Perhaps all are true, in their way."

Adrian nodded, processing this. If Alenna had indeed placed some fragment of herself within the Évermark, then he carried not just a magical contract but a piece of its creator as well. The implications were both fascinating and unsettling.

By the time they reached the cottage, afternoon had begun its slow surrender to evening. Karl was awake, sitting up with Grim's massive head resting on his lap, the hunter's rough hand absently stroking the hound's ears.

"How fares the magician?" Karl called out as they entered.

"Better than the hunter," Adrian replied with a small smile, glad to see his friend improving. "Though I've seen things today that make me question whether that's an advantage."

As night fell, Elara prepared a meal of forest mushrooms and root vegetables, enhanced with herbs that she claimed would help Adrian's body adjust to the increased flow of magical energy. Throughout the evening, he found himself periodically lost in thought, fragments of the vision replaying in his mind—particularly Alenna's final question and his own unhesitating response.

For you. For Astor. For as long as the world needs.

He had made a vow, it seemed, that transcended death itself. As he lay down to sleep that night, Adrian wondered what other memories waited to be uncovered, and what obligations from his first life might still demand fulfillment in this one.

Outside, the three standing stones hummed softly in the moonlight, their ancient power resonating with the Argentleaf miles away, while the Évermark on Adrian's arm pulsed in gentle synchronization—three points of a triangle spanning time itself, with Adrian caught at its center.