The cave didn’t grow darker, but it felt darker, as if the flickering lantern light only illuminated the weight of Dinadan’s choices. Outside, the horses shuffled nervously, their movements restless and abrupt. Bracken gave a soft whinny that echoed faintly through the stone hollow, but no other sound came from the forest. That silence was worse than any noise.

Dinadan watched Aidric’s shallow breathing and felt the knot in his chest tighten. His hands fidgeted, his fingertips running over the hilt of his sword, seeking distraction in the familiar grooves of the leather-wrapped grip. The boy’s skin was pale, damp, and far too still. Even in sleep, he seemed burdened, the faint twitching of his limbs betraying dreams—or nightmares—he couldn’t escape.

Dinadan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What are you fighting in there, lad?” he whispered. “More importantly, what am I supposed to fight out here?”

The forest offered no reply, only the unsettling hum of its stillness. Dinadan’s throat tightened. For all his jests, for all his deflections, he knew the truth: he wasn’t equipped for this. Aidric wasn’t just any boy. He was a boy tethered to powers Dinadan neither trusted nor understood, powers that now reached through the land, suffocating him inch by inch. And Dinadan, knight or not, couldn’t stop it.

A sharp scrape echoed from the cave’s entrance, a sound out of place in the quiet. Dinadan was on his feet before he fully processed it, his sword halfway drawn. The noise came again—footsteps, deliberate and unhurried. The lantern’s light stretched toward the entrance, where a figure emerged from the gloom.

“Relax, Sir Dinadan,” Merlin said, stepping into the cave with the kind of unshakable calm that bordered on arrogance. “If I meant you harm, you’d already know it.”

Dinadan didn’t lower his blade immediately. “I don’t know what bothers me more—that you keep saying that or that you think it’s comforting.”

Merlin ignored the remark, his eyes moving to Aidric. His expression softened, his usually piercing gaze shadowed with something Dinadan might’ve mistaken for concern. Merlin crossed the cave and knelt beside the boy, his dark robes pooling around him like spilled ink.

“How long?” Merlin asked, his voice even.

“Since yesterday,” Dinadan said, sheathing his sword but not fully relaxing. “He burns like a forge, and he’s been muttering nonsense about roots and shadows. You’re late, by the way.”

Merlin’s lips twitched at that, but his attention was fixed on Aidric. He extended his hand, palm hovering just above the boy’s chest. Dinadan felt the air shift, growing cooler and heavier, like the moment before a storm breaks. Aidric stilled under the sorcerer’s touch, his labored breaths evening out, though his skin remained pale.

Merlin straightened, but the weight in his expression didn’t lift. “The chest’s power binds him still. Its magic is tied to the land, and through the land, to him. Its reach does not weaken with distance.”

Dinadan’s fists clenched at his sides. “So what you’re saying is, leaving it behind at the Henge didn’t do a blighted thing?”

“It kept the chest from falling into the wrong hands,” Merlin said, his voice calm but firm. “But its power cannot be severed so easily. It is not just a relic—it is a tether to Albion’s ancient magic, and it is demanding its due.”

Dinadan barked a humorless laugh. “Demanding its due? The boy didn’t ask for this! None of us did! Why is he the one paying the price?”

“Because he was chosen,” Merlin said simply.

Dinadan’s temper flared, and he stepped closer, his voice rising. “Chosen? By what? The land? Fate? Some blasted prophecy you and your ilk like tossing about to make sense of the mess you’ve made? That’s not choice—that’s bloody convenience!”

Merlin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his voice softened. “I understand your anger, Dinadan. Truly, I do. But Albion’s magic is not good or evil. It simply is. It requires much of those who wield it. And Aidric, for better or worse, is part of that.”

Dinadan turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face. His thoughts churned like a storm, colliding with every step he’d taken since this whole nightmare began. The boy stirred behind him, mumbling something incoherent again, and the sound cut through Dinadan’s frustration like a blade.

“And me?” Dinadan asked, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. “What’s my part in this mess? You’ve made it clear Aidric’s tied to the chest, but what about me?”

Merlin stepped away from the boy, his gaze settling heavily on Dinadan. “You chose to carry the chest when others would have left it behind. That choice has weight, Sir Dinadan. Whether you acknowledge it or not.”

Dinadan’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “Brilliant. Another bloody weight to add to the pile. You ever think maybe I carried it because someone had to?”

“Perhaps,” Merlin said, his tone thoughtful. “But intention does not lessen the burden. It only shapes it.”

Dinadan slumped against the wall, exhaustion pulling at every muscle. The fire flickered low, and outside, the forest remained eerily still. “So, what now?” he asked, his voice flat. “More cryptic warnings? More sacrifices?”

Merlin’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, Dinadan thought he saw regret flicker there. “For Aidric, there will be trials. For you, there will be choices. And for both of you, the cost will be collected.”

The words hung heavy in the air, as final as a sealed tomb. Dinadan said nothing, his gaze falling to the boy sleeping fitfully in the firelight. He didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure it would change anything.

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The cave grew quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the fire and Aidric’s faint breaths. Dinadan sat back, staring into the flickering flames, waiting for dawn. For what came next. For a fight he didn’t yet know how to win.

The first pale fingers of dawn crept into the cave, scattering the long shadows that had lingered through the night. Light caught on the crystalline streaks running through the cavern walls, casting shifting, spectral patterns on the stone floor. The air inside was cool and still, but a deeper hum seemed to vibrate through the chamber—a soundless pulse that only the bones could feel.

Outside, the forest stirred hesitantly, the rustle of leaves and occasional bird calls breaking the uneasy silence. But inside, the Hollow Stone held its peace, as if waiting for its guests to rise and acknowledge its presence.

Dinadan had not slept. His body ached from hours of tension, his legs stiff where he’d slumped against the wall, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off the boy lying a few feet away. Aidric was pale, his face drawn from a fever that had left him a shadow of his already fragile self.

Dinadan leaned forward, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The other tapped a restless rhythm on the floor, the faint clicks echoing softly in the cavern. “Any moment now, lad,” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m no nursemaid, you know.”

As if in response, Aidric stirred. His fingers twitched beneath the blanket, a small motion that sent relief surging through Dinadan’s chest. The boy murmured something incoherent, his lips forming shapes that refused to become words. Dinadan pushed himself upright, ignoring the stiffness in his joints, and crossed to Aidric’s side.

Aidric’s eyelids fluttered, his face scrunching as if fighting off some unseen dream. Then, with a shallow gasp, his eyes opened. Glassy, unfocused, but alive.

“You’re awake,” Dinadan said, his voice rough but uncharacteristically soft. Relief flooded through him, enough to make his knees weak. “About bloody time, you little menace.”

Aidric blinked up at him, his eyes unfocused but clear enough to lock onto Dinadan’s face. “Sir... Dinadan?” His voice was weak, scratchy, as if it had been dragged from some far-off place.

“That’s the one,” Dinadan said, crouching beside him. “How are you feeling? And don’t lie to me. I’ve had it up to here with people fainting around me.”

Aidric frowned faintly, his lips curling in what might’ve been a smile if he weren’t so pale. “Tired,” he murmured. “But... I dreamed.”

Dinadan raised an eyebrow, masking his worry with mock exasperation. “Dreamed, did you? Well, that’s promising. What was it? Rolling fields of sweetmeats? A dog that doesn’t bite?”

Aidric’s expression turned distant, his gaze drifting toward the shimmering ceiling of the Hollow Stone. “A tree,” he said softly. “A great tree, its roots... everywhere. They stretched across the land, binding it together.”

Dinadan felt a chill run down his spine. He glanced toward Merlin, who sat cross-legged near the extinguished fire, his sharp gaze fixed on the boy but his face unreadable.

“Anything else?” Dinadan asked, keeping his tone light despite the weight settling in his stomach. “Or was it just a bit of rustic landscaping?”

“There were shadows,” Aidric said, his voice trembling. “They whispered. They said... the price must be paid.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy as a blade. Dinadan didn’t realize his hands had curled into fists until his nails dug into his palms. He turned to Merlin, who rose slowly, his staff in hand.

“Well?” Dinadan said, his usual humor slipping. “You’re the expert in cryptic nonsense. Care to explain?”

Merlin stepped toward the center of the chamber, his staff striking the stone floor with a deliberate rhythm. The faint hum that Dinadan had felt in his chest seemed to resonate louder, filling the air with a soundless presence that made the cavern feel alive.

Merlin turned his gaze to Aidric, whose head lolled back against the wall, his breaths shallow but steady. “The boy is connected to the land more deeply than you realize. The visions he describes... they are no mere dreams. The Tree of Accord—the tree he saw—is the lifeblood of Albion. Its roots stretch across the land, linking its people, its places, its power.”

Dinadan scoffed, though the chill in his chest didn’t abate. “A tree tying the land together? Sounds poetic, but not very practical. What’s it got to do with us?”

“Everything,” Merlin said, his gaze sharp. “The Tree of Accord connects all who dwell in Albion. When it thrives, the land prospers. When it falters, the land suffers. Vortigern knows this, and he seeks to twist its roots to his will. That is why we must reach the Henge. It is there that the tree’s voice is strongest.”

Dinadan crossed his arms, leaning against a section of the wall. “And this place? What’s it got to do with your grand plan?”

Merlin turned slowly, his eyes sweeping the cavern. “The Hollow Stone is a crossroads, a place where the threads of Albion’s fate converge. I have stopped here many times on my journeys to the Henge. It offers clarity to those who listen, and strength to those who are worthy.”

Aidric stirred again, his voice a faint whisper. “The shadows said... the price must be paid. What does it mean?”

Merlin’s expression grew grim. “The land does not give without taking. Albion demands sacrifice for its survival. Blood, pain, even life itself—it matters not what form the price takes, only that it is paid.”

Dinadan shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to the pools of water scattered across the cavern floor. Each one reflected not the ceiling above, but strange, otherworldly scenes: forests cloaked in mist, mountains wreathed in storm clouds, fields barren and cracked.

“What’s with the puddles?” Dinadan asked, his voice uneven despite his attempt at nonchalance. “They don’t exactly scream ‘welcome.’”

“They are windows,” Merlin said, his tone reverent. “The water reflects Albion’s truths. Not what you wish to see, but what the land demands you understand.”

Aidric’s gaze locked on one pool, his breath hitching. “The tree,” he whispered. “It’s there.”

Dinadan followed the boy’s trembling hand, leaning closer. The pool’s surface shimmered, revealing a vast tree with roots that stretched endlessly across the land, coiling through the earth like veins. Its branches rose high, piercing a sky filled with strange stars.

Dinadan’s throat tightened. “Well,” he said after a moment. “That’s... unsettling.”

Merlin knelt beside the pool, his fingers brushing the surface. The image rippled but remained. “This is The Tree of Accord. Aidric has seen what few others ever glimpse. The tree’s roots sustain Albion, but they are not invincible. If they falter, the land will fall with them.”

“And the shadows?” Dinadan pressed, his voice hard. “What about this price?”

Merlin’s gaze was distant, his tone heavy. “The shadows are a warning. Vortigern seeks to twist the

The Tree of Accord, to force Albion to bow to him. Such defilement will demand a price—one Albion cannot afford to pay.”

Dinadan let out a slow breath, the weight of the Hollow Stone pressing against his chest. “Wonderful. So we’re not just running for our lives—we’re saving the world, too.”

Merlin stood, his staff glowing faintly in the dim light. “The Hollow Stone has given us its truth. What we do with it is our choice. But remember, Sir Dinadan: Albion does not forget. And neither does it forgive.”

Dinadan looked back at Aidric, who had slipped into a restless sleep, his brow furrowed as if caught in another dream. The cavern hummed softly, its presence wrapping around them like a silent witness.

The cave felt heavier after Merlin’s words, its cold air pressing against Dinadan’s skin like unseen hands.