In confusion

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The Seed’s song has become a cacophony.

It pulses through the fortress, a dissonant hymn that vibrates in my teeth and twists dreams into nightmares. The Forgotten avoid my gaze now. Even Veyra’s loyalty frays at the edges, her once-stoic demeanor fraying into restless glances at the horizon. The Hunter is a ghost in the roots, his voice fragmented, his form more shadow than flesh. When he does speak, it’s in riddles.

***The Seed dreams of teeth***, he whispers one night, his words slithering through the oak’s bark. ***It wants to bite the hand that feeds.***

I don’t ask which hand he means.

---

**The Fractured Mirror**

The first crack in reality appears at dawn.

A slice of the sky shears off, crashing into the crystalline forest and shattering into a thousand reflections. In each shard, a different timeline plays out:

—Eden alive, his scars glowing gold, leading an army of wolves.