Chapter 21:The Shattered Bridge

The Glendalough valley's ancient stone crosses loomed like silent sentinels as Rowan's team approached the Druid archive—a labyrinth of underground chambers hidden beneath St. Kevin's monastic ruins. Lachlan led the way, his flashlight beam slicing through damp air thick with the scent of moss and iron.

"The archive holds records from every Well guardian since the world tree's fall," he said, brushing aside a cobweb. "If there's a way to stop the fourth Well's corruption, it's here."

Rowan trailed behind, her fingers grazing the Blood Vessel of Lir. Its runes pulsed faintly, mirroring the Awen mark on her forehead. Since Ireland, her connection to the world tree had deepened—she could sense its roots spreading beneath the earth, hear the whispers of its spirits. But the price was steep: her emotions felt distant, as if viewed through frosted glass.

Ethan noticed her detachment. "You okay?" he asked, his voice tentative.

Rowan nodded, avoiding his gaze. I'm everywhere and nowhere, she thought. A bridge, not a person.

Grampa snorted. "Focus, kids. MacLeod's got a six-hour head start."

They descended a spiral staircase into a cavern lit by bioluminescent fungi. Ancient scrolls lined the walls, their parchment cracked and brittle. Moira approached a stone pedestal, its surface etched with a map of the world—three glowing points marking the Wells of Segais.

"The fourth Well lies here," she said, tapping a spot in North America. "The Mississippi River basin. It's tied to an ancient mound complex… Cahokia."

Rowan's breath hitched. Cahokia. She'd read about it in her grandmother's journals—a pre-Columbian city built by the Mississippian culture, with roots older than the Druids themselves. "Why there?"

"The world tree's roots spread globally," Moira said. "Cahokia's mounds were once a node of Awen energy. But if MacLeod merges it with the others…"

"He'll unbalance the entire network," Ethan finished. His wrists shimmered with faint scales, a reminder of Níðhöggr's lingering influence.

Before anyone could respond, the cavern shook. A roar echoed from above—feral and triumphant.

"They're here," Lachlan hissed.

They raced back up the stairs. The monastery courtyard had been overrun by MI6 soldiers—their bodies twisted with antlers and scales, eyes glowing emerald. MacLeod stood at the center, his skin marred by jagged scars, a vial of Rowan's blood clutched in his hand.

"You thought you could outrun destiny?" he shouted, injecting himself with the blood. His body convulsed, antlers sprouting from his skull. "I am the stag's chosen!"

Grampa raised his shotgun. "Not today, you son of a—"

He froze. A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, silver-haired, with antler-like scars. Rowan's mother, Moira, stepped forward, her hands glowing green. "By the power of the Oak and the Thorn—"

MacLeod backhanded her, sending her crashing into a stone cross. "Your magic is nothing compared to this!" He gestured to his soldiers, who charged, claws bared.

Ethan shifted—black scales erupting from his skin, wings tearing through his jacket. Níðhöggr's roar filled the air, but his eyes remained human. "Protect Rowan," he growled.

Rowan hesitated. The world tree's energy surged through her, urging her to merge with it completely. Balance, it whispered. Destroy the threat.

But MacLeod wasn't the threat. Not entirely. She turned to Moira. "The archive—"

"Go!" Moira shouted, summoning vines to entangle a hybrid soldier. "We'll hold them off!"

Rowan nodded, sprinting back into the archive. Lachlan followed, his hands trembling as he scanned the scrolls. "Here!" he said, unrolling a map. "The Cahokia Well is guarded by a Watchtower Spirit—a primordial entity bound to the world tree."

Rowan's gaze fell on a sketch of the Watchtower: a colossal stone figure with antlers and serpentine eyes, its chest pierced by a spear. "The key to stopping MacLeod is the spear," Lachlan said. "It's buried beneath Monk's Mound."

Aboveground, Ethan clashed with MacLeod, their claws and antlers sparking. MacLeod regenerated instantly, laughing. "You're weak, dragon!"

Ethan roared, channeling water into a massive wave. It crashed into MacLeod, but he emerged unscathed, his antlers glowing. "The stag's power is eternal!"

Rowan emerged from the archive, the Blood Vessel of Lir in hand. She raised it high, Awen energy crackling. "Not if I can help it."

MacLeod turned, his eyes widening. "You're no longer human."

Rowan smiled faintly. "I'm the bridge."

She plunged the dagger into the ground. Light erupted, binding MacLeod in Awen chains. The hybrid soldiers collapsed, reverting to human form. MacLeod struggled, but the chains held.

"You'll pay for this!" he snarled.

Rowan ignored him, approaching Ethan. His scales were fading, but his breath was ragged. "You okay?"

He nodded, avoiding her gaze. "I lost control."

Rowan touched his cheek. "You're still here."

Before he could respond, the world tree's voice echoed in her mind: *"The fourth Well stirs. Go."*

She turned to Moira. "We need to leave. Now."

Moira nodded. "Cahokia awaits."

As they boarded the helicopter, Rowan glanced back at Glendalough. MacLeod's laughter echoed in the wind. "You can't stop the stag's awakening!"

Rowan clenched her fists. "Watch me."