Rage swelled within him—impatient, wild, increasingly harder to control. It surged like a storm over a churning sea, crashing waves of emotion against his heart and mind. This wasn't faceless anger. It had a target—one specific being. The one hidden inside the tree. It was that being that had brought suffering upon Lyra. Because of it… because of its power… because of its decision. Alex could feel the heat of his fury burning in his chest, as if it were scorching him from within.
He had been certain a bond had formed between them. That they had connected on a level beyond words—minds entangled like roots deep underground. The invisible thread of thought was still there. He had to know.
Without thinking, he touched the tree's bark again. Its surface was rough, yet alive—pulsing faintly beneath his fingers. It radiated the warmth of a living body and the strength of stone. Then, everything repeated. His consciousness, swept up by an invisible force, drifted forward. It floated, traveled inward, toward the heart of the being sealed inside the ancient tree's core.
"What did you do to her?" he asked, his voice trembling with anger and fear, even in thought. "She's suffering. It looks like she's dying. As if she was poisoned by what you gave her."
For a long moment, there was only silence—deep, dense, and unsettling. Then, from the depths of his mind, the familiar voice returned. It was calm, deep, and resonant like an echo from an age long past.
"Calm yourself. She will be fine. She just needs time. Her body is now battling the magic that has been poured into her. It's a natural process. You must wait for the power to fully merge with her—until harmony is achieved. Only in symbiosis will she understand its true nature and learn to control it."
The voice was confident, but without arrogance. It spoke like someone who had seen this happen many times before.
"The magic will grow within her slowly, not all at once. It will take time before she understands it and learns how to harness its full potential. But as long as she remains on this island, I can watch over her. I will ensure nothing happens to her."
Alex took a deep breath, as if he had only now remembered how to breathe. He tried to believe every word. Tried to trust this being, though the fear in his heart remained.
Then the voice asked a question that pierced him like a dagger:
"And you? Are you ready?"
Alex lifted his head. He didn't have to think.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice steady, though quiet.
"Remember..." the being said, and now the calmness had faded—replaced by a shadow of warning. "The power I will give you is not gentle. It will cause you pain. You must understand it. Everything will come in time. What I gave your companion was only a shadow, a fragment of the true strength. But you... you are different. Your body already carries the trace of power. Faint, almost invisible—but stronger than hers. It is a pure form, ready for more."
Alex froze. Every word sounded like a sentence—both a promise and a curse.
"I will give you the rest of the power. And I will pass on to you the essence of the Beast. All of us once received it after enduring every trial, but for you, there will be no such path. I will force the transformation. The pure power of a druid. You will have to learn everything on your own. This power might be the key. It may give you the edge you need in the fight against the demons. But beware: the first transformation is not pleasant. People lose control. If the instinct overtakes your mind, you will become something inhuman. A mindless beast, a creature driven only by hunger and bloodlust. You will kill without reason. Without purpose. Without mercy."
The voice fell silent for a moment, then added with cold determination:
"And remember. Do not go near your companion. Don't let her come near you. During the transformation, you could hurt her. Or even... kill her."
Those last words struck Alex like a sword through the heart.
"Find our people," the being added. "Perhaps some still live."
Alex's heart was pounding. His thoughts were spinning. Kill her? That's the price of this power? What kind of gift... carries death within it?
And then he felt something touch his legs. He looked down—tree roots, damp, rough, and dark, had begun to coil around his ankles. At first gently, as if examining his body… then with a force that tore through the skin. Blood trickled down his legs. And then—it began.
Something entered him. He felt a pulsing substance, thicker than sap, much darker, being forced into his veins. It was blood. But not his. It was its blood. And it wasn't dead—it was alive. And it carried more than power.
It carried will.