Two days later, I sat on the same wooden bench in the churchyard, staring blankly at the ground. The air was crisp, the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves lingering in the air, but I barely noticed. My hands rested limply in my lap, the memory of the pain still fresh in my mind. My arm was whole again, thanks to Jackson, but the scars on my psyche were far from healed.

  I felt hollow. Empty.

  The explosion had shaken more than just my body—it had shattered whatever fragile confidence I’d been clinging to. I’d been so sure I could do it, so convinced that I could harness the magic, that I could be something more than just another helpless bystander in this chaotic, dangerous world. But I’d been wrong. I’d failed. And worse, I’d nearly gotten myself killed in the process. The shame of recklessness gnawed at me, but worse than that was the weight of doubt. Maybe I was just ordinary after all.

  My family had been kind at least, bringing me food and water, trying to coax me into conversation. Dan too tried to lighten the mood.

  The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Father Jackson approaching, his black coat swaying slightly with each step.

  “Max,” he said, his voice steady and warm. He stopped a few feet away, giving me space but still close enough to feel present. “Mind if I join you?”

  I nodded and he sat down beside me on the bench, the wood creaking softly under his weight. For a moment, he said nothing, just gazed out at the churchyard, where the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the bare branches of the trees.

  “I know you’re doubting yourself,” he started. “But that’s not a bad thing. Doubt means you’re thinking, questioning. It means you’re not reckless, even if it feels that way right now. What happened… it was a lesson. A hard one, but a necessary one.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, cutting me off.

  “I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I mean it. You’ve got a sharp mind, Max, and a determination that most people lack. But you need to channel it. You need to keep moving forward.”

  Jackson turned to me, his expression softening. “I think you need a change of pace. Something to remind you that you’re still capable, even if it’s not in the way you expected.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Sergeant Moore’s, that is Samantha’s squad, is heading out soon,” he said. “They’re going to scavenge a hardware store on the edge of town again. Your ‘aura vision’ may be useful, who knows what they might miss without it. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s important. And I think it’d be good for you.”

  I stared at the ground, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to refuse, to stay in the safety of the churchyard where I could wallow in my self-doubt. But another part of me—a smaller, quieter part—whispered that maybe Jackson was right.

  “Okay,” I said finally, my voice hesitant. “I’ll go.”

  Jackson nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. I think you’ll find it’s exactly what you need.”

  As he stood and walked away, I stayed seated, my thoughts swirling. The idea of going on the trip still made me uneasy, but then something occurred to me—an idea that sent a flicker of excitement through my chest. If I went with Samantha’s squad, I’d be leaving the church grounds. And if I was leaving the church grounds… Maybe I could convince her to make a stop by my house. I could meet Bryndrel.

  Could I truly do it? He insisted it would be fine, that I was capable of handling it. But what had happened to my resolve, my firm decision not to go through with the Splicing? It had vanished, lost somewhere in the chaos of the explosion that had torn my hand.

  Oh, I didn’t want to rely on shortcuts to power? Please. Have I ever truly been independent? Did I not depend on farmers for food, teachers for knowledge, or my house for shelter? I’ve even been consuming those crystals to gain aura vision. Without that external influence, I’d have no magical abilities at all. So where exactly is the line between power that comes from within and power that’s borrowed from without? I was a fool to draw such a line at all.

  *****

  The minivan rattled and groaned as we sped down the empty road, its suspension sagging under the weight of our haul. Planks of wood, boxes of nails, coils of rope, and scattered tools filled every available space, crammed between seats and underfoot. A blue tarp was half-draped over a pile of supplies in the back, shifting every time we hit a pothole. The biggest prize - a brand-new water pump we’d yanked from the hardware store. It was going to make life a hell of a lot easier for the people living in the church. Up until now whenever we needed water, someone had to bring up a bucket from the well in the back yard.

  Kate was driving with her chaotic energy, one hand on the wheel and the other gesturing wildly as she recounted some story about a construction job gone wrong. Helena, sitting next to me, kept interjecting with morbid jokes that made me laugh despite myself. Samantha occasionally glanced back at us, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead.

  As we got closer to my house, my nerves started to kick in again. The plan was to stop by so I could meet Bryndrel, but now that it was actually happening, I wasn’t sure I was ready. What if something went wrong? What if I messed this up too?

  “You sure it will be a quick trip to your house, Max?” Kate called over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the noise. “Because we were not exactly meant to go on joyrides this close to sundown.”

  “Yeah, It’s not far now. Just a few more minutes. Thank you for driving me there, I’ll be quick, in and out.”

  Samantha glanced back at me, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been quiet back there. Everything okay?”

  "I'm fine," I said, though my fingers were still curled tight around my knee. "Just thinking."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Relax, Max,” Helena said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. “We’re not going to judge your weird little hideout. Probably.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “That’s reassuring.”

  "Guys," Samantha interrupted, her voice low.

  The van slowed, and I followed her gaze. On the side of the road, a car sat in ruins. The doors were shredded open like paper, long, deep gouges carved into the metal. Claw marks. The windshield was smashed, and something dark stained the torn seats.

  Nobody spoke.

  Kate shifted forward, eyes narrowed. "Fresh?"

  “It wasn’t there the last time I drove here”

  "Keep driving," Helena murmured. Her voice had lost its usual amusement. "Slow, but don’t stop."

  Samantha pressed the gas just a little, guiding us past the wreck. As we passed, I caught a glimpse of something—a shape, a smear of rusty red, a torn jacket sleeve caught in the twisted metal.

  I exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my spine.

  Those claw marks—deep, deliberate—weren’t from any animal I knew. Metal wasn’t supposed to tear like that, not unless something impossibly strong had gotten its hands—or claws—on it.

  The others didn’t say much after we passed the car, but I could feel them thinking the same thing. If something could do that to steel, what would it do to us?

  The rest of the drive was tense. Even Kate, usually the loudest in any situation, kept her focus on the road. Every shadow in the trees felt like it was watching us, and the clawed-up wreck in the rearview mirror refused to leave my mind.

  When my house finally came into view, I let out a slow breath. It was still standing at least.

  "Alright," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Give me ten or fifteen minutes."

  Samantha gave me a long look. "Alright, Max. If you’re not back by then, we’re coming after you."

  I nodded. "Won’t take long."

  Nobody questioned why I wasn’t inviting them in. They had their suspicions probably, but I’d been vague about my reasons for stopping here. Thankfully, they were too tired to press the issue.

  I stepped out of the van and shut the door behind me. The evening air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The sky had darkened to a deep blue, the last streaks of sunlight barely clinging to the horizon.

  I jogged past the garage, my boots crunching over dead leaves. The treeline loomed ahead, thick with tangled branches and towering trunks. Just beyond the first row of trees, where the shadows ran deeper, I saw it. Bryndrel.

  It tilted its head as I approached. Its voice, when it finally spoke, was like wind rustling through leaves, layered and distant.

  “You have returned.”

  I swallowed, my pulse quickening. "Yeah," I said. “And I’m ready to do the Splicing.”

  Bryndrel’s luminous amber eyes studied me, unblinking. The dryad’s form was both mesmerizing and unsettling—its bark-like skin shimmered faintly in the fading light, and its hair, a cascade of ivy and moss, swayed gently despite the absence of wind.

  “You are nervous,” Bryndrel observed, its voice echoing softly in the stillness of the forest. “This is natural. The Splicing is not a trivial act. It will bind us, if only briefly, and it will change you.”

  I nodded, my throat dry. “I know. But I need this. I need to be better at alchemy, or magic, or whatever if I’m going to help the others. If I’m going to survive. I learned my lesson. I tried to do alchemy as you taught me to, but all it lead to was me exploding my hand. I’m ready to receive help.”

  Bryndrel extended its hands, the bark-like texture of its skin shifting and groaning like an ancient tree in the wind. “Then take my hands, Max. And do not let go, no matter what.”

  I stared at its outstretched hand, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure Bryndrel could hear it. My palms were slick with sweat, and I wiped them on my jeans before reaching out. The moment my fingers brushed against Bryndrel’s, a jolt of energy shot through me, sharp and electric. I gasped, but I didn’t pull away.

  The dryad’s grip tightened, and I felt something shift beneath its skin. Tiny roots, thin and fibrous, began to emerge from its palm, winding around my wrist like living tendrils. They were cool to the touch at first, but as they tightened, a dull ache spread through my arm.

  “Breathe,” Bryndrel instructed, its voice calm and steady. “The pain will come, but you must endure it. Focus on your purpose.”

  I nodded, though my jaw was clenched so tight it hurt, and then I felt it—the first sharp sting as they pierced my skin. I hissed, my body instinctively trying to pull away, but Bryndrel’s grip was unyielding.

  “Do not let go,” it reminded me, its voice firm.

  I forced myself to stay still, my breath coming in shallow gasps as the roots dug deeper, burrowing into my flesh. The pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt—sharp and burning, but also strangely alive, as if the roots were searching for something inside me. My vision blurred, and I swayed on my feet, but Bryndrel held me steady.

  “Focus, Max,” it urged. “This is only the beginning.”

  The roots reached my shoulder, and I cried out as they plunged deeper, weaving through muscle and bone. The forest around us seemed to blur, the trees and shadows melting together as the pain consumed me.

  And then, just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore, something shifted. The pain didn’t lessen, but it changed, becoming something else—something more. I felt a strange warmth spreading through my body, a connection forming between Bryndrel and me. It was as if I could feel the dryad’s essence, ancient and vast, flowing into me. Images flashed in my mind—forests older than time, rivers carving their way through stone, the slow, deliberate growth of roots beneath the earth.

  “You are strong, Max,” the dryad murmured, its voice softer now, almost soothing. “Stronger than you know. This bond will not break you. It will make you more.”

  I clung to those words as the roots reached my chest, their tendrils wrapping around my heart. The pain was excruciating, but beneath it, I felt something else—a strange, pulsing energy, a power I couldn’t yet understand.

  And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the Splicing was over. The roots cut off at our hands, still inside my body, twisted within my flesh. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air, my body trembling. I could feel the roots inside me, a lingering warmth that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

  Bryndrel knelt beside me, its expression unreadable. “It is done,” it said. “The bond is forged. You will find your alchemy stronger now, more intuitive. Use it wisely.”

  I nodded, too exhausted to speak.

  With that, the dryad turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone in the quiet of the forest. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and then pushed to my feet.

  I looked down at my forearms and I could see the roots beneath my skin, dark brown and twisting around my veins.