The forest grew denser as John ventured north, following the river as Moira had instructed. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns that shifted with each breeze, casting the forest floor in an ever-changing mosaic of light and shadow. In the background, the gentle gurgle of the river provided a constant companion to his thoughts.
His body—Elio's body—moved with surprising grace despite its injuries. The boy's muscles remembered what John's mind did not: how to step silently over fallen branches, how to duck beneath low-hanging limbs without breaking stride, how to scan the forest continuously for signs of danger. It was disconcerting to feel his limbs responding to instincts he didn't recognize.
"I need to understand you better," John murmured aloud, his voice still strange to his ears. Higher, clearer, but with an underlying strength that belied the boy's small frame. His hand drifted unconsciously to the sword at his side, fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its hilt. The metal felt warm beneath his touch, almost alive.
As he walked, John sifted through Elio's memories, trying to organize them into some coherent narrative. The boy had been orphaned young—that much was clear. His parents, both minor mages from what John could gather, had died in what the villagers called "the Burning," some catastrophe that coincided with Elio's first manifestation of power. Whether the two events were connected or merely coincidental, the village had decided: the child with the strange eyes was to blame.
What followed was a childhood of isolation and wandering. Taken in briefly by an academy of mages only to be expelled when his powers proved too varied and unpredictable. Apprenticed to a healer who later rejected him when patients refused treatment from "the demon child." Brief moments of acceptance inevitably shattered by fear and superstition.
And yet, despite it all, Elio had never stopped trying to help. That was the most bewildering part to John. In all his memories, there was no trace of bitterness turning to cruelty, no moment where the boy decided the world deserved whatever calamity befell it. Each rejection was met with determination to prove himself worthy the next time, each accusation with renewed effort to demonstrate his good intentions.
It was exhausting just to remember it. How had Elio lived it?
The sky darkened as clouds gathered overhead, and John realized he'd been walking for hours without rest. His side ached dully, a reminder of wounds not fully healed. He needed to find shelter before the threatening rain began to fall.
As if responding to his need, the forest opened into a small clearing where a massive oak had fallen, its upturned roots creating a natural shelter. John gratefully settled beneath it, unpacking the provisions Moira had provided. Dried meat, hard bread, and a small flask of something that smelled herbal and invigorating.
He ate slowly, savoring the unfamiliar flavors. Everything tasted sharper in this body—the salt more pronounced, the bread's earthy notes more complex. Even the water from the river, cupped in his hands, tasted alive with minerals and magic that tingled on his tongue.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the first heavy drops of rain began to fall. John pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, leaning back against the earthy wall of roots. He needed to rest, but sleep seemed dangerous. What if the King's Guards caught up while he slumbered?
Something stirred in his consciousness—not a memory this time, but an awareness. A gentle pressure at the edges of his mind, like a cat nudging against a door seeking entry.
"What is it?" John whispered, unsure if he was addressing himself or something else entirely.
The pressure increased, not unpleasant but insistent. Without fully understanding why, John closed his eyes and turned his attention inward, toward the sensation rather than away from it.
A voice, faint but unmistakable: I can help you.
John's eyes flew open, his heart racing. "Who's there?" he demanded, hand flying to Starsever's hilt.
Only the patter of rain answered him.
He closed his eyes again, focusing on the lingering sensation in his mind. Hello? he thought deliberately, feeling slightly ridiculous.
Hello, stranger in my skin. The response was immediate, a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
John's breath caught in his throat. "Elio?" he murmured aloud.
Yes. And no. I am… memories. Fragments. Echo. Not whole.
"How is this possible?" John asked, voice barely audible over the rain.
Don't know. Felt you come. Felt me go. But not completely.
John tried to process what this meant. He hadn't completely displaced Elio's consciousness—some part of the boy remained, trapped within his own body, aware of John's presence.
"I'm sorry," John said, unsure what else to offer. "I didn't mean to take your body."
Know that. The voice seemed to gain strength as they communicated. Can feel your confusion. Your fear. Like mine.
"Can you… take it back?" John asked, equal parts hopeful and afraid of the answer.
A long silence followed, filled only by the steady drumming of rain.
Don't think so, came the eventual reply. Not now. Maybe never. But can help. Know things you don't.
"Like what?"
How to use my magic. How to survive. How to avoid Guards.
The implications were staggering. John wasn't alone in this journey. He had a guide—Elio himself, or at least what remained of him.
"Why would you help me?" John asked. "I stole your life."
Didn't steal. Was dying. Feel that memory? Wyvern venom. Fatal without immediate healing. Was ready to die.
Another memory surfaced—the searing pain of venom coursing through veins, the world growing dim, a strange peace descending. Elio had been prepared to die, believing he had saved the village at the cost of his own life.
Then you came. Strange. Different. Maybe reason.
"What reason could there possibly be for this?" John asked, gesturing at himself though there was no one physically present to see.
Don't know yet. Pattern weaves as it will.
The echo of Moira's words sent a chill through John that had nothing to do with the rain. Was there truly some cosmic purpose to his presence here? Or was it merely random chance, a bizarre accident of fiction bleeding into reality?
Should sleep, Elio's voice advised. Can watch. Can wake if danger.
"You can do that?"
Think so. Still connected to body. To magic. To forest.
John hesitated, then nodded, settling himself more comfortably against the roots. "Okay. I trust you."
The words felt strange on his lips—trusting a voice in his head, a fragment of a fictional character he'd created. But nothing about this situation followed any logic he understood. What choice did he have but to adapt?
Good. Rest now. Journey hard tomorrow.
As John drifted toward sleep, lulled by the steady rain and the unexpected comfort of Elio's presence, a final thought from the boy whispered through his mind:
Not alone anymore. Neither of us.
The morning brought clear skies and birdsong. John woke feeling more rested than he had any right to expect, given his makeshift shelter and injured body. The pain in his side had diminished further, reduced to a mild stiffness that only twinged when he moved too quickly.
"Elio?" he ventured softly, unsure if the previous night's communication had been real or some product of exhaustion and trauma.
Still here, came the immediate reply, quieter in daylight but present nonetheless.
Relief washed over John. "Thank you for watching over us."
Welcome. Should move. Guards passed west during night. Safe for now.
John packed up his meager supplies and continued north, following the river's winding path. As he walked, he attempted to learn more about his unexpected companion.
"How much do you remember? Of your life before?"
Most things. Some clearer than others. Recent memories strongest. Childhood fading.
"And what about now? Can you see through your—our—eyes? Feel what I feel?"
Yes and no. Like watching through water. Sense more than see. Feel magic clearly. Physical sensations distorted.
"That must be frustrating," John said, ducking beneath a low branch.
Was worse at first. Improving as we… adjust to each other.
The concept was both comforting and disturbing. Were they gradually merging? Would there come a point where John couldn't distinguish his thoughts from Elio's? Or would they remain separate entities sharing a single vessel?
John's contemplation was interrupted by the sound of voices ahead—distant but distinct. He froze, every muscle tensing.
Guards, Elio confirmed before John could ask. Four. Maybe five. On riverbank.
"What do we do?" John whispered, fear clenching his stomach.
Away from river. Northwest. Through dense trees. Know another way.
John hesitated only briefly before veering away from the water, plunging into the thickest part of the forest. The undergrowth caught at his clothes and scratched his skin, but he pushed forward, trusting Elio's guidance.
For nearly an hour they navigated the trackless woods, John following not a visible path but Elio's internal directions, communicated in brief impressions more than words. Left here. Careful—thornbush. Climb now. It was bizarre and intimate, a collaboration unlike anything John had experienced.
Eventually they emerged onto a narrow deer trail that paralleled the river but remained hidden from its banks.
Safe now, Elio announced. Guards seek young boy alone. Not expecting forest knowledge.
"Thanks to you," John acknowledged. "I would have walked right into them."
Would have sensed danger eventually. Your instincts improving.
It was true, John realized. He was becoming more attuned to this body, to the forest around him. He noticed things he would have missed days ago—the subtle difference between the rustle of wind through leaves and the movement of a creature, the various tracks marking the soft earth, the changes in the air that presaged weather shifts.
By midday, the forest began to thin, giving way to rolling hills covered in high grass that swayed like a golden sea in the breeze. In the distance, John could make out jagged formations of stone thrusting up from the earth like the spines of some massive buried creature.
"The standing stones," he murmured, remembering Moira's instructions. His hand went to the pendant hanging beneath his tunic.
Yes. Boundary between Whispering Pines and the Northern Wilds. Ancient magic there. Powerful.
"And dangerous?" John asked, noting a hint of unease in Elio's communication.
All powerful things dangerous. But not hostile. Not to us.
They reached the stone formation as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. Up close, the stones were even more impressive—massive monoliths arranged in concentric circles, covered in carvings similar to those on Starsever's blade. Some stood tall and straight, others leaned precariously, a few had fallen altogether, creating natural archways between the inner and outer rings.
John moved cautiously into the formation, feeling a subtle change in the air as he passed between the outermost stones. It was like walking through an invisible curtain, the atmosphere on the other side charged with something he couldn't name but his body—Elio's body—recognized. Magic. Ancient and patient.
Center, Elio directed. Wait for moonrise there.
In the heart of the stone circle stood a flat altar-like rock, its surface worn smooth by countless years of weather and perhaps ritual use. John settled onto it, laying Starsever across his lap. The sword seemed to pulse with subtle energy, responding to the magic saturating the site.
As the last light of day faded from the sky, John felt a curious sense of peace descend. Whatever happened next—whether he found the hidden path to Eldermere, whether he ever returned to his own world, whether he and Elio remained this strange composite entity or eventually separated—he was no longer adrift in a story he didn't understand.
The first stars appeared overhead, bright and unfamiliar. Not the constellations he had known all his life, but new patterns telling stories he had yet to learn.
Beautiful, Elio's voice murmured in his mind, filled with a simple wonder that made John's breath catch.
"Yes," he agreed softly. "Beautiful."
They sat in companionable silence as darkness claimed the land and the moon began its stately climb above the eastern horizon. When its silver light touched the central stone, John removed the pendant from around his neck and held it up as Moira had instructed.
The effect was immediate and astonishing. Moonlight struck the stone, refracting through it in impossible ways, casting not a simple shadow but a complex pattern of light across the ground. The pattern shifted and flowed like living water, forming symbols similar to those carved on the standing stones, before resolving into a clear path of light leading away from the circle to the northwest.
Hidden path, Elio confirmed, an undercurrent of excitement in his mental voice. To Eldermere Vale. Safe haven.
John slipped the pendant back around his neck and stood, gathering his pack and securing Starsever at his side. The path of moonlight pulsed gently, beckoning.
"Are you ready?" he asked, both to Elio and to himself.
Ready, came the response, along with a surge of emotion too complex to name—hope and fear and resignation and curiosity all tangled together.
John took a deep breath and stepped onto the shimmering trail. Behind them, the standing stones seemed to whisper their farewell as two souls in one body began the next chapter of their improbable journey.