Quinn’s POV
The wind howled like a warning, bending the trees as if they feared what was coming. Quinn’s lungs burned as he ran, heart thundering beneath his ribs in time with the storm gathering overhead. Lightning forked across the bruised sky, illuminating the twisted stone arch before them—the gate to the First Trial.
Rowan was already there.
He stood at the threshold, barefoot in the mud, drenched in rain but radiant with something otherworldly. His eyes weren’t his own anymore—they glowed, not just gold, but something older, deeper, lit from within like they’d seen the beginning and end of everything. The wind didn’t touch him. It bowed to him.
“Rowan,” Quinn gasped, barely able to say his son’s name.
Rowan turned slowly, not startled. Calm. Too calm for a boy his age. “You shou
