The map was wrong. That was the first thing Kael discovered when he’d been walking through these woods for three days and still hadn’t found what everyone had sworn existed here—the tower that supposedly held the key to breaking the curse afflicting his village.

“Three towers,” the elder had told him. “One of wood, one of stone, one of light. Find the third, save your home.” Simple enough in theory. But maps didn’t account for forests that rearranged themselves overnight or rivers that refused to be crossed by anyone carrying the mark of a Cursed child.

Kael knew all too well what it meant to bear that mark—a silver line running from collarbone to wrist, pulsing with an inner light that showed when his family’s bloodline was near death. Six months since he’d woken up with it. Six months since his grandmother stopped speaking. And now six months until the day the line would spread so far across his skin that even he might not recognize himself as human.

The forest seemed to know this. Every step deeper made the trees lean closer, their branches interlocking overhead like fingers clasped in prayer. Birds fell silent. Even the wind held its breath between gusts.

Which was why the tower shouldn’t have surprised him when it appeared—materializing from the mist like something remembered rather than constructed. White stone gleaming with runes that hurt his eyes if he stared too long. A single door at ground level, carved with scenes depicting seven ages of magic rising and falling.

But here was the strange part: the door wasn’t locked. It swung open silently when he approached, revealing not the interior of a tower but a garden stretching into impossible distances. Flowers bloomed in colors that existed only in dreams. Waterfalls flowed uphill. And sitting on a bench beneath a tree with leaves of solid gold was someone who looked exactly like the woman in his nightmares.

“You’re late,” she said without opening her eyes. “But you brought me a gift.”

Kael froze. He hadn’t brought anything except determination and a pocketful of dried berries. Unless—”The mark,” he whispered, looking down at his arm where the silver line was now burning brighter than it ever had before. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Not to save them. But because I’m already gone.”

She finally opened her eyes—eyes that had seen empires crumble and starbeings die. Eyes that held centuries of patience and sorrow. “Everyone thinks the third tower contains power they can wield,” she said gently. “They don’t understand that some doors aren’t meant to be opened. They’re meant to be walked through.”

Sometimes the greatest magic isn’t about changing the world—it’s about having the courage to let it change you back.