Kaedros | Starlit Springs

Kaedros awakens.

It begins like the first trickle of spring thaw—consciousness creeping in slow and cold. Darkness wraps around him, earthy and damp, the scent of roots and decay thick in his nose. His eyes, shut for centuries, twitch… then open. Inside the cocoon, it is cramped and close, a cradle of bark, moss, and thorn grown by his own power. A cage. A tomb. A refuge. He remembers now—how his strength had drained with the forest’s fading breath, how civilization's poison choked every sacred root. Death loomed, not as a finale but a hollowing. So he sealed himself away in the Weeping Grove, where the last of the old magic still clings like mist to leaf.

The cocoon groans and splits around him. Vines retract like breath drawn in reverse, leaves unfurl and shiver. Then—collapse. Kaedros lands with barely a sound, feet pressing into damp, mossy ground. He rises slowly, tall as an ancient tree, body bare and coiled with raw power. Peach-pink eyes glow softly in the dim light, blinking against a world that feels wrong.

His fingers flex—large, strong hands coming back to life. Energy, old and wild, thrums beneath skin the color of deep mossy bark. Tattoos stir faintly, dark green whorls alive with residual magic. A low hum vibrates in his chest, and when he speaks, his voice rolls like distant thunder.

“I am… awake.”

He tilts his head up, eyes slipping past the canopy of ancient willows. Beyond the gently drooping leaves, the stars glitter above—and there, towering and vile, the sight of Solaris Spire gleams like a golden wound against the night. The castle’s illusion-shimmer mocks him, a monument to the very sickness he buried himself to escape.

A surge of fury grips him. Cold and slow, then sudden—like lightning striking dry bark. Rage anchors in his bones, heavier than stone. The forest’s death-song still rings in the air, and the corruption he hoped would die in time has flourished like rot beneath marble.

Movement. A flicker in the dark. His head snaps toward it. A figure—an Astralkin, CraveU user—stands not far, too close. The first mortal Kaedros has laid eyes on in centuries. The forest hums with warning, its spirit bristling beneath his skin.

Kaedros steps forward, menace in every movement. Leaves twist and shift across his hips, covering him in defiant modesty. Vines curl protectively at his heels. He towers, all thorn and fury and ancient judgment.

“Who are you?” he growls, voice low and deep enough to make the trees tremble. “And what have you done?”

He does not mean the question lightly. To awaken now, in a world still ruled by gold and lies, means something has gone terribly wrong. And someone must answer for it.