On the Road to RillstoneWind rolled down from the mountain pass, carrying the bite of early frost and the scent of distant pine. The road that wound away from Mirage was narrow and steep in places, carved directly into the valley wall like the spine of a serpent. The world outside the hidden kingdom felt larger—quieter—older.
Elias watched it all in silence from the back of Rellin's wagon.
The horses trudged steadily, breath rising in plumes of white. Rellin hummed some old trade route melody, tapping the reins rhythmically against his leg.
"Beautiful morning for a haul," he said cheerfully. "Cold enough to keep the flies away, warm enough not to freeze your nose off. Can't ask for more."
Elias nodded politely.
He didn't mind the weather. If anything, the shadows cast by the rising sun stretched long and clean across the road, making the world feel clearer. Easier to read. He could sense tension in the air like faint strings pulling in certain directions—animals in the forest, a fox near the ridge, the wary attention of distant birds.
It was comforting. Although the sun's rays did cause him some discomfort due to his light sensitivity, but he had gotten used to it, along the years living in Mirage.
Rellin glanced over at him. "You're one of those quiet sorts, aren't you? Never met an apprentice from Veiled Eye before. Always imagined they'd talk my ears off about spells and legends."
Elias allowed a very small smile. "Talking ruins good observation."
Secretly he was amused that Relling thought that " is he not aware what kind of people Veiled eye mainly produces?"
Rellin barked a laugh. "Fair enough."
The wagon continued its slow, steady pace.
For the first hour, nothing unusual happened. Just forest, cliffs, and the winding path carved through both. Elias watched everything—movement in the trees, shifts in the road, the way the horses' ears turned at distant noises.
He catalogued it all.
But eventually, something tugged subtly at the edge of his perception.
Not danger.
Not necessarily.
Just… attention.
Like a presence sitting a little too still in the world.
He turned his head slightly, watching the treeline.
There was nothing visible.
Just pines and fog.
But the emotional ripple was there—thin but clear. Someone was up ahead on the road. Watching.
Rellin didn't notice a thing. "We'll reach the ridge before midday," the man said, oblivious. "Steep climb, but after that it's smooth rolling to Rillstone."
Elias folded his arms and leaned back as if relaxed.
He wasn't.
He was assessing.
Bandits? Maybe.
Hunters? Rare, but possible.
Examiners? Likely.
The handler watching from Mirage had made it clear—this entire trip was observed.
And no test from the Shadow Path was ever what it seemed.
Elias let shadows coil quietly beneath the crates beside him—not manifest, not active, just ready. It was instinctive, like adjusting his cloak in a cold draft.
Rellin, unaware, kept humming.
Minutes passed.
Then Rellin paused mid-tune. "Ah," he muttered, "hear that?"
Elias had already heard it.
Hoofbeats, distant but approaching. Too controlled to be bandits. Too few for a patrol. Too steady for panicked travelers.
Elias murmured, "One rider. Maybe two. Coming fast."
Rellin stared. "How in the nine blazes did you—?"
But the answer arrived before the question finished.
Two riders emerged from the far bend—one mounted tightly and leaning forward, wearing a dark-green courier cloak. The other was more deeply hooded, with a crest Elias recognized immediately:
The Veiled Crown's seal.
A handler.
Rellin raised a hand in greeting. "Travelers this early—oh, they're from the Crown. That's unusual."
The courier slowed as they approached, pulling alongside the wagon. He saluted briskly.
"Merchant Rellin! Apprentice Elias Marlow!"
Rellin blinked. "That's me. And that's him."
The courier produced a small sealed tube. "Message for the apprentice."
Rellin frowned, confused. "We only just left Mirage—"
But Elias already knew.
This was part of the test.
He accepted the tube, broke the seal, and unrolled the tightly packed parchment.
A single line of text stared back at him:
"Observation begins now."
His fingers tightened by a fraction.
Rellin looked between them. "What does it say?"
"That's my business " Elias said quietly, but firmly.
The courier nodded once, spurred his horse, and rode on. The handler followed silently. Neither spoke. Neither looked back.
Rellin's forehead creased. "Strange folk."
"Mhm."
But Elias had no room for distraction.
The presence on the road ahead?
Still there.
The emotional ripple?
Closer.
The test?
Already happening.
He leaned back against the crates, expression calm, shadows gathering gently around his boots.
He was no longer simply traveling.
He was being evaluated.
And the world around him had shifted into a different kind of silence—
the kind that came before something changed.
The forest thickened as they climbed. Pines rose tall on either side of the narrow road, branches meeting overhead like interlocking ribs. Fog clung to the ground in thin coils. Rellin hummed again, though more quietly now—perhaps to fill the odd silence.
Elias watched the trees.
The emotional ripple he'd sensed earlier had not vanished.
If anything, it had sharpened.
Not hostility.
Not fear.
Just… intent.
Focused intent.
A single mind paying too much attention.
He catalogued the sensation:
Distance: 60—70 paces ahead.
Height: Elevated. Possibly on a branch or a ledge.
Emotional signature: Calm. Patient. Testing.
An examiner, then—or something worse pretending to be one.
Rellin noticed Elias's posture shift slightly. "Something wrong?"
Elias shook his head. "No. Just listening."
"Well, don't get too jumpy," Rellin said, unaware of the irony. "Forest's always quiet this time of year."
Quietness wasn't the issue.
Stillness was.
The wagon creaked around a bend, where the road narrowed to a ledge cut into the rock. Below lay a steep drop. Above, dense branches.
Perfect place for an ambush.
Elias relaxed his shoulders deliberately, not wanting his body to betray awareness.
He let the shadows slip around his ankles, invisible to normal eyes—just faint shifts in depth and shade.
The presence ahead shifted.
Not closer.
But repositioned.
Higher.
He didn't look up. He didn't change expression. Instead, he tapped the wagon lightly twice, pretending to adjust his seating—letting the vibration tell him how far off the path the rock face extended.
Not far.
A figure above could drop something heavy, or jump down. Both predictable tactics.
But an examiner?
Examiners never used the obvious.
Rellin glanced at him again, clueless. "You sure you're not cold?"
"Fine," Elias murmured.
His heartbeat stayed steady.
Fog thickened in the next curve.
The presence sharpened.
Now.
A branch above shifted—not loudly, just the softest creak of weight redistribution.
A normal person wouldn't have noticed.
Elias did.
He dropped one hand lower, fingers brushing the wood of the crate beside him—his signal to the shadows.
The shadows coiled tighter, poised.
Rellin opened his mouth to speak.
Elias exhaled the quietest breath.
A heartbeat later—
A large object dropped from the canopy.
Rellin shouted. "What in—?!"
The horses reared.
The wagon lurched.
A massive cloth-sack—stuffed with stones—slammed onto the road directly in front of the wagon.
Not enough to kill.
Enough to test reflex.
Elias didn't freeze.
He moved.
Not dramatically.
Not impossibly.
But with clean, precise instinct.
He grabbed Rellin's arm and yanked him down flat across the bench a split second before the wagon jolted. The sack burst, scattering stones that skidded under hoof and wheel.
The horses nearly toppled over the edge.
Elias whispered one sharp command—not to Rellin, but to the shadows.
They surged under the wheels, gripping stone just enough to stop the skid.
The wagon shuddered violently, halted halfway between stability and disaster.
Rellin gasped. "Magician dirty boots, what was that?"
?!"
Elias lifted a hand.
"Stay low."
Because the presence above?
Still there.
Still watching.
Still waiting for the next move.
He scanned the treeline without moving his head. No sound. No breath. Not even emotional tension now.
Whoever it was—
they weren't leaving.
Rellin scrambled upright, shaken. "Bandits? Spirits? What was that?!"
"Not sure," Elias said calmly. "Stay on the wagon."
He didn't step off yet.
Instead he listened.
Felt.
Read the pressure in the air.
And only then did he call upward, plainly:
"You can come down."
A brief silence.
Then—
A figure dropped lightly from the canopy, landing on the road with barely a whisper.
Tall. Lean. Cloaked in deep grey. Mask shaped like folded paper—same style as the examiner who had assigned his mission.
Rellin blanched. "A handler—?!"
The figure straightened.
Their voice was clipped, neutral:
"Assessment: reflexes adequate. Emotional stability: above expected. Problem-solving: adaptive. Shadow response: measured."
Rellin blinked rapidly, completely lost.
Elias simply waited.
The masked figure inclined their head to him.
"Evaluation continues," they said. "Proceed."
They stepped back toward the trees—
—and vanished into them like mist.
Rellin stared. "They're mad. All of them. Absolutely mad."
Elias allowed a faint smile. "It's possible."
He checked the horses, calming them with slow, practiced strokes. Once the animals steadied, he rolled the remains of the stone-filled sack off the road.
He didn't comment on the shadows that slipped away from the wheels only when Elias willed it.
He climbed back onto the wagon.
"Let's keep moving," he said quietly.
Rellin nodded numbly and flicked the reins.
As the wagon rolled forward again, Elias leaned back against the crates, expression calm but thoughts sharp.
If that was the first test…
There would be more.
Harder.
Subtler.
Unpredictable.
And somewhere, hidden among the pines, the examiners were watching—
not to see if he would fail,
but how he would choose to succeed.
———————————————————————
After the handler vanished into the pines, the forest changed.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
But Elias felt it.
The emotional texture of the woods shifted.
Quiet forests had their own pulse — soft, unfocused, drifting like distant thoughts.
This one?
Held breath.
Every branch.
Every shadow.
Every patch of fog.
Watching.
Not examiners.
Not bandits.
Not Shadowborn.
Something older.
Something patient.
Something that did not think like people did.
Rellin, unaware, kept muttering about taxes and insane masked handlers and nearly dying to "that blasted boulder-sack nonsense."
Elias let him ramble.
It covered the silence.
"This is getting ridiculous, one thing after another" Elias thought sharply as he tried to locate the source of the unease he felt.
Shadows drifted under the wagon's boards, alert but not agitated—like hunting dogs with their ears up.
Elias scanned the treeline without turning his head.
Stillness.
Not the hunter's kind.
Not the examiner's.
A stranger stillness.
And then, faintly—
A whisper.
Not sound.
Not voice.
Not language.
Just a sensation brushing against the edge of awareness, like fingertips gliding along the inside of his ribs.
It felt curious.
Not hostile, not welcoming.
Curious.
Like something sniffing him from afar.
Elias tightened his grip on the crate beside him.
He kept his expression perfectly smooth.
"Rellin," he said quietly. "How far are we from Pine Hollow?"
Rellin blinked. "Half a day, give or take. Why?"
Elias didn't answer.
Because something was wrong.
Pine Hollow was infamous among Shadow Path operatives. Not for monsters. Not for bandits.
For illusions.
Not mage illusions.
Natural illusions.
The forest there had grown in places where ley-lines tangled, folded, drifted. Old, drifting magic. Instinctive magic. The kind that didn't negotiate with a mind — because it didn't understand minds.
Some called it wildlight.
Others called it the ghostwood.
Older texts named it something else entirely:
The Listening Green.
And sometimes, just sometimes,
it reached out to people who resonated with it.
Elias rested his hand on the wagon's edge.
The shadows beneath him shifted in agreement.
Yes, they seemed to say.
We feel it too.
Rellin didn't.
But a traveler could walk straight into a patch of wildlight and never know anything had changed — not until they stepped three paces to the side and found the forest suddenly unfamiliar.
Elias closed his eyes.
The emotional pressure wasn't human.
Not humanoid.
And not blind, either.
It had noticed him.
Specifically him.
Aster's words whispered back:
Patterns.
Possibilities.
The shape of something once familiar.
Elias swallowed his breath once, steady and deliberate.
"Rellin," he said softly. "If I tell you to stop the wagon, stop. Without asking why."
Rellin gave him a startled look. "Should I be worried?"
"Yes."
The merchant paled. "Understood."
The wagon rolled on.
The trees grew closer together.
Fog thickened into a low, drifting wall.
The emotional sensation sharpened again — not like intent now, but interest.
Like something leaning close, pressing its face nearly against his.
A faint flicker of light appeared between the trees to their right.
Rellin squinted. "Is that— a lantern?"
"No," Elias said instantly.
He didn't explain.
Because the light was warm and soft — exactly like an outpost lantern should be.
But they were not near an outpost.
Not yet.
The shadows gathered around Elias's ankles, tense.
"We're leaving the road," he murmured.
Rellin jerked. "What—?! The horses are—"
The wagon tilted.
Subtly.
Barely.
But the horses were drifting off-course, following the false light.
Elias snapped out his hand and grabbed the reins.
"Pull left," he ordered sharply.
Rellin obeyed, cursing.
The horses resisted. Their muscles strained toward the light even as Rellin hauled the reins back with desperate strength.
Elias whispered a command to the shadows.
They surged beneath the wagon wheels — anchoring.
Holding.
Rooting.
The wagon straightened.
The light flickered.
Dimmed.
And vanished.
The horses shuddered violently, then calmed.
Rellin sat frozen, knuckles white. "That—wasn't a lantern."
"No," Elias agreed.
"Then what was it?"
"Something that wanted us to follow."
"To what?!"
Elias stared into the fog.
He did not say the truth aloud.
To whatever was watching us.
To whatever was curious.
To something that wasn't part of the evaluation.
He motioned forward.
"We keep moving. Slowly."
They continued deeper into the forest.
The shadows around Elias pressed close, not afraid but wary.
The emotional presence in the trees lingered.
Still curious.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
Not malicious.
Not benevolent.
But absolutely not human.
And as the wagon rolled under the interlocking pines, Elias felt a strange, cold certainty settle in his mind:
This forest recognized him.
Not his face.
Not his mana — he had none.
Not his training.
Something older.
Something quiet.
Something in the shape of his truth.
And whatever lived in Pine Hollow was deciding whether it liked what it sensed.
——————————————————————
The mist in Pine Hollow grew thicker — not cold, not warm, just present. It clung lightly to the wagon wheels, curled around the horses' ankles, and drifted in small spiraling patterns that seemed almost… playful.
Elias felt the emotional pressure again, brushing against his awareness like a finger trailing along his chin.
"This feels different from the forest before" Elias thought guardedly
Curiosity.
Bright, sharp curiosity.
Then—
A ripple.
Shadows peeled away from the treeline as if tugged by an unseen hand.
Rellin cursed under his breath. "This forest ain't right."
Elias didn't answer.
Because something shifted in the fog ahead.
Something very small.
A figure emerged from behind a pine trunk — no taller than Elias's forearm, fluttering more than walking, her wings like thin slices of frost-glass catching nonexistent moonlight.
She was radiant and cold at once.
Not human.
Not pretending to be.
A Winter Fey.
Small.
Young.
A creature of frost-touched mischief — dangerous definitely but only if she wanted to be, and unpredictable regardless.
Her hair was white as snowlight, drifting like slow smoke behind her. Her skin had the faintest shimmer of hoarfrost. Tiny, crystalline wings buzzed with a pitch that was almost too high for mortal ears.
She hovered in front of the wagon, eyes wide with delight.
Rellin froze. " "Where in the nine tricks did that come from?!" He whispered loudly
Elias lifted a hand gently.
"Don't move." Be whispered calmly " and do not speak carelessly around things you do not understand, it might be your last words" He intoned clearly without looking away from the fey
Rellin practically stopped breathing.
The Winter Fey child glanced between Elias and the wagon with unabashed fascination. Then she pointed at him with a hand no bigger than a thimble.
Her voice drifted like a bell struck on ice:
"Yoooou're funny."
Elias blinked. "…I'm what?"
She giggled — a shimmering, crystalline sound that rippled the shadows around them.
"Your shadows keep whispering."
She leaned forward, startlingly close.
"They're loud."
The shadows around Elias recoiled then curled protectively, like embarrassed pets caught misbehaving.
Elias felt his pulse spike.
Fey didn't lie.
But they didn't explain either.
The child tilted her head, hovering in front of him, wings humming softly like winter wind.
"You're not a shadowborn," she said.
"You're not a human either."
A pause.
"You're a… um…" She scrunched her face, searching for a word that didn't exist.
Her wings flared.
"…you're a maybe."
Elias stiffened.
Maybe?
He didn't dare answer.
Names carried weight.
Descriptions carried power.
The Fey child didn't seem to expect a response. Instead, she drifted toward the shadows under the wagon, poking at them with intense fascination.
Each poke sent the shadows rippling like disturbed water.
She squealed with delight. "They move when I touch them! Look!"
Elias forced a calm tone. "…Please don't break them."
She stopped mid-poke and blinked up at him, confused.
"Break? Why would I break them? They're fun."
Elias nodded politely " that might be, but as you see these shadows are young and unruly they've yet to learn restraint" he explained barely knowing what he's talking about.
She zipped upward suddenly, hovering eye-level with Elias.
"You smell like old things," she said brightly. "Like dusty dreams and dark corners."
Rellin made a choked sound.
The Fey child sniffed him next and immediately wrinkled her nose.
"You smell like carrots."
Rellin looked deeply insulted.
Elias swallowed. "Are you alone?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"They let me play today!" she chirped, twirling midair. "And they said not to freeze anyone unless they're rude, and you're not rude so you're fine!"
Rellin mouthed: Freeze?
Elias gave him a warning look.
The Fey child suddenly darted around Elias's head, peering at his hair, his clothes, the shadows curling around his ankles.
"You're not meant to be here," she whispered cheerfully.
Elias's spine tightened.
"Why not?"
She licked her fingertip, thinking.
"Because…"
She pointed at his chest.
"…you don't have the warm-light inside."
His heart clenched.
She meant a mana core.
Her tiny nose scrunched again.
"You're empty," she announced helpfully. "But not hollow. More like… waiting."
Her wings buzzed in excitement.
"I like waiting things! Waiting things become interesting."
Elias drew a slow breath.
"May I ask what you want from me?"
She giggled again.
"Nothing."
She spun upside down in the air.
"I was bored."
Elias resisted the urge to sigh.
Of course.
She drifted backward, wings fluttering like falling snowflakes.
"You should hurry," she sang. "Big people are coming."
Elias stiffened.
"What big people?"
She shrugged innocently.
"Big people! With loud hearts. Lots of footsteps. Crunchy footsteps."
Bandits.
Maybe.
Or examiners.
Or something else entirely.
Elias cursed silently in his mind.
"Can you tell me which direction?" he asked.
She twirled once mid-air, tiny frost motes spinning off her wings.
"Behind you," she chirped. "Maybe far, maybe near. Time is wiggly."
Elias blinked. "…what?"
She leaned close to his ear, whisper-singing:
"Wiggly, slippy, twisty, tricksy…
Time runs straight unless it doesn't.
Is it now?
Was it then?
I can't say—
Lady winter has no clock, you see."
She giggled, orbiting his head like a mischievous snowflake.
"Oh! And don't go left ahead. The trees are sleeping wrong."
Her voice dropped to a delighted whisper.
"They'll eat you."
Rellin visibly aged ten years in one second.
Before Elias could respond, the tiny Fey fluttered close, placed a cold fingertip on his nose, and whispered:
"You're a fun maybe. Come back when you're a definitely."
Elias smiled at her" maybe is still better than nobody isn't it?"
She giggled and nodded
Then she turned into a flurry of frost-glitter and vanished with a sound like a bell dissolving into snow.
The shadows settled.
The fog thinned.
Rellin whispered hoarsely:
"What in the Magician's vanishing hat was THAT?!"
Elias exhaled slowly.
"A Winter Fey."
"She—she called you a maybe."
"I noticed."
"And said you don't have the warm-light inside."
Elias stared ahead into the thinning mist, jaw tight.
"…I noticed that too."
They sat in silence for several heartbeats, the forest holding its breath around them.
Rellin finally managed:
"Should we… keep going?"
"Yes," Elias said, voice steady. "And not left."
"Right. Not left." Rellin nodded vigorously. "Absolutely right. Right is good."
Elias didn't answer.
His thoughts were not on the path.
Not on the bandits.
Not on the evaluation.
Just on one line echoing in his skull:
Come back when you're a definitely.
———————————————————————
The wagon creaked forward again, but slowly now — as if the horses themselves sensed the forest had witnessed something it should not have.
Rellin gripped the reins hard enough to pale his knuckles.
"What a day," he muttered. ""By the Magician's misplaced rabbit—" how does something so small talk so loud—"
Elias didn't answer.
Not aloud.
Inside, he let the shadows around his ankles loosen, spreading outward in wisps no thicker than hair. They drifted like fog under the wagon seat, brushing the surfaces, slipping into cracks, tasting the silence.
He focused.
And the world shifted.
Not visually.
Emotionally.
Rellin's presence unfolded in Elias's senses like a soft pressure. Not a color. Not a sound. More like a temperature without heat — the emotional equivalent of breath.
Elias steadied himself and examined three things:
1. FearWarm.
Shallow.
Sharp around the edges.
A reaction, not a habit.
Rellin was afraid — truly afraid — but not with the cold, contained fear of someone familiar with the Fey.
This was someone blindsided.
Shaken.
Not a liar.
2. SurpriseHeavy.
Sincere.
It pulsed through his emotional presence each time he replayed the Fey child's words.
Genuine shock — the kind no adult could fake convincingly.
Rellin had not expected to meet a Winter Fey.
He hadn't even known the signs.
3. GuiltElias searched for it carefully.
Guilt often hid under layers of other emotion.
Guilt was sticky.
Dense.
Hard to mistake.
He found none.
Not a drop.
Not even the faint residue of a man withholding information.
Rellin was exactly what he seemed:
A tired merchant with more scar tissue than sense, who had seen something today he should never have seen.
Elias released a slow breath.
Rellin wasn't involved.
He wasn't bait.
He wasn't part of the "big people with loud hearts" coming their way.
He was simply caught in the wrong forest with the wrong apprentice and the wrong Fey child.
Elias let the shadows withdraw slowly — not snapping back, not collapsing, just fading into the natural dim around him.
Rellin exhaled shakily.
"You said that was a Winter Fey," he said at last, trying to sound casual.
Failing.
Horribly.
"Yes."
"Do they—do they usually just show up? Play with shadows? Call people carrots?"
Elias's lips twitched. "Not usually."
Rellin groaned and ran a hand down his face.
"Wonderful. Just wonderful. First trip of the season, and I almost get frozen by something the size of a beer mug."
Elias studied him again — not with shadows this time, but with simple perception.
A man like Rellin didn't survive this long by hiding secrets.
He survived by knowing when to trust someone.
So Elias spoke quietly:
"Rellin. If I tell you something… will you panic?"
Rellin stared at him. "Probably. But I'll panic quietly."
Fair enough.
Elias nodded.
"Someone is coming," he said.
Rellin blanched. "Coming? Who?"
"I don't know yet."
"Bandits?"
"Maybe."
"Not Fey again, right?" Rellin whispered.
"…unlikely."
Rellin clutched the reins tighter. "Oh good. Just bandits. That's much better. Lovely. Wonderful."
Elias did not correct him.
He focused again on the faint emotional pressure on the far side of the forest.
It was distant.
Moving slowly.
Uncoordinated.
Sloppy.
Not soldiers.
Not trained killers.
More like…
Rellin swallowed. "Do you think they're after me?"
Elias shook his head.
"No."
"Then what are they after?"
Elias looked ahead at the road.
At the deepening fog.
At the forest that now felt too quiet.
At the shadows that curled around him, attentive and tense.
"Us."
———————————————————————
The wagon slowed.
Rellin didn't notice he was doing it — fear had turned his hands stiff on the reins. The horses felt it too; their ears kept twitching toward the tree line as though expecting teeth in the shadows.
Elias felt the approaching presence more clearly now.
Three minds.
Sloppy emotional footprints.
Greedy, unfocused, impatient.
Amateurs.
Bandits, most likely.
Not trained.
Not coordinated.
But dangerous through desperation alone.
Elias inhaled slowly.
He couldn't fight them outright.
He shouldn't reveal his abilities.
And Rellin was in no shape to handle violence.
So Elias chose the path he understood best:
Confusion. Misdirection. Fear.
Things humans were very good at supplying… when pushed.
He placed one hand on the wooden frame of the wagon.
A tiny pulse of shadow slipped beneath the boards, pooling in the underside of the cart where no one would see. He didn't force it — he guided it, like nudging water into a groove.
The shadows settled into three thin, barely-visible waves.
Not illusions.
Not tricks.
Just presence.
Like something waiting.
Like something watching.
Rellin glanced at him. "What are you doing?"
"Preparing," Elias said quietly.
"For what?"
"To make them rethink approaching."
Rellin paled. "How—"
"Let me handle it."
Elias didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
The air around him thickened subtly as he pushed his emotional presence into a narrow, sharp line — not fear, not threat, but silence.
Predator silence. Lesson he learned from the beast.
To bandits with twitchy instincts, silence was louder than roars.
The first bandit appeared between the trees — a thin man with a rusted dagger and a look of someone who had eaten more hunger than food.
He froze.
Because the shadows around the wagon shifted.
Not dramatically.
Barely perceptible.
But enough to make his instincts scream:
Something is wrong.
Something is watching me.
Something is hunting.
Elias didn't look at the man.
He just adjusted the shadows one inch.
The bandit flinched as if slapped.
Two more shapes appeared behind him. Both stopped dead as well.
"Do… do you see that?" one whispered.
"See what?" the other hissed.
"The… the ground. It's… it's darker."
"It's dawn, idiot."
"No—look—LOOK—"
The first man took a shaky step back.
"I don't like this," he muttered. "Feels like—feels like—"
Elias pushed a ripple of intent through the shadows.
Hunger.
Something-waiting hunger.
Not his emotion.
Just an echo of the Hunter's presence from the vault — not strong, not enough to summon anything, just a faint imitation of menace.
The effect was immediate.
"NOPE," the thin bandit said, voice cracking completely. "I'm out. I'm OUT. That wagon's cursed."
"Cursed?!" another snapped.
"Yes cursed! I feel it! I FEEL it—look at the kid—he's— he's not even scared—"
Their eyes flicked toward Elias.
Elias, who sat completely still, expression steady, the very picture of someone who knew something the others didn't.
The third bandit lost his nerve.
"We're leaving," he said.
"No argument," the first agreed.
They turned and bolted into the trees, crashing through brambles like wild animals fleeing a predator's den.
Elias waited ten whole breaths before relaxing his stance.
Then he quietly drew the shadows back, letting the forest return to normal.
Rellin stared at him.
Openly this time.
"What," he whispered, "did you just do?"
Elias exhaled once.
"Nothing," he said.
"NOTHING?! They ran like wolves were chewing their heels!"
Elias shrugged faintly.
"People see what they want to fear. I gave them no reason to stay."
"That— that isn't normal," Rellin muttered.
"No," Elias agreed. "But it was necessary."
The merchant stared for another long, disbelieving moment.
Then—
"Remind me never to play cards with you," he said, snapping the reins again.
The wagon moved.
The forest exhaled with them.
Elias leaned back against the crates, eyes forward, senses open.
The misdirection worked.
But something still lingered in the air behind them.
A faint echo.
A Fey echo.
The little Winter Fey had called those three bandits "loud hearts."
But she had also said something else.
"Big people coming. Big loud hearts."
Elias frowned slightly.
Bandits were loud.
But not big.
And now that he'd cleared the immediate threat…
He began to feel something else.
Further down the green road ahead.
A much larger emotional footprint.
One that wasn't afraid.
One that wasn't sloppy.
One that wasn't human.
"Magician's vanishing robes what now" Elias thought to himself, utterly fed up with this journey. It was supposed to be just a simple ride to Rillestone and back.
———————————————————————
The wagon creaked onward.
Rellin hummed nervously — the kind of tune people used to keep themselves from thinking too loudly about bandits.
Elias didn't hum. Sing or even talk for that matter.
He watched the treeline.
The misdirection had driven off the desperate men, but their emotional residue still smeared the air like greasy fingerprints.
And beneath that…
Something else.
Cold.
Precise.
Quiet.
Not the cold of weather.
Not the cold of fear.
The cold of intent.
Winter aligned intent.
Elias's spine straightened without conscious effort.
Rellin noticed immediately.
"What?" he whispered. "Bandits again?"
"No," Elias said.
"Then what—"
The woods ahead fell silent.
Utterly.
Total stillness — not natural.
Not even the stillness of predators.
This was the silence of deference.
Trees bowed slightly, their branches dipping without wind. Frost rippled across the leaves despite the weak sunlight.
The horses stopped on their own.
Rellin blinked. "Wha—why'd they—"
Elias touched his arm sharply.
"Do not speak loudly," he murmured. "Do not move suddenly. Do not lie. And do not—under any circumstances—offer anything unless asked."
Rellin's face went pale.
"Fey?" he breathed.
"Yes." Elias nodded
The word tasted like iron and frost.
A shape appeared between the trees.
At first, Elias thought it was a woman.
Tall.
Slender.
Crowned not with metal but with drifting shards of frost that hovered above dark hair like a halo of shattered winter sky.
Her gown behaved like fabric only when it wished to. Otherwise, it was mist, ice, shadow, frost, and moonlight woven in slow rotation.
Behind her followed smaller shapes:
a fox made of frost
a cluster of snowflakes spinning like attendants
a translucent white raven that left crackling frost in its wake
And finally—
Hovering near her shoulder…
The tiny Winter Fey child from earlier.
She saw Elias and lit up with gleeful warmth.
"Shadow-boy!" she chirped in her chiming, bell-like tone.
The noble Fey woman paused.
Turned.
Looked directly at Elias.
Rellin nearly choked on terror.
Elias did not move.
He bowed his head slightly.
Not deeply.
Not too shallow.
Just enough.
Respect without servility.
Acknowledgment without fear.
Courtesy without offering.
The noble's voice drifted through the air like winter wind across glass.
"You carry the scent of my child's laughter," she said.
Rellin whimpered.
Elias kept his voice steady.
"I encountered her earlier, my lady."
The child twirled happily.
"He played shadow-games," she added proudly.
The noble's eyes — pale, crystalline slits of cold moonlight — narrowed with something like amusement.
"You amuse easily," she told the child, and turned to look at Elias
"You bend shadows as we make snowflakes" she told Elias.
Elias stayed quiet. Fey statements were traps, tests, truths, or lies. Often all at once.
The noble inclined her head a fraction — the smallest gesture of acknowledgment a human might receive without having earned favor or insult.
"My daughter wandered where the seasons fray," she said. "Few mortals perceive her. Fewer speak to her without arrogance or fear."
Rellin looked like he was about to fall off the wagon.
The noble continued:
"You showed her respect."
Not a question.
A declaration.
"Yes," Elias said softly.
The frost fox circled him once, sniffing the air with interest. Frost formed where its paws touched soil, but melted immediately afterward — a courtesy for mortal land.
The noble's gaze sharpened.
"There is something about you," she murmured. "Something that does not belong to this bright-blooded race."
Elias's pulse slowed deliberately.
"I do not know what that is," he said truthfully.
"Not knowing," she replied, "does not change what is."
The child tugged at her mother's sleeve.
"He's fun," she said.
"He hides like we do."
A tiny flake of frost drifted from the noble's hair and landed on Elias's hand.
It did not melt.
It pulsed once — a faint ring of cold — and then dissolved into shadow instead of water.
The fox froze.
The raven tilted its head.
The noble exhaled — not surprise, not anger — but something far rarer:
interest.
"You are not a danger," she said at last. "Not yet."
Elias did not react.
The child pouted. "Can he come visit?"
"No," the noble said simply. "He is mortal."
The child crossed her tiny arms.
"But he's not boring."
"That," the noble conceded, "is unusual."
She shifted her gaze back to Elias.
"You will meet more of my kind, shadow-touched one. When you do… remember your stillness. Remember your courtesy. And remember—"
Her voice dipped, a frost-laden whisper that slid down the spine like a blade.
"Winter watches those who walk well in darkness."
Then—
She stepped backward.
And vanished.
Not into shadow.
Not into mist.
Into season.
The forest breathed again.
Birds resumed singing.
Leaves loosened.
Rellin collapsed against the wagon seat, wheezing like he'd been underwater too long.
"Blank cards and empty hats—was that—did we just—?"
"Yes," Elias said.
Rellin looked at him, sweat dripping down his face.
"I don't get paid enough for this."
Elias almost smiled.
Almost.
Elias and Rellin didn't speak for a long time after the Winter Fey noble vanished.
The forest seemed to breathe again, the trees shedding frost like they'd been holding breath for hours.
Rellin wiped his face with both hands.
"By the Magician's vanishing hat…" he whispered shakily. "I need a drink. Or five. Preferably before noon."
Elias allowed himself a quiet, controlled exhale.
Then something brushed his shoulder.
A sound like soft paper fluttering.
A tiny square of frost-glittered parchment drifted down, weightless as snowfall, landing neatly on his knee.
Elias stared.
Rellin stared harder.
Written in messy, looping handwriting:
"Don't forget the time!
– your Maybe-friend ❄️"
Elias frowned. "What does that—"
The forest erupted.
Four operatives burst from the underbrush, weapons drawn, cloaks flaring with ward-light. A fifth figure strode behind them—
Tall.
Silent.
Mask gleaming obsidian faceted like starlight.
Aster.
Rellin made a sound like a dying flute.
The lead handler spread his arms protectively. "Prime-Three, they're alive and well, considering they spent week in the woods healthy too"
Aster didn't slow.
Her gaze swept Elias in one breath, Rellin in the next.
Her voice was cold enough to make the winter air seem warm.
"Elias Marlow," she said. "Report."
Elias opened his mouth.
Rellin had heard the conversation and was about to drop from confusion, and blurted out—
"We were gone a week—?! A week?! We were right here, I swear on the Magician's missing—!"
Aster raised one hand.
Silence slammed into the clearing.
Even the birds stopped.
Elias extended the frost note toward her.
Aster did not touch it.
She merely looked.
And the faint glow of the runes across her mask flickered once—like a shudder.
She inhaled.
Slow.
Controlled.
Her voice dropped to a tone that was not meant for Rellin's ears.
"Tell me exactly what happened," she said. "Every word."
Elias described:
the shifting forest
the false lantern
the Winter Fey child
the "maybe" comment
the noble who followed
the frost that turned to shadow
Aster didn't speak.
Not as he talked.
Not when he finished.
Not even when Rellin muttered, "Please tell me none of this is normal."
Only when she finally stepped closer did the operatives behind her subtly retreat—because even they knew the feeling of something far above their pay grade settling into place.
Aster crouched before Elias, mask inches from his face.
"You spoke to a child of the Court," she said.
Not a question.
A fact.
"You survived," she continued, voice thin and precise, "without becoming enthralled, frozen, misplaced, devoured, misplaced again, or reduced to an anecdote."
Rellin whimpered.
Aster ignored him.
"You met her mother," she added. "And remain—"
she gestured vaguely at his very-alive state,
"—you."
Elias stayed silent.
Aster leaned in slightly.
"The Fey do not speak to humans without purpose. They do not leave their realm lightly. They do not meddle without consequence."
She tapped the frost note with one gloved fingertip.
"And they do not"—her voice tightened—"gift time slips unless they are very, very curious."
Elias didn't flinch, but something in his chest tightened.
Aster straightened slowly.
To the operatives, she said:
"Escort them back to Mirage at once. No delays. No conversation. No deviation from the path."
To Rellin:
"You will give a full testimony. You will be compensated."
Rellin nodded so fast his neck cracked.
To Elias:
Her voice softened by one degree.
"This is no longer evaluation."
She paused.
That point was when Elias understood how close they had come to something none of them were prepared for.
Aster turned sharply, cloak snapping like a banner of winter shadow.
"Move," she ordered the operatives.
The return escort formed around Elias and Rellin. As they started down the road, Aster walked at Elias's side for a few breaths.
Quiet.
Measuring.
Finally, she said:
"When we return, you and I will speak. Alone."
Then, almost reluctantly—like a confession scraped out from under years of discipline:
"You should not have survived them."
A beat.
"And yet they liked you."
She didn't look at him as she finished:
"That," she murmured, "frightens me more than anything else today