Jett's POV
The next morning, Oakhaven pretended nothing had happened.
That was one of the village's greatest talents.
Pretending.
The Greywood could swallow a man, and people would still argue about the price of flour.
A house could burn down, and someone would complain about the smoke.
A ruin could rise from the earth and whisper a dead man's name, and by breakfast everyone would be discussing taxes.
Especially taxes.
I woke before sunrise.
I hadn't slept much.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the stone doors opening.
I heard the voice.
Remember.
I didn't know what it wanted me to remember.
I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.
Outside, the village was already awake.
Smoke rose from chimneys.
Carts rolled over the muddy road.
Someone was shouting at a goat.
The goat was winning.
For a moment, everything seemed normal.
Then I smelled the grain.
Or what was left of it.
I walked toward the eastern fields.
Oakhaven's farms stretched along the valley between the village and the Greywood. They weren't large farms. Most families owned only enough land to grow what they needed and maybe a little extra to trade.
This year, there wasn't much extra.
There wasn't much of anything.
The wheat stood thin and yellow.
Half the stalks had never grown properly.
The soil looked dry despite the rain we'd had.
I crouched and pulled one plant from the ground.
Its roots were black.
I rubbed the dirt between my fingers.
Something glittered beneath it.
A tiny blue fragment.
I picked it up.
The moment my skin touched it, my vision blurred.
A field.
Not this field.
A different one.
Green.
Endless.
People were working beneath a golden sky.
Machines moved between rows of crops without horses.
Water flowed through channels of glowing stone.
The land was alive.
Then the vision changed.
The same field was covered in ash.
I dropped the fragment.
It disappeared into the dirt.
"Don't touch that."
I looked up.
Mara, one of the farmers, stood several steps away.
She was holding a broken shovel.
"What?"
She pointed toward the ground.
"Whatever that is."
"You know what it is?"
"No."
"Then why shouldn't I touch it?"
"Because everything strange that comes out of that forest eventually brings trouble."
She looked toward the trees.
Her face tightened.
"Especially now."
I stood.
"Your crops are dying."
She gave a bitter laugh.
"Congratulations. You have discovered farming."
"I mean—"
"I know what you mean."
She stabbed the shovel into the soil.
"We had frost in spring. Then no rain for three weeks. Then rain for three days straight."
She gestured toward the field.
"Too much water. Too little water. Doesn't matter anymore."
She pulled out another stalk.
Black roots.
Same as the one I'd found.
"Have you seen this before?"
"Never."
"Then maybe you should tell someone."
"Who?"
I didn't have an answer.
The kingdom had a magistrate.
Technically.
He visited twice a year.
Usually when it was time to collect taxes.
He knew how much grain Oakhaven produced.
He knew how many houses stood in the village.
He knew how much money we owed.
He didn't know that half our crops were dying.
And I doubted he would care.
A horn sounded from the road.
Mara froze.
I turned.
A wagon was entering the village.
Black wheels.
Blue-and-gold crest.
Kingdom colors.
Three soldiers rode beside it.
Behind them sat a man in a clean coat that had never seen a muddy road.
The tax collector.
Of course.
Mara whispered something I didn't catch.
"How much this year?" I asked.
She looked at me.
"More."
"How much more?"
"Twenty percent."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible."
She gave me a tired smile.
"So is surviving."
The wagon stopped in the center of the village.
The collector stepped down.
He was a round man with polished boots and a silver chain around his neck.
He unfolded a sheet of parchment.
"People of Oakhaven!"
Nobody answered.
He cleared his throat.
"By order of the crown, the annual border levy has been adjusted."
Someone in the crowd muttered.
Adjusted.
That was a nice word.
It made robbery sound official.
The collector continued.
"Due to increased military expenditure, rising costs of maintaining the eastern territories, and recent security concerns—"
He paused.
His eyes moved toward the Greywood.
I noticed.
So did everyone else.
"—the village's required contribution has increased."
"By twenty percent!" someone shouted.
The collector smiled.
"Twenty percent."
"Half the fields are dead!"
"That is unfortunate."
"People are starving!"
"Also unfortunate."
A stone hit the road near his boot.
The soldiers immediately reached for their weapons.
The village went silent.
I stepped forward before I could think better of it.
"Where are we supposed to get the money?"
The collector looked at me.
"Who are you?"
"Jett."
"Jett what?"
I almost smiled.
"Just Jett."
His expression changed slightly.
He didn't like that answer.
"Then, Just Jett, I suggest you find employment."
"I hunt."
"Then hunt."
"The animals are disappearing."
That got a few heads turning.
The collector glanced toward the forest again.
"And whose fault is that?"
I stared at him.
He looked back at me.
Then he smiled.
"Pay your taxes."
He climbed back into the wagon.
The soldiers followed.
Nobody moved until the wagon disappeared down the road.
Then Oakhaven started breathing again.
I looked at the people around me.
Nobody had anything to say.
They simply went back to work.
That was the worst part.
Not the taxes.
Not the soldiers.
Not even the hunger.
It was how normal all of it had become.
I spent the afternoon hunting.
There wasn't much else I could do.
The traps I'd set three days earlier were empty.
Every single one.
No rabbits.
No foxes.
No deer.
Not even rats.
The Greywood had always been dangerous.
But it had also always been alive.
That was what made it dangerous.
Now it felt dead.
I followed a set of tracks north.
They belonged to something large.
Much larger than a wolf.
I found the animal near a stream.
It was a stag.
At least, it had once been one.
Its antlers twisted unnaturally around its head.
Its eyes were cloudy.
Black veins ran beneath its skin.
It lowered its head when it saw me.
I reached for my knife.
The stag charged.
I jumped aside.
Its antlers smashed into a tree.
Wood exploded.
I ran.
The animal followed.
I climbed onto a fallen trunk and jumped across the stream.
The stag crashed through the water behind me.
I grabbed a branch and swung myself onto higher ground.
It stopped.
For a moment, we stared at each other.
Then something moved beneath its skin.
A pulse of blue light.
My stomach turned.
The stag screamed.
Not like an animal.
Like a person.
Then it ran into the forest.
I didn't follow.
For once, I was smart enough to listen to fear.
I returned to Oakhaven before sunset.
Near the village entrance, I found a crowd gathered around another broken fence.
"What happened?"
Nobody answered.
Then I saw the blood.
A farmer had been attacked.
Not badly enough to die.
Badly enough to leave three deep claw marks across his shoulder.
His son stood beside him, crying.
"Bear?" I asked.
The farmer shook his head.
"Too big."
"Wolf?"
Another shake.
"What then?"
He looked at me.
"I don't know."
That answer again.
I was beginning to hate those words.
I helped carry him home.
On the way, I noticed something carved into the wooden fence.
Seven lines.
Around a circle.
I stopped.
My blood went cold.
Someone had carved it recently.
Deep into the wood.
I touched it.
Nothing happened.
No vision.
No voice.
Just cold wood beneath my fingers.
I pulled my hand away.
"Jett?"
I looked at the farmer.
"Nothing."
That night, I sat alone outside Garran's workshop.
The village was quiet.
Too quiet.
A few people still had lamps burning.
Most had already gone to sleep.
I counted the houses.
Thirty-two.
Thirty-two families.
Thirty-two roofs.
Thirty-two chances to lose everything.
I thought about the tax collector.
I thought about the fields.
The empty traps.
The strange animals.
The ruins.
The symbol.
Garran.
The black sword hidden beneath the floor.
I thought about the words I'd heard in the ruins.
The child must never remember.
My hands tightened.
I didn't know who I had been.
I didn't know why the ruins knew me.
I didn't know why Garran had lied to me.
But I knew one thing.
Whatever was happening to Oakhaven wasn't just bad luck.
Something was changing.
And everyone in the village was paying the price.
I looked toward the Greywood.
Far between the trees, something blue flickered.
Once.
Then twice.
I stood.
A sound followed.
Deep beneath the earth.
Clang.
I closed my eyes.
This time, I didn't feel afraid.
I felt angry.
Because whatever was waking beneath the forest had already started taking things from us.
Our crops.
Our animals.
Our homes.
Our people.
And I had a feeling it wasn't finished.