Days blurred into months, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. Before I knew it, every last piece of our old life had been packed into boxes, labeled in my mother's neat, tight script, and shipped to Harold's home. Only the essentials made the journey—clothes, important documents, school supplies, and the photo albums that held the only tangible proof of what once was. Everything else, every little thing that made our house a home, was left behind.
At first, my parents had been reluctant. They wrapped their concern in clipped words and tight-lipped glances, refusing to grant us even the smallest sliver of freedom in this unfamiliar town. But Sheriff Donovan had a way with persuasion, a patience that whittled down their resistance until, eventually, they relented.
I had expected them to hold on longer, to clutch us tighter, their desperation forming an iron cage around us. But maybe, deep down, they realized the truth—no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't keep us locked away forever. This town, whether we liked it or not, was our home now.
Despite everything that had changed, some things remained the same.
Our training with Master continued, though the setting had shifted. Instead of the familiar temple nestled in the woods of our old home, we now traveled to the Red Fox Lair. The journey was different—new paths, unfamiliar scents in the air, the rustling of leaves that didn't quite whisper the same way. But the purpose never wavered.
I still taught the younger children when I could, watching their faces light up with understanding as they grasped something new. That, at least, remained steady. Grounding. But even in those moments, a restlessness stirred inside me, an itch that refused to be ignored.
So, I slipped away.
The charred ruins of Alistair's house stood like a skeletal relic of the past, blackened beams stretching toward the sky as if frozen mid-scream. The air smelled of lingering smoke, though the fire had long since died. The wind carried whispers—secrets without shape or voice, only a heavy weight pressing against my chest.
And then, there was Alistair.
Bound by the constraints of whatever spell had ensnared him, he could only tell me so much—only what was necessary. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.
Frustration gnawed at my ribs every time I tried to push for more, every time he met my gaze with that same tired expression, the one that told me he wished he could give me what I wanted.
And more than anything, I wanted him to meet Dale.
But because of the spell, that was impossible.
"Arcanios exist in three kinds," Alistair explained, sipping his coffee in the dim glow of the room where we had first spoken. The curtains were drawn shut, allowing no sunlight to filter in, leaving only the flickering candlelight to cast shadows against the walls. "The Caelites bear snowflake-shaped marks on their nape. The Ardorium have an infinite symbol on their arms. And the Hexling carry a crescent moon mark along the pulse of their neck."
I glanced down at my arm, where the infinite mark had appeared. A strange thrill coursed through me, though I kept my expression neutral. So, I was an Ardorium. How intriguing. My fingers absently traced over the mark, as if doing so would unravel all the answers I craved.
Questions buzzed in my head, but I already knew Alistair couldn't answer most of them.
Instead, I picked up my mug, taking a slow sip of coffee while my gaze roamed the house. The silence between us stretched long and thin before I finally broke it.
"Is there really no way for you and Dale to meet?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
Alistair exhaled, setting his mug down. "Like I explained before, I am only a soul—trapped in this dimension by that little girl. Only she decides who can enter. That is, unless you can break the spell she cast."
His words were calm, matter-of-fact, but they left a bitter taste in my mouth. Before I could respond, a sound split through the air.
The ringing.
The same as that fateful night. The same sound from my nightmares. My entire body went rigid as a shiver ran down my spine. My mind screamed at me to move, but my limbs refused to obey. The cloaked figures from my dreams flashed in my mind's eye, their presence lingering like a phantom. My breath hitched as I finally pushed myself to my feet, though the movement felt sluggish, like wading through thick fog.
Alistair stood abruptly, rummaging through a nearby drawer before pulling out a small piece of paper. He turned to me, pressing it into my hand.
"What—what's this?" I asked, my fingers trembling as I held the folded note.
"Give this letter to Dale for me," he said.
Before I could respond, he reached for his gun and aimed it directly at me.
My stomach dropped.
"Mister—put the gun down!" I blurted out, panic rising in my chest. "Like you said, this is just another dimension. If you shoot me, how am I supposed to give this to Dale? We need to think of another way—something that will actually let you two meet—"
"There is no other way," he interrupted, his voice laced with a sadness that sank into my bones. "Anne, not all problems have a solution. Sometimes, you just have to accept defeat and move on."
Tears slipped down his face, glistening under the candlelight, but he didn't waver.
The gunshot cracked through the air, a sharp and final sound.
Pain bloomed in my chest. Not instant, not all at once—but a slow, spreading fire, licking at my ribs, burrowing deep. My breath hitched, stuttering, and then I felt it—warm, thick wetness seeping into my shirt.
I staggered. The world around me tilted.
Alistair's face blurred, flickering between sorrow and resolve, as if he'd already braced himself for what came next. My fingers twitched at my sides, grasping for something—anything—to hold onto, but the strength drained from my limbs, leaving them weightless, useless.
The floor rushed up to meet me. Cold. Hard. I barely felt the impact.
A ringing filled my ears—not the phantom sound from before, not the warning from my nightmares, but something else. Something inside me, unraveling.
My vision pulsed at the edges. Dark shapes curled and stretched, folding in on themselves. Somewhere in the distance, voices—too muffled to understand, too distant to reach. My heartbeat slowed, each thump growing fainter, shallower, like footsteps receding down a long, empty hall.
Then—nothing.
An abyss, deep and endless.
And then—
A sharp inhale. A gasp, raw and desperate, like a swimmer breaking the surface after too long underwater.
Air rushed into my lungs, cold and shocking. I coughed, choking on it. My body convulsed, every nerve screaming awake.
Hands. Someone's hands—gripping my shoulders, shaking me.
"Anne, it's me. Dale."
The name sliced through the haze, an anchor dragging me back. I blinked hard, my vision swimming before it settled on his face—worried, confused, too real.
I was no longer on the dirt floor of Alistair's home. No longer bleeding out.
I was outside.
I was alive.
"I was looking for you and figured you'd be here," he said, his voice firm but carrying an unspoken softness. His gaze flicked over the ruins surrounding us, the blackened skeletal remains of what was once a home. "But, Anne... what are you doing here? This house is burned down."
My breath came in uneven bursts as I whispered, "It's your house."
Dale ran a hand through his brown hair, exhaling sharply. "My house?" He turned in a slow circle, taking in the scene as though he were seeing it for the first time. "That's... strange. I don't feel anything."
He didn't remember. Not a single flicker of recognition crossed his face.
I swallowed, my fingers absently brushing soot from my sleeves. "Maybe it's because you were sent to guard me when you were still... young." My pulse pounded in my ears. "But, Dale, how did you know Harold if you've never even been to this town?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Your parents told me. They said that if I ever found myself somewhere unfamiliar, I should call Harold."
The ease of his response unnerved me. Like he was reciting something memorized, not remembered.
He studied me closely, his posture shifting. "But wait—how did you know I was guarding you?"
I hesitated. The truth teetered on the edge of my tongue, but I swallowed it down, reaching into my pocket instead. My fingers curled around the letter Alistair had given me—before everything changed.
Dale took it from my trembling grasp, unfolding the paper with careful fingers. His face was eerily unreadable as his eyes moved over the words. Then, without warning, he tore it into tiny pieces and let the wind carry them away.
"Let's go." His voice was clipped, urgent. Before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward.
The ruins howled as the wind picked up, carrying with it a sound—an eerie, melodic chime. The same one I had heard earlier.
Dale stopped abruptly, pulling out a small card. "Mislead them."
His voice was steady, commanding. No hesitation.
The doppelgängers flickered like mirages, their forms bending and twisting as if the very air around them had warped. Then, in an instant, they scattered into the forest—phantoms dissolving into the sunset.
We ran, the trees blurring around me, their twisted branches reaching like skeletal fingers, shadows stretching and twisting as I pushed my legs harder, faster. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out everything but the rhythmic crunch of dirt beneath my feet. My lungs burned, every breath like fire, but stopping wasn't an option—not now, not with them so close behind us.
Dale was just ahead, his grip firm around my wrist, pulling me forward. He was stronger, faster—but he never let go. Never left me behind.
Then, suddenly, he stopped.
I barely caught myself before crashing into him, stumbling as his grip loosened. My boots skidded on loose gravel, sending tiny rocks tumbling over the edge of the cliff before us.
I sucked in a breath, my stomach plummeting at the sheer drop. Far below, a river snaked through jagged rocks, glinting like molten gold in the dying sunlight. The sky burned with streaks of crimson and violet, casting long shadows across Dale's face.
"There's so much more you need to know, Anne." His voice was quiet—too quiet, like a secret meant for the wind to carry away. "I feel our time running out. That's why I need to say this now."
His hand still rested lightly on my wrist. Then, finally, he looked at me—really looked at me. His ash-blue eyes were dark in the twilight, but something flickered there. Something unreadable.
"My parents and I..." He swallowed. "We don't blame you."
Everything stilled.
The scent of pine and damp earth faded. The ache in my legs, the fire in my lungs, the frantic pounding of my pulse—gone.
Before I could fully grasp his words, he took a step backward. My breath hitched. His heel met open air—then, in an instant, he was gone.
"NO!"
I lunged forward, my pulse hammering, but before I could throw myself after him, a shadow loomed overhead. A gust of wind rushed past me, sharp and sudden. Then—talons.
Massive, unyielding claws clamped around me, wrenching me off my feet. A scream tore from my throat but was swallowed by the howling wind. The world blurred as the creature carried me upward, powerful wings slicing through the storm-ridden sky.
Below, Dale landed effortlessly, his body twisting as he turned to face the advancing figures. Cloaked figures, their forms shifting like wraiths in the growing darkness.
"Take her to Harold's mansion," he ordered, his voice like steel. His stance shifted, shoulders squaring. He was ready for battle.
"No! No, turn back!"
I thrashed against the falcon's grasp, my body twisting, fingers scrabbling against its sleek feathers. Below, Dale stood his ground, unyielding as the cloaked ones closed in. Shadows slithered at their feet, shifting, writhing, alive.
I couldn't leave him, I was going back—then the sky shattered.
A jagged crack split the heavens, followed by a deluge so sudden it felt as if the world itself had been upended. Rain lashed down in sheets, blurring the scene below.
And then, through the storm, she emerged.
She hovered effortlessly above the swirling sphere of water, golden-blond hair whipping like flames in the wind. Her caramel skin gleamed against the storm's fury, and her eyes—her eyes burned like twin suns.
She was my age, and she was watching me, amusement curling at the edges of her lips, cold and knowing.
"We finally meet," she murmured, voice smooth as silk yet threaded with unsettling certainty. "Moonlit Sigils."
The unseen force around my throat tightened. I choked, hands clawing at nothing, vision flickering with spots of white.
Then—slash. A blade cut the air, swift and precise, slicing through the suffocating force that had gripped my throat. The pressure vanished in an instant, and I gasped, my body sagging as my vision cleared. My master had materialized before me, her presence sudden and fierce as a storm-wind, her blade gleaming under the fractured sky. The storm howled around us, but she stood unmoved, eyes locked onto the girl who had nearly ended me. "It's not time yet," she said, her voice sharp as steel, a warning and a promise wrapped into one.
With a flick of her wrist, the air roared to life. A howling gust struck the floating woman, sending her hurtling backward. Her watery sphere shattered, droplets scattering like shattered glass.
Master didn't hesitate. He leapt from falcon's back mid-flight, cloak snapping like a torn flag in the storm. The wind clawed at him as he plunged toward the battlefield below. I watched, heart clenched, as he rolled to a landing and sprinted straight toward the girl—toward the fight.
The falcon seized its chance.
With a powerful beat of its wings, it carried me away—higher, farther, away from Dale, away from the battle, away from the girl who had just tried to strangle me.
And all I could do was watch as the storm swallowed the world below.