The next morning arrived too soon.
No wind. No birds. Even the flies avoided the ash pits.
Ash stood at the northern watchpoint with his back against the tree line. Eyes on the ridges beyond. Nothing moved. But something was wrong.
Patterns were repeating.
A torn banner hung in the same position as yesterday. The same villager walked the same path near the well. Same limp. Same pause at the shrine. The same scratch on his neck before entering the supply hut.
Once. Maybe a coincidence.
Twice. A habit.
Three times?
Ash gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.
He stepped down toward the village just as someone new crossed the edge of the clearing.
A traveler. No visible weapons. Pale cloak, wide hood, leather boots too clean for the roads around here. No dirt. No dust. He walked with perfect confidence and not a trace of caution.
Ash watched from the tree line. The man saw him. Stopped.
Then smiled.
"I was hoping you'd still be functional."
Ash moved forward without a word. Stopped ten feet away.
The man tilted his head.
"Sharp eyes. Grounded stance. Adaptive posture. You're definitely the one."
Ash said nothing. He didn't lower his blade.
"You're a deviation," the man continued, voice light but too measured. "Not the first we've seen, but you're holding better than most."
Ash took a slow step closer.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled again.
"Just an observer. This is... stress testing, after all."
Ash moved.
In an instant, he closed the distance and swung. The blade connected.
But the man didn't bleed.
He cracked, like glass under pressure.
For a moment, his face split—not with pain, but distortion. A shimmer. Then he stepped back, reforming. No wound. No blood.
"Good," he said. "Reaction speed optimal."
Ash struck again. This time the blow passed through, slowed by resistance that wasn't flesh. Like cutting into a projection.
The man flickered once more and vanished, leaving behind nothing but a faint hum and a ripple in the grass.
Ash stood still, scanning the edges of the clearing. Nothing else moved.
But behind his left boot, something new had appeared. A small disc embedded in the dirt. Black. Ringed in lines.
Not another relic. A marker.
A target.
That night, Elda found him standing watch.
She asked if he saw anything.
Ash didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "They weren't here to kill. They were here to look."
Elda frowned. "Who?"
Ash turned toward the forest again.
"Whatever's running this."