The fire had burned low, little more than glowing coals now, but the cold wasn't what woke her. It was a feeling. A tug behind her ribs—faint but persistent, like the moment before a storm when the air turns thick with something unnamed.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up slowly, brushing frost from her cloak.
Revan was still awake.
He sat near the dying fire, not sharpening his blade now, just staring into the embers. His shoulders were tense, jaw set. The spiral mark on his forearm shimmered faintly, like it had taken breath while she slept.
And Elara—Elara sat across from him, unmoving, eyes open, but distant. Like she wasn't quite here anymore.
Cassie's breath caught.
Something between them had changed.
She stood and approached, quietly, but Revan glanced up before she could say anything.
"You should be sleeping," he said, voice low, not unkind.
"I was. Then I wasn't." She looked at him. Really looked. "What happened?"
He hesitated, then looked to Elara.
The older woman finally spoke, voice tired. "We shared old ghosts."
Cassie frowned. "You both look like the ghosts won."
Revan exhaled, rubbing at his temple. "She told me about Velkareth. About what Echo magic showed her… and what it cost."
Cassie's eyes darted to Elara. "So you do know what's inside him."
"No one knows all of it," Elara said. "But I've heard the voice that lives in his shadow. Once."
Cassie knelt beside Revan, searching his face. "And you? What did you do with that truth?"
Revan met her gaze. His voice was soft but certain. "I stopped pretending it wasn't real."
There was no anger in her. No panic. Just a stillness in her chest, as if the forest itself was waiting on her reaction.
Finally, she nodded. "Good. Then we face it. Together."
He looked at her, something unspoken passing between them.
Then Cassie stood, dusted herself off, and muttered, "We're going to need stronger stew after this."
Elara gave a faint smile.
But even as the three of them prepared to move, Revan felt it again—the weight of the shadow mark, like a second pulse beneath his skin. Stronger now. More awake.
And watching.
They moved slowly through the thinning trees, morning mist curling around their ankles. The silence was companionable now—not tense, but reflective. The kind of silence that only forms between people who've seen one another bleed and still choose to walk side by side.
Cassie broke it first.
"Do you remember," she said, glancing sideways at Revan, "that time you tried to steal a merchant's coin purse by climbing onto a sheep cart?"
Revan groaned. "Don't remind me."
"You slipped, fell face-first into the wool, and the sheep dragged you down half the market street."
"That sheep was possessed," he muttered. "Or sent by the gods. Same difference."
Cassie laughed—genuinely, the kind that lit her whole face. "You came back reeking of lanolin and pride."
Elara raised an eyebrow, curious. "You two really did grow up on the edge of chaos."
Revan smirked. "Chaos was the only thing that had enough room for us."
Cassie tilted her head, more serious now. "You know, you could've ditched me a dozen times. When food was tight, when we had to run, when the guards got close…"
He looked at her, brow furrowed. "Why would I?"
She shrugged, a little sheepish. "I dunno. Most people look out for themselves."
Revan was quiet for a beat. Then he said, "You weren't most people. You were mine. Still are."
Elara pretended not to be listening, but her fingers tightened slightly on her staff.
Cassie smiled faintly. "Still smells like sheep sometimes, though."
He shoved her lightly with his elbow. "Better than your stew. Remember that fireroot incident?"
"That was one time, and I was trying to make it spicy!"
Elara, smiling now, said, "If you two are done recounting culinary crimes, I'd like to share something."
They both looked at her.
She hesitated. "When I was exiled, I didn't speak to another soul for almost a year. I lived off bitter root tea and stolen scrolls. But the hardest part wasn't the hunger or the cold. It was forgetting what it felt like to laugh with someone who didn't want anything from me."
Cassie's expression softened.
"So thank you," Elara said. "Both of you. For reminding me."
They walked on in silence after that. But it was a different kind of silence.
One stitched together by old memories, new trust—and the kind of bond that doesn't form by chance, but by choice.
The warmth of laughter had barely faded when the trees began to change.
It wasn't sudden—not a snap of thunder or a rush of wind—but a slow hush, like the forest was drawing in breath and holding it. The light filtering through the branches took on a colder hue, dimmer, tinged with gray. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Even their footsteps began to sound strange—muffled, as if the earth beneath them had grown too soft.
Revan slowed.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
Cassie stopped beside him, frost crystal already in hand. "Yeah. Like the whole place is waiting."
Elara knelt briefly, placing her hand against a gnarled root that twisted across the forest floor. Her brow furrowed.
"This path is old," she said. "But not untouched. Something passed through here recently… and it wasn't human."
Revan's shadow pulsed against his arm—unbidden.
That's when they heard it.
A knocking sound. Hollow. Faint. Like someone rapping on distant wood… or bone. Once. Twice. Then nothing.
Cassie froze. "Please tell me that was a woodpecker."
"No bird makes that rhythm," Elara said quietly. "That was intentional."
Then the air grew colder. Not biting, but wrong. As if the forest had inhaled something it should never have swallowed.
Revan's mark ached. His vision blurred for half a second, and in the space between one blink and the next, he saw something—
A pair of antlers. A hollow mask. Eyes that bled lightless black.
Gone.
"Something's watching," he whispered.
Elara stood. "Not just watching. Measuring. Deciding."
Cassie stepped closer to Revan. "Whatever's waiting for us… it's not behind us anymore."
From deeper in the woods, the knocking returned.
This time, it sounded closer.
They didn't speak for a while—not really. Just exchanged glances, silent nods, hands drifting toward weapons, crystals, and charms.
The path narrowed. Gnarled roots arched overhead, forming something like ribs—a tunnel of twisted wood that seemed to pulse ever so slightly as they passed beneath. Every step sounded too loud. Every breath felt borrowed.
Cassie gripped her frost crystal tightly, her free hand brushing the spiral mark on Revan's forearm. It was warmer now. Throbbing.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
Revan nodded, though his jaw was clenched. "It's... listening again."
Elara walked ahead, her eyes scanning the darkening foliage with a hunter's focus. "Whatever trial lies ahead, it's not meant to test your strength."
"Then what?" Cassie asked.
"Your conviction," she said, without hesitation. "Your bond. Your will. The forest isn't cruel—but it remembers. It mirrors."
They passed what looked like a broken shrine—a jagged stone with symbols eroded by time. Revan paused.
The markings weren't random. He recognized the pattern. Not the meaning—but the feeling. It was the same as the shadow voice in his dreams. A spiral. A silence pressed into stone.
"Velkareth?" he asked, almost to himself.
Elara didn't answer.
But ahead, the trees opened into a clearing.
Not wide. Not welcoming.
Just enough space for a circle of standing stones—each one jagged, leaning slightly inward as if drawn by a center that no longer existed. The ground inside the circle was scorched in narrow, spiraling lines.
Cassie stepped back, uneasy. "This is where it starts, isn't it?"
Elara nodded once. "You have a choice. Step inside… or turn back."
Revan stepped forward without hesitation.
But before he crossed the boundary, he turned to Cassie.
"You still sure?"
Cassie smiled grimly. "We either fall together—or not at all."
Elara reached into her satchel and pulled out three small, clear vials filled with silvery-blue liquid. "Drink. It will keep the forest from unraveling your thoughts. For a time."
They each took one.
And as Revan stepped across the threshold, the air shifted—like they'd passed through a curtain.
Inside, it was silent. Too silent.
No sound. No wind. Just the faint thrum of their own heartbeats echoing louder than they should.
And then the sky above the stones began to darken.
The moment they crossed the stone circle's edge, something broke.
Not with a sound—but a sensation. Like stepping off solid ground and finding yourself floating midair, unmoored.
The sky vanished.
Trees shifted.
Cassie blinked—and found herself standing in the middle of the orphanage courtyard.
Sunlight spilled across the cobblestones. Laughter echoed in the distance. Children ran past her, bare feet slapping stone, faces she almost recognized flashing by. Her frost crystal was gone. So was the weight of her cloak.
"Revan?" she called.
No answer.
Behind her, the orphanage doors stood wide open. Inside: warmth, firelight… and a voice. A familiar one.
"Cassie," it whispered. Her mother's voice.
She turned slowly, heart hammering.
—
Revan stumbled forward—into a library.
Not the Golden Pig. Not the ruined vault.
This was the royal archive in Kallzara. Where he never should have been.
It was burning.
Flames licked the spines of books older than history. Shadows danced through the smoke. And standing in the center of it all—
Was himself.
But older. Hardened. His eyes shadowed, a darker spiral coiling down his neck like a curse fully bloomed.
"You brought this on us," the other Revan said.
"You are this."
Revan stepped back—then felt his foot touch nothing. A void.
He fell.
—
Elara stood in a forest clearing, but everything was reversed. Trees grew downward from the sky. Roots pulsed like veins. The moon bled red above her.
In her hand was a scroll—a memory she'd locked away. A deal made long ago to save someone already lost.
"Choose again," a voice said behind her. A child's voice.
She turned—and saw herself at ten years old, eyes full of fury and sorrow.
"You can change it this time."
—
Back in the real world—if the circle of stones was real anymore—the three of them stood motionless, breathing shallow, eyes open but unseeing. Their bodies flickered slightly at the edges, as if the forest itself were deciding whether to keep them.
Inside each of their minds: past and present folding together. Regret, temptation, false comfort.
And just beyond the trees, hidden in the breath between heartbeats…
…something waited.
Watching.
Learning.