The cry cut through the silence again.Thin, broken, full of pain.
Aira froze, her chest tightening. She knew that sound. It was impossible yet the memory hit her like a blade.
"Kieran?"
The name escaped before she could stop it.
The forest swallowed her whisper, but the cry answered. Closer this time, Desperate.
Her pulse raced, She stumbled forward, branches clawing her arms. Every part of her screamed to turn back, to remember the villagers' words, the oak's warnings. But blood ran deeper than fear. And if her brother was out there hurt, calling how could she leave him?
The Watchers stirred in the trees, their forms swaying like shadows stretched too long. They did not advance, but they shifted with her, guiding her steps as though her choice was also theirs.
The cry came again, fractured, echoing strangely as if it came from everywhere at once.
Her breath hitched. She stopped, clutching her chest. It wasn't right. Kieran's voice lived in her memory, strong, steady, sometimes cold, sometimes kind. This sound was wrong. Bent, Twisted.
But still, it pulled her.
She broke into a run, mud sucking at her boots, branches whipping her face. Her heart pounded with each step. She didn't notice the sparks dripping from her fingertips, or the way the shadows bent closer, eager.
At last, she burst into a clearing.
And froze.
The cry had fallen silent.
Moonlight bled through the trees, pale and cold. At the center of the clearing stood a figure slender, dark cloaked, unmoving. Silver eyes glinted in the dark.
Kieran.
But no something in her blood recoiled, whispering trap. The figure's edges rippled like smoke, its form not entirely solid.
"Aira," it said. Her name, in her brother's voice, soft. Wounded. "Help me."
Her throat closed. The urge to step forward warred with the fire clawing at her ribs. She saw her brother in those eyes yet she also saw the forest's hunger behind them.
"What are you?" she demanded, voice breaking. "Where is my brother?"
The figure tilted its head, and for an instant, its face warped Kieran's features bending into something longer, thinner, inhuman.
Then the cry came again, bursting from its throat like a wound.
The Watchers shivered in unison at the edge of the clearing, their forms trembling with anticipation.
Aira's fists clenched. Fire surged at her palms, answering her fear.
This was no rescue.
It was a snare.