Raine entered the warm glow of her home, her mind still entangled with the image of the Guardian and those golden-green eyes. The pull of the forest was faint now, lingering beneath her skin like a soft hum she could not ignore. Yet the familiarity of home, the smell of baked bread, and the gentle rustle of curtains offered a fragile sense of safety.
In the kitchen, Amoda moved quietly, her black hair falling over her shoulders, the blue of her eyes shaded with worry. She placed a tray before Raine: steaming bread, thick soup, and fruit, each piece arranged carefully as if its very placement could shield them from unseen threats. Her hands shook slightly, betraying a grief she tried to mask.
"Eat, Raine," Amoda said softly, her voice gentle but weighted, as if every word carried the memory of something too painful to speak aloud.
Raine noticed. "Mother… are you… alright?" she asked tentatively, her golden eyes searching her mother's face.
Amoda flinched at the question, staring past her daughter as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. "…so fast… too fast… I should have… I should have kept him safe…" she murmured almost to herself, her lips barely moving.
Raine's brow furrowed. Her mother's sorrow was palpable, yet it was wrapped in layers of unspoken memories. She did not press, only sat quietly, waiting for her mother to return to the present.
But inside Amoda's mind, time shifted, and the past came alive in vivid flashes.
Lumenvale had once been a place of sunlight and laughter, a world of sparkling rivers, flower-dotted meadows, and forests alive with life. Amoda remembered holding her tiny daughter close, the three-year-old Raine full of unafraid curiosity and boundless energy, while her husband—brown-haired, brown-eyed, strong and calm—carried a picnic basket as they strolled near the lake that reflected the sky like glass.
Then came the shadows.
At first, they were subtle: a rustle in the trees, a glimmer of movement that didn't belong. But they gathered quickly, coalescing into creatures unlike anything Amoda had seen, their shapes fluid and terrifying, with claws that gleamed and eyes that burned with unnatural light. Fear clutched her chest.
"Run, Raine!" Amoda cried, lifting her daughter into her arms. Panic surged in her veins, but there was a fierceness in her heart—a need to protect her child above all else.
Her husband stepped forward, placing himself between the shadows and them. "Take her! Go! I'll hold them off!" he commanded, his voice firm, unwavering. In his hands, a thick branch became a weapon as he struck, dodged, and forced the creatures back, each movement a testament to his courage and love.
A creature lunged from the side. He threw himself into its path, arms shielding them from claws and teeth. Amoda's breath caught in her throat. She ran, dragging Raine as fast as her legs could carry them, tears blurring the landscape. When she dared a glance back, she saw him fighting—resolute, brave, protective—before the shadows overtook him.
The forest had claimed him.
Amidst the chaos, Amoda remembered the lake, the light reflecting off the water as her husband fell, and the sheer helplessness of losing him while clutching the child they both loved. She had run, unthinking, but her mind replayed every second, every desperate plea, every step that led them away from death—but not away from loss.
From that day, Lumenvale changed. Where once people had walked freely, children had laughed, and flowers had bloomed, now whispers of shadows, disappearances, and fear tainted the woods. The lake, the trees, the paths—they carried the memory of a guardian lost and a forest forever altered.
Back in the present, Amoda's hands trembled on the edge of the counter. Her eyes, now glossy with unshed tears, flicked to Raine. "Eat, Raine," she said again, voice steadier, yet heavy with unspoken grief. "You must be strong. The world… the forest… there is danger you cannot see yet. I… I will do everything to protect you."
Raine nodded quietly, understanding only fragments of her mother's fear, yet sensing its depth. She could feel the pull of history, the ember of something ancient stirring within her chest, subtle but insistent. The past had not left them, and neither had the forest's memory.
Some truths waited, hidden in shadows. Some fires waited, dormant beneath skin and blood. And Raine, unknowingly, was at the very center of both.