The night stretched long, but Asher couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the whisper returned—Amara—echoing faintly, like someone calling from behind a wall of water. He sat up, sweat dampening his shirt, his hand pressed to the locket that now felt impossibly heavy.
Outside, the forest loomed in silence, its dark outline etched against the silver horizon. He found himself staring at it, almost drawn to step beyond the boundary his grandmother had always warned him about.
"Asher?" Eli's small voice broke the silence. His younger brother stood at the doorway, rubbing his eyes. "You're awake too?"
Asher forced a smile. "Couldn't sleep. Go back before Grandma finds out."
Eli frowned but padded away obediently. When the door shut, Asher exhaled, feeling the pulse of the locket sync with his heartbeat. It was no longer just an heirloom—it was alive.
The next day, Lune noticed immediately.
"You look like death warmed over," he teased, falling into step beside Asher. "What's wrong? Nightmares again?"
"Something like that," Asher muttered.
"You should tell your grandma. She knows about all that old folklore stuff, right? Maybe she can explain why your locket glows at random."
But Asher didn't answer. Part of him wanted to ask Elara, but another part—stronger—feared the truth she might reveal.
By evening, the unease reached its peak. On his way back from town, the road felt heavier, each step muffled by shadows. The forest whispered with a wind that didn't stir the grass at his feet.
Then—he saw him again.
The same figure from the night before, standing where the trees began. The same unnatural stillness, the same piercing presence. Only this time, Asher didn't turn away. He froze, violet eyes locked on the man hidden in darkness.
"You…" Asher whispered, though he didn't know why.
The figure stepped forward, just enough for moonlight to catch the sharp edge of his jaw, the sweep of dark hair. Those eyes gleamed again—silver under the moon, though deep down Asher felt that wasn't their true color.
Before he could move, a voice rang out.
"Asher!"
He jerked his head around—Lune was running toward him, out of breath. When Asher looked back, the figure had vanished, swallowed by the shadows of the forest.
"Don't tell me you're wandering near the trees again," Lune scolded, catching his arm. "You know people go missing there."
Asher nodded numbly, but his gaze lingered on the place where the figure had stood. The locket burned against his chest, whispering again, softer this time—Amara…
And though he didn't understand, Asher felt one thing with certainty: the voice wasn't calling for him. It was calling through him.
To be continued...