The lake never bellowed. Even when the wind ruffled the trees or the rain raced across the surface, it remained terrorizingly still — as if one could stretch a pane of glass over a living thing.
Elara had never intended to come here again. Not after what she'd seen three nights ago — the flicker of movement under the water, the reflection that wasn't hers looking back. But her body hadn't obeyed. Her feet had carried her along the narrow path behind her grandmother's old house, through the trees that whispered her name as if they knew her secret.
And now, here she was once more on the shore, hugging herself as she braved the icy night. The moon was hanging low, wide and white, bathing her in a light far too bright for it to be kind.
She whispered to no one, "Why can't I stop coming back to you?"
A meted ripple began to propagate across the lake.
Elara froze. The air grew heavy, as if something raising the hairs on her arms were brewing. The silence swallowed up everything — the frogs ceased croaking, the trees appeared to be listening.
That's when she felt it again — the pull. A zero-gravity string winding up in the core of her chest, drawing her close to the water's edge. It wasn't fear. It got her neither fear nor curiosity. It Was..longing.. A voice broke the stillness.
"You don't belong here."
It was deep and soft and close — close too close."
Elara spun around.
He was a few feet away, half in darkness, half in light from the moon. Tall. Unmoving. That kind of stillness that people didn't have. His coat was long and dark, the material rustling faintly as the wind finally bent once more.
Her breath caught. She could not make out his face — just the sharp line of his jaw, the glint of light on his eyes. Gold, nearly. As if they captured the moon's reflection and then held on to it.
"I…" She took a step back, her feet sinking in the dirt. "I did not hear you come up."
"You weren't expected to."
There was something about his voice, which was calm and patient and yet had a warning note woven within it, that dried her throat.
She swallowed. "Are you — from the village?"
He cocked his head a little as if the question amused him. "No."
No explanation. No excuse.
"Then who are you?"
"Someone told you not to be here."
He came closer, slow enough that she could take in every flicker — the way the moon shimmered on his hair, the ghost of something silver around his wrist, like a scar that glowed and receded with every inhale.
Elara made herself stay still. "This is national forest land."
"It's just not that kind of night."
He was near now – two steps, maybe. She could make out more of his features — jagged, breathtaking in a way that wasn't earthly. His skin appeared too smooth, too pale for a living human. His eyes were not ones you could look at for long: it was like staring into the sun.
"What are you?" she breathed before she could silence herself.
His eyes softened, almost sadly. "Nothing that you're meant to try to understand."
Something inside her rebelled. She hated how his composure made her feel so small — delicate and mortal, like a candle fluttering too near something immense.
She exhaled. "You've been following me."
He did not dispute it.
"Why?"
He didn't change his expression, but lowered his voice – to a level where the woman had to put all effort to hear what he said. "Because you keep calling me."
Her pulse stuttered. "But I don't even know you."
"That doesn't matter."
The hardness with which he said it – firm, definitive – made her shiver.
She turned to go, shaking her head. "You're mad."
"Elara."
She stopped in place.
He'd said her name. Didn't guess. Didn't ask. He knew.
Her heart was pounding in her ears. Slowly she turned back and he was where he had been standing — still, not breathing. Just there.
"How do you know my name?" she whispered.
He studied her for a long moment before he responded. "Because names have power. And yours … was spoken in places you would not dare imagine."
"I don't get it."
He smiled faintly, almost sadly. "You will. "
Then, as suddenly as he had shown himself, a change in the air — a gust of cold air hit her face, obscuring her vision with mist from the lake. She lifted her arms to protect her face, and when she looked again—
He was gone.
Only the water stirred, smooth as ever as if nothing happened.
Elara's breath trembled. She spun around, looking at the tree line, but there was nothing — just darkness and the slight twinkle of moonlight in the water.
Her heart pounded. The tug that had led her here was still there, but softer now — like an echo dying.
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself as she runs a hand through her hair. "You're imagining things."
But as she was turning to go, something caught her eye.
A feather. Ebony feathers, lying on the floor where he had walked.
She gingerly lifted it, bracing for it to break — but it didn't. It was warm to the touch, unnatural really, and when she held it up to the light, she could see traces of gold lining the veins. Elara's heart was racing. She had no idea who he was, or what he wanted - but there was one thing she knew for sure: she hadn't made him up. And he knew her name."