CHAPTER ONE: THE GIRL WITH THE QUIET SOUL
Morning in Lumewood always arrived slowly, like the forest needed time to wake up. Mist curled around the tall moonwood trees, drifting lazily between branches that glowed faintly with trapped starlight. Birds with silver-tipped wings danced across the pale dawn sky, their songs soft and strange, like half-remembered lullabies.
Ariah breathed it all in as she sat on the old wooden steps behind her home. The boards creaked under her, familiar, worn, and warm from years of sunlight. Everyone said Lumewood was a peaceful village a sanctuary for wanderers, healers, and the gentle-hearted but Ariah had never truly felt at peace here.
Not when her own heart was louder than the entire forest.
She hugged her knees to her chest, listening to the distant rhythm of life: women grinding herbs, children arguing over seeds, the soft shuffle of elders sweeping fallen leaves. Everything was calm… yet her chest carried a quiet storm, as if the world was trying to whisper something only she could hear.
You feel too much.
That was the sentence she grew up hearing. Sometimes bluntly from villagers, sometimes disguised as advice from elders, other times softly from her mother when Ariah cried without knowing why.
But it wasn't too much.
It was simply… everything.
Ariah felt lies sting like nettles. She felt sadness like cold water soaking into her bones. She felt someone's fear from across the room as if it echoed inside her own ribs. And she felt love deeply even in tiny things: the warmth of sunlight on leaves, the giggles of the little twins next door, the way her mother hummed when she thought no one was listening.
It was a gift people whispered about.
But also a curse no one wanted to say aloud.
A soft crunch of leaves pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.
"Still hiding out here?" her mother asked, stepping around the corner with her long skirt swishing behind her. Thalia always smelled faintly of lavender and the smoke from healing candles. She had the kind of face that always looked worried, even when she was laughing.
Ariah lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit for a girl like you," Thalia teased gently, brushing a stray curl from Ariah's forehead. "Come inside. The Elders want to see you today."
Ariah's stomach tightened. "For what?"
"You're seventeen now," her mother reminded her softly. "There are… things they want to discuss. Tests. Expectations."
There it was again. Expectations. The word tasted heavy, like mud.
Ariah stood, wiping dust off her skirt. The morning breeze brushed past her, cool and comforting, almost protective. The forest always felt like it knew her maybe even more than the villagers did.
As they walked down the winding path toward the village square, Ariah glanced up at the sky. The clouds were unusually dark for early morning, swirling in slow spirals that didn't look natural.
A shiver crawled across her skin.
"Mom," she whispered, "the sky… it looks wrong."
Thalia paused, following her gaze. The clouds flashed faintly — not with lightning, but with something that shimmered, like shadows mixed with starlight.
Her mother's voice trembled for just a moment.
"I know. Lumewood is changing."
When they reached the square, the Elders were already waiting. Elder Maron, with his long white beard braided with golden thread, stepped forward.
"Ariah of Lumewood," he said, his voice a mixture of reverence and caution. "The time has come for you to understand what you are… and what hunts you."
Ariah's breath stilled.
"What hunts me?" she echoed.
Before he could answer, the ground trembled gently at first, then violently, shaking the wooden stalls and sending baskets of glowing fruit crashing to the ground.
Villagers screamed.
Birds scattered.
And from the forest's edge, a sound rose low, rumbling, unnatural like something ancient had finally awakened after centuries of sleep.
Ariah felt it hit her like a wave.
A darkness.
A hunger.
A presence that tugged at her chest as if it recognized her.
Elder Maron turned to her, fear flickering in his ancient eyes.
"It has found you."
CHAPTER TWO:SHADOWS IN THE RIVER
The trembling stopped almost as suddenly as it began, leaving a heavy silence over Lumewood. Too heavy. Too still. As if the forest itself was holding its breath.
Ariah felt her heartbeat pounding in her throat, but it wasn't fear not exactly. It was recognition. A strange, cold familiarity that made her skin prickle.
People started gathering their baskets, grabbing their children, whispering frantic prayers. But Ariah didn't move. She felt rooted to the earth, like the ground itself was listening through her.
"Ariah!" her mother called, reaching for her arm.
But the moment Thalia touched her, Ariah felt a flash of something else an image, blurry and quick: water, moonlight, a ripple moving against the current.
She gasped.
Thalia stepped back. "What did you see?"
"I… I don't know," Ariah whispered. "A river? Something in it."
Before her mother could press further, Elder Maron spoke again.
"Bring her to the Hall," he ordered sharply. "Now."
Ariah didn't want to go. Every instinct in her screamed Don't trust them. Not today. But she followed anyway, weaving through narrow paths as villagers stared with a mixture of fear and fascination.
The Hall of Echoes stood at the center of Lumewood. It wasn't grand, but it was old older than the village, older than any recorded history. Its walls were carved with shifting patterns that sometimes moved when no one was looking. Children said the Hall breathed at night.
Inside, the air was colder.
Candles lined the walls, flickering in colors that didn't belong to normal fire soft blues, pale golds, dim purples. Elder Maron motioned for her to stand in the center.
"Ariah," he said, "you felt it, didn't you?"
She swallowed. "Whatever that thing was… yes."
The other Elders shifted uncomfortably. Worse they looked unsure. Elders were never unsure.
"That presence," Maron continued carefully, "appears only when a certain kind of magic awakens. It has been dormant for generations."
Ariah narrowed her eyes. "What kind of magic?"
"That is what we are still trying to understand," he said. "Your birth was unusual. Marked."
Her pulse fluttered. She always knew there was something different. But hearing it aloud felt like someone pulling a thread she wasn't ready to unravel.
Before she could ask more, Elder Veya the quietest of them stepped forward.
"Let us test her," Veya said. "The river mirrors never lie."
Ariah blinked. "Mirrors?"
Veya nodded and pointed to the side door.
"Follow me."
They walked in silence down a narrow hallway until they reached a small room behind the Hall. Inside, a shallow stone basin sat in the center, filled with still, black water. No windows. No breeze. Yet the surface rippled faintly, as if stirred by something below.
Ariah's stomach twisted.
She didn't want to go near it.
But she did.
"Place your hand in the water," Veya instructed.
Ariah hesitated.
"Will it hurt?"
Veya's expression softened only a little.
"It does not harm. It reveals."
That didn't make her feel any better.
Still, with a shaky breath, Ariah knelt and dipped her fingers into the water.
It was cold. Too cold. Not like water — like touching the night itself.
The ripples froze instantly.
Then the room dimmed.
Ariah's vision blurred, and suddenly she wasn't seeing the basin anymore. She was seeing....
A river under moonlight.
Trees bending over it as if whispering secrets.
A shadow moving not above the water, but inside it.
Following the current.
Following her.
Her breath caught.
Someone else was there.
Not a creature a person. A figure standing at the riverbank, half-hidden by mist. Tall. Still. Watching her with eyes that glowed faintly through the fog.
The moment those eyes met hers, the water shuddered violently.
"Ariah!" Veya called, grabbing her shoulders.
The vision snapped away.
Ariah pulled back, drenched in sweat although the room was freezing.
"What did you see?" Veya demanded.
Ariah shook her head quickly, heart racing. "I...I'm not sure. Just shadows. Water. And… someone."
Veya's jaw tightened. A flicker of something concern? fear?. ....crossed her face.
"That is enough for today," she said abruptly.
"What does it mean?" Ariah pressed. "Who was that person?"
But Veya didn't answer. She simply extinguished the strange candles and led Ariah back toward the main hall, her silence louder than any warning.
Outside, the forest had darkened even though it was still morning. A cold wind swept through Lumewood, carrying with it the scent of metal and damp earth.
Ariah paused as she reached the village path.
That presence — the one that trembled through the ground earlier — she felt it again. Closer this time. Watching. Waiting.
And deep inside her chest, something responded.
Not fear.
Not dread.
Something else.
Something calling.
She looked toward the distant river, barely visible through the trees.
For a moment… it felt like it was looking back.
CHAPTER THREE : THE BOY BY THE BROKEN TREE
The forest felt different that evening.
Not dangerous exactly… but alert. Like a giant animal lying still, pretending to sleep while one eye watched everything.
Ariah walked home slowly, her thoughts tangled, each one pulling in a different direction. Shadows in the river. A figure in the mist. The Elders hiding things. The ground trembling as if waking up from a bad dream.
Everything was shifting, and she felt it in her bones.
When she reached the small wooden fence behind her house, the sky was already dipped in orange and violet. Her mother stood outside, arms folded tightly across her chest.
"Where have you been?" Thalia demanded, though her voice trembled more with fear than anger.
"At the Hall," Ariah answered softly. "They wanted to test me."
Thalia closed her eyes. "I hoped… I hoped it wouldn't start this early."
Start what?
The question sat on Ariah's tongue, hot and heavy, but she didn't ask it. She didn't want another half-answer, or another "not yet."
Instead, she slipped inside the house and went to her room. The walls were lined with vines that glowed faintly at night a small gift of Lumewood's magic. Usually calming, but tonight they flickered like they were nervous too.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
But sleep didn't come.
Not with that feeling pulling at her.
A tug in her chest.
Soft but persistent.
Like someone whispering her name from far away.
By midnight, she couldn't take it anymore.
She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and slipped quietly out the back door. The air was cold, filled with the scent of wet bark and dew. Lumewood slept deeply the houses dark, the forest humming low.
The tug grew stronger as she moved.
It didn't pull her toward the Hall.
Or toward the village square.
Or even toward home.
It pulled her toward the river.
The Moonfall River wasn't far, but the path to it wound through thick trees. Every crunch of leaves under her feet felt too loud in the night. Every rustle made her turn.
At the riverbank, the water shimmered under the moon like a sheet of moving silver. Calm. Beautiful. But deeper than it had any right to be.
Ariah stepped closer.
"You shouldn't be here."
Her heart exploded into her throat.
She spun around.
A figure stood beneath a broken moonwood tree, half-hidden in shadow. Tall. Hooded. The moon lit the edges of him just enough to see faint markings glowing along his forearm. They brightened, then dimmed, like embers breathing.
"Who....who are you?" Ariah demanded, stepping back instinctively.
He didn't move.
Didn't come closer.
Just watched her with eyes that reflected the moonlight in a strange, almost unnatural way.
"You're the girl from the Hall," he said quietly. "The river showed me you."
Ariah's breath faltered.
"Showed you… me?"
He nodded once. Carefully. Like he didn't want to startle her.
"I've been searching for someone like you."
Her chest tightened with a strange mix of fear and curiosity mostly curiosity.
"What do you want from me?"
The boy paused, scanning the forest as if expecting something to leap out at them. His hand hovered near a blade strapped to his side not in a threatening way, more like someone ready for danger.
"You're in more danger than you know," he murmured. "Something old is moving. And it's after you."
Ariah's stomach dropped.
"Why? What does it want?"
He hesitated.
Annoyingly long.
As if deciding whether or not she could handle the truth.
"I don't know yet," he finally said. "But I know this: you're connected to it."
Ariah's mind raced.
"And how do you know that?" she whispered.
The boy slowly lowered his hood.
His features sharpened in the moonlight not perfect, not unreal, but striking in a quiet, serious way. His hair fell in dark waves, damp from the river. His eyes…
They were the eyes from her vision.
The same faint glow.
The same stillness.
Ariah took a step back.
"You.....You were in the mirror water."
He didn't deny it.
Instead he stepped just slightly into the moonlight, enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion in his eyes like he'd seen too much darkness for someone his age.
"My name is Kaelen," he said.
The name brushed against something deep inside her chest familiar, like a word she'd heard long ago in a dream.
He glanced at the river before looking back at her.
"And whether you like it or not… we're connected now."
Ariah's heartbeat echoed in her ears.
Connected how?
For what reason?
And what exactly was after her?
Before she could speak again, a sharp sound tore through the forest not a growl, not a human voice, something between the two. A horrible scraping sound, like claws dragging across stone.
Kaelen's expression hardened instantly.
"They found you," he whispered. "We need to move. Now."
Before Ariah could react, a shadow streaked across the trees.
Not a human shadow.
Not an animal.
Something twisted and fast and hungry.
Kaelen grabbed her wrist.
"Run."
CHAPTER FOUR :THE FOREST OF FORGOTTEN NAMES
Ariah didn't think,she just ran.
Leaves slapped against her legs as she crashed through the undergrowth, Kaelen pulling her beside him with surprising strength. The forest that usually hummed with gentle magic now roared with panic. Branches twisted overhead, the moonlight splintering through them in frantic patterns.
Behind them, the creature moved like a living nightmare fast, scraping, sniffing the air like it was tasting their fear.
"Don't look back!" Kaelen hissed.
Of course Ariah looked back.
A shadow flickered between the trees — long, distorted limbs, eyes like dim lanterns glowing through the darkness. It didn't run like an animal. It glided. Wrong. Boneless.
Her heart slammed into her chest.
"What is that?!" she cried.
"Not now," Kaelen snapped, tightening his grip on her wrist. "Just keep running."
Branches whipped past her face. Roots clawed at her ankles. Her breath came sharp and painful, but somehow she didn't stop. The forest seemed to stretch and shift, paths bending where they shouldn't, trees moving subtly like they were trying to confuse whatever chased them… or confuse her.
Finally, Kaelen yanked her behind a wall of tangled vines glowing faintly blue.
"Here," he whispered. "Inside."
Ariah hesitated. "Inside what ?"
But the vines parted on their own, forming a narrow tunnel.
Kaelen pushed her gently but urgently. "Go."
She ducked inside, and the moment Kaelen followed, the vines closed again, sealing them in darkness.
Silence.
Except Ariah's loud breathing and the distant, frustrated snarl from whatever hunted them.
Kaelen pressed his ear to the vine wall, listening.
Ariah tried not to tremble.
After a tense moment, he exhaled. "It's gone. For now."
"For now?" Ariah repeated sharply.
Kaelen turned toward her. In the faint blue glow seeping from the vines, she could see him properly for the first time ... tired, guarded, but strangely calm, like someone used to being chased.
"This place is protected," he said quietly. "The Forest of Forgotten Names doesn't let everything inside."
Ariah frowned. "I've lived in Lumewood my whole life. I've never heard of it."
"You wouldn't," he said. "It only appears to people who need it."
That was… not comforting.
Ariah looked around. The tunnel opened into a small clearing—a pocket of the forest hidden inside layers of living vines. Soft bluish moss covered the ground, glowing like moonlight trapped in velvet. Strange flowers rose from the roots, their petals shifting colors slowly, like they were breathing.
It was beautiful.
But also unsettling.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
Kaelen walked to a massive tree in the center, its trunk carved with names thousands of them some glowing, some faded, some scratched out entirely.
"This," he said softly, "is where memories go when someone loses them."
Ariah's blood ran cold. "Loses them?"
Kaelen didn't look at her.
"Sometimes the forest takes memories to protect a person. Sometimes to hide a truth. Sometimes because the mind can't hold everything and survive."
Ariah slowly approached the glowing names.
"So these are… forgotten people?"
"Not forgotten people," Kaelen corrected. "Forgotten pieces. Moments. Choices. Pain. Sometimes joy."
Ariah's breath hitched.
Her fingertips hovered just above a glowing name, but Kaelen caught her wrist gently.
"Don't touch anything here," he warned. "This isn't a safe place for the unbound."
The unbound.
He kept using strange words like that.
Like he knew something about her she didn't.
Ariah pulled her hand back. "You keep saying things I don't understand. You show up out of nowhere, you know about my visions, and you know about whatever that creature was Kaelen, what's going on?"
He looked at her for a long, heavy moment.
Not annoyed.
Not secretive.
Almost… conflicted.
Finally, he said softly:
"You're not the only one who sees things."
Ariah blinked. "What do you see?"
He hesitated again.
Then:
"Threads."
"Threads?"
"Connections. Fates. Choices that still haven't been made." His voice lowered. "And yours is the brightest I've ever seen."
Ariah swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said quietly, stepping back from her, "that someone like you doesn't just wander into danger by accident."
The forest lights dimmed suddenly, as if reacting to his words.
Then something else happened.
The names on the tree flickered.
One, then two, then dozens—glowing, fading, then glowing again.
Ariah stepped closer. "Why are they doing that?"
Kaelen's expression tightened with unease.
"Because something is changing," he murmured. "Something big."
He stepped beside her, scanning the names with sharp eyes.
"And whatever it is… it started when you touched the river mirror."
A cold shiver slid down her spine.
The vines trembled softly, like they were whispering warnings.
Ariah clenched her fists.
"Kaelen… what does all of this have to do with me?"
He looked at her—really looked at her.
Not with fear.
Not with awe.
With a strange sadness.
"I wish I knew," he said quietly. "But whoever—or whatever—is hunting you… they know exactly what you are."
Ariah's stomach twisted.
"And what am I?"
Kaelen didn't answer.
Because the vines suddenly pulled open—fast and sharp—as if the forest itself had gasped.
Something was waiting outside.
Watching.
Breathing.
And this time… it didn't sound alone.