For a moment, neither of them moved.
The whisper still clung to the air like frost, delicate and sharp. Cira stared into the pool's surface where the figure had stood—its gold eyes etched into her mind. Elian remained still, his breath uneven, shoulders tense like a thread pulled taut.
But there was no figure now.
Only still water.
Only silence.
Cira was the first to speak, barely above a whisper.
"Elian…"
He didn't respond. Just stepped back from the pool slowly, eyes scanning the ruins one last time. The glow on Cira's palm had faded, but the faint ache lingered—like something had touched her soul and left fingerprints
Lumen growls toward the archway they came from.
When they turn—the path is gone.
The vines now covered it completely, the stone lost behind thick moss and forest bark. Trees shifted where there had been a path. The fog returned, clinging to the earth like breath from the forest itself.
Cira stepped back. "No. That was the way out. I remember it clearly."
Elian remained still, only his eyes moving. "The forest moved."
The way back was unfamiliar.
The trees here were different—older. The leaves whispered secrets in a language neither of them could fully understand. At times, Elian would pause, narrowing his eyes, as if sensing something invisible watching them. At others, Cira would reach for her bow, only to realize her fingers trembled.
Still, the fog began to lift.
And finally—like stepping out of a dream—they saw it.
Cira's cottage, wrapped in ivy and moonlight.
The familiar vines curled along the rooftop. Smoke trailed lazily from the chimney, and the worn wooden steps creaked as Cira stepped up to them. Elian paused at the threshold—he always did, now—but then followed her inside.
Warmth met them like a sigh.
Cira lit a few candles while Elian sat at the table, shoulders slumped with quiet exhaustion. Lumen curled up near the fire, ears finally at rest.
Cira moved without needing to ask—heating water, slicing herbs, adding things to the pot that would help their heads and their hearts, even if she didn't know the name of the ache inside them.
"I saw it too," she finally said. "The woman in the vision. She… closed the door on him."
Elian looked up. He didn't question how she'd seen it.
"I think it was me," he said quietly. "The child. I don't know how I know, but… I do."
Outside, the wind passed through the trees again—this time, slower. Not like a threat, but like a breath… exhaled.
Cira stirred her soup.
"Maybe the forest will help us remember more," she said.
Elian glanced at her. "At what cost?"
Their eyes met.
Cira blinked slowly, as if something tugged at her from within.
A sharp flicker passed across her vision—just for a breath.
Not a memory.
Not a dream.
A whisper of something else.
She saw Elian… not as he was now, but as he had been when he was younger. Scared. Standing in the snow.
And behind him—
A figure with golden eyes.
Watching. Waiting.
Smiling.
She gasped softly.
Elian leaned forward, concern in his eyes. "What did you see?"
Cira touched her temple, shaken. "I… I think the forest just showed me something. But… it didn't feel like a warning."
"What then?"
She hesitated.
"A promise."
And for once—neither of them looked away.
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