I stayed by the pool long after she vanished.
Not because I expected her to return—
But because I didn't know what else to do.
Raen ethal tosilien.
The words echoed in my mind, haunting and foreign.
What was she? A ghost? A hallucination? A spirit?
She didn't seem hostile. She didn't try to hurt me. But she wasn't… kind, either. Just curious. Like someone inspecting a stray animal that wandered into their temple.
Why did she vanish when I couldn't respond?
My hands were still shaking. My throat was dry. I looked down at the pool again. My reflection had returned. I almost wished it hadn't.
"What is this place…?" I muttered to no one.
I stood, brushing the dirt off my hands, and glanced toward the deeper woods. If there were beings like her here—then there had to be rules, structure, maybe even people.
I just had to survive long enough to find them.
Then I heard it.
A sharp crack—like a branch splitting under pressure.
Then another. Closer.
I turned toward the sound, heart already picking up speed. The mist behind the trees was moving, rolling unnaturally like breath forced through clenched teeth.
Something large was coming.
Not humanoid. Not slow.
I backed up, eyes scanning the trees. No voice called out. No shape revealed itself. Just movement—quick and erratic. The forest felt tighter now, heavier.
No. I am not dying to some fog-dwelling beast in a world I don't even understand.
I turned and ran.
My legs screamed in protest with every stride. My ribs ached. My lungs burned.
I didn't care.
I just kept moving.
Branches tore at my arms and face. Roots tried to trip me. The sound behind me never stopped—footsteps or claws or limbs dragging across bark, I couldn't tell.
But I ran until I saw it.
A wall.
Not tall—only fragments remained—but enough to mark the edge of something. A barrier. A ruin. A road.
The mist broke slightly as I crossed the threshold, like the forest itself had stopped chasing.
I stumbled into the clearing, collapsed onto stone steps overgrown with moss, and gasped for breath.
In the distance, I saw shapes—stone towers, arches, maybe even rooftops.
Faint lights flickered. Smoke curled lazily into the sky.
Civilization.
Or what was left of it.
The closer I moved toward the lights, the more broken the world looked.
Crumbling stone walls rose in jagged lines along the slope, half-swallowed by moss and roots. Tall arches stood with no roofs, their edges chipped by time, their carvings faded beyond recognition.
It wasn't a city. Not anymore.
Just the skeleton of something greater.
A civilization that once lived, prayed, built… and then vanished.
I walked carefully between what might've once been a main road. The cobblestones beneath my feet were cracked but still held together, etched with lines that glowed faintly in the fading light—patterns that reminded me of the gate.
At the heart of it all stood a central courtyard. A sunken circle surrounded by broken columns and stone benches.
In the center, a statue—weathered and headless—holding an urn out toward the sky.
Water trickled from the urn's open mouth into a dry, shallow basin.
But there was no spring.
The water came from nowhere.
This place still breathes.
I sat at the edge of the basin, exhaustion slowly catching up to me.
I couldn't stop replaying the image of the spirit in my mind—how she appeared and vanished without warning, how her words carried weight even though I couldn't understand them.
I didn't know why I expected her to return.
But she did.
Not with sound. Not with song.
Just presence.
I turned my head—and there she was again, standing atop one of the broken pillars like a drifting thought made solid.
Her robes flowed with a wind I couldn't feel. Her expression unreadable. Calm. Watchful.
This time, she didn't speak.
Instead, she raised one arm and slowly extended her hand—not toward me, but toward the statue.
Toward the urn.
The water inside the basin glowed faintly. A symbol formed at its surface, rippling outward in rings of white light. I couldn't read it. But it felt like a message.
She looked at me once more.
Her lips moved—but no words came out.
Then she turned to dust.
No wind. No sound.
Just silence.
And the feeling that something was beginning.
Something I didn't understand.
Yet.
I stayed in the courtyard long after the spirit vanished.
The light in the water faded. The strange air settled.
And the silence, finally, caught up to me.
I leaned against the edge of the dry basin, knees pulled to my chest, arms locked around them. My whole body trembled—not from cold, but from everything.
The stillness broke something in me.
I hadn't cried when my grandfather died. I hadn't screamed when I fell through the sky.
But now, in a ruin full of dead stone and impossible spirits—
I did both.
I buried my face into my sleeve and let it out, quietly, breathlessly, like I didn't want the world to hear me breaking.
I didn't want to admit I was afraid.
But I was.
Not just of this place…
But of never going home.
I don't know how long I sat there before I heard footsteps.
Not heavy. Not in a rush. Just the slow, easy gait of someone used to being in strange places.
I wiped my face and looked up.
A man stood near the archway. Wrapped in patchy cloth and layered leather, with brass charms dangling from his sleeves and a wide-brimmed hat that cast a shadow over half his face.
He looked surprised to see me. Then concerned.
"Tesari on?"
The language was strange. Rhythmic. Completely alien.
I stood up slowly, hands half-raised in reflex. "I—I don't understand."
He blinked. Tilted his head.
Then said something else. Slower. Softer.
I shook my head. "No. I don't know what you're saying."
His brows furrowed. He looked me up and down, then sighed.
"Muth osen…" he murmured to himself, then nodded like he had made up his mind.
Reaching into a large satchel at his side, he pulled out a small leather-bound book. The cover was cracked and marked with an unfamiliar crest. He offered it to me without a word.
I hesitated, but took it.
As soon as my fingers touched the cover—
A dull warmth surged through my skin.
Not magic. Not electricity. Just… understanding.
The letters on the cover rearranged before my eyes. I blinked hard.
"Common Aetherian," it now read.
I opened the first page. Words in two columns. One side—symbols I didn't recognize. The other—English.
The merchant was still talking, slower now.
"You must be deaf," he said in his tongue, his voice now making sense. "Or too far from the cities to learn. Poor kid."
I stared at him, too stunned to respond.
"I'm not deaf," I finally said. "I just—"
He raised a hand to stop me. Smiled faintly.
"Doesn't matter. You're alive. You found the Pale March. That's rare."
He turned around.
"Come on. If you stay here, the night will take you."
I followed.