The river had not frozen over—not completely. Thin sheets of silver ice clung to the edges like scabs over old wounds, but the heart of it still ran swift and cold, cutting through the valley like a quiet, endless breath. The water spoke, not with words, but in the murmuring way it curled around rock and root, whispering of things that had passed before even Kael was born.
He stood by its bank, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other held out, palm up. Snow drifted lightly across his sleeve but melted on his skin. Behind him, the camp stirred with the slow rustle of morning—not rushed, not fearful, but tense, as if something unspoken had wrapped itself around each throat in the night.
Wren approached from the treeline, her cloak brushing the frost-covered grass. She said nothing at first. Her eyes followed the river, then the line of Kael's arm, and finally his face.
"You felt it too," she said.
Kael nodded once. "When the star blinked out. Something beneath it moved."
Wren crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Something old."
He didn't disagree.
There was a weight in the air that hadn't been there before. A heaviness that didn't come from snow or memory. The Whisper Clans called it the Deeping—the moment when a path, once hidden, began to open not with light, but with shadow. When the world itself remembered something it had long tried to forget.
"I don't think we'll have to follow the watchers anymore," Kael said. "They've brought us where they wanted."
Wren's lips thinned. "They want her to see something."
Liora sat at the edge of the firepit, stirring embers with a stick. She looked like any child might on a cold morning—wrapped in furs too large for her frame, feet tucked under her, cheeks pink with chill. But her eyes betrayed her. They stared into the coals not with curiosity, but with recognition. As if they mirrored something she hadn't yet shared.
Seran knelt beside her, holding out a flask of warmed milk and spice. "It's not poisoned, promise."
She didn't smile, but she accepted the flask.
"You slept light," Seran said.
"I didn't sleep at all."
He raised a brow but didn't press.
"I dreamed," she added, softly.
That made him pause. "Of the glade?"
"No. Of a door. A very large one. In the middle of a mountain. Carved with teeth."
Seran blinked. "Teeth?"
She nodded. "Like a mouth that forgot how to scream."
There was a silence between them that lingered too long. Seran broke it by tossing another branch into the fire. "Well. I've had stranger dreams, but not by much."
Liora looked up at him, voice barely more than a whisper. "You're scared, aren't you?"
He didn't answer. But he didn't need to.
By midday, the valley narrowed into a steep ravine, flanked on either side by jagged stone. The river still flowed beside them, quieter now, its voice hushed as though it too feared being heard. The path was not a trail, not truly—it was as if the forest itself had parted, just slightly, allowing them to pass.
The trees began to change.
Not just in species, but in posture. No longer natural. Their trunks grew twisted, slanted as if leaning toward some invisible center. Their roots clawed the earth like hands reaching toward something buried just beneath the surface. Moss grew up their sides in thick ridges, patterned like runes Kael couldn't read.
And the silence…
It deepened.
Even the snow no longer crunched underfoot. Even their breath seemed quieter.
They stopped only when they reached a shallow basin where the river vanished underground. A sinkhole yawned beneath a cluster of black stone pillars, and at the center stood a structure half-swallowed by earth and ice.
A gate.
Not the carved one from Liora's dream—not yet—but something older. Broken. Bent. Its hinges rusted and covered in vines. It led into a tunnel that sloped down into darkness, where no sunlight reached.
Kael felt the air shift as Wren drew her blade—not fully, but enough for its hum to cut through the stillness.
"We go in?" Seran asked, trying to sound casual and failing.
"No," Kael said.
Wren turned toward him, one brow raised.
He looked to Liora, who had not spoken. Her eyes were locked on the broken gate. Her hands trembled at her sides, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were pale.
"I've been here," she whispered.
"When?" Kael asked.
"In my first dream."
They waited.
She stepped forward slowly. "There's something below. But not just one thing. It's like… pieces. Broken pieces of people. Waiting to be remembered."
The way she said it made Kael's skin crawl.
"You remember any of them?" Wren asked gently.
Liora shook her head. "Just that they're lonely. And hungry. Not for food. For stories. For… names."
Kael exchanged a glance with Wren. Then he stepped forward, kneeling before the child he had once lifted out of a ruin and carried through the dead of winter.
"You don't have to go," he said.
She met his gaze without flinching. "I think I do."
They entered the broken gate as the sun vanished behind gray clouds. The descent was steep, but not treacherous. Steps had once been carved here, now smoothed by time. The air was damp, not with decay, but with the breath of something dormant.
The tunnel widened into a cavern lit only by faint glows—small bioluminescent fungi that pulsed like slow heartbeats on the walls. Each beat echoed slightly in Kael's bones.
At the far end, the stone floor sloped down into water.
A pool.
Still and black.
And above it… the door from Liora's dream.
It wasn't made of wood or metal. It looked grown. Veined like flesh, its surface knotted and scarred with ancient symbols. Teeth lined its edges—real or carved, Kael couldn't tell. But they weren't decorative. They were waiting.
Liora stepped forward.
The moment her foot touched the water's edge, the pool rippled. A voice—not heard, but felt—rose like steam from the surface.
"Daughter of the Flame Forgotten."
Kael surged forward, but Wren held him back.
"Bearer of a Name That Broke the Sky."
Liora raised her hand, palm open. A thread of golden light danced between her fingers.
Kael had seen that light before. The day she was found. The day the world stilled around them.
"Do you remember what you were?" the voice asked.
She didn't answer.
But the door pulsed.
Once. Twice.
Then it began to open.
Not with a groan or scream, but with a sigh.
And from the other side came warmth.
Real, living warmth.
And the scent of ash.