The cellar air stuck to her skin like a breath that didn't belong. It smelled of damp stone, dried herbs, and wax. But under all of that, there was something else something faint and metallic, like the memory of blood.
Liora knelt before the chest, the black mask resting in her hands. It felt smooth, cold, and strangely quiet. She didn't know the symbols on it, but as she touched them, a warmth slowly spread into her skin. It was like the mask was waking up.
She expected to be afraid. But instead, she felt calm.
She looked toward the wooden slats in the cellar wall where eyes had once blinked at her. Now they were gone. As if they'd never been there. But she still saw them in her mind.
Something ancient had been watching quiet, patient, and hungry. Its presence pressed against her skin like cold breath in the dark. Even in silence, she felt it, an unseen gaze that knew her name, her blood, her fear. It hadn't left. It had only drawn closer. Liora's heart banged with a fear too deep for words. Whatever had stirred in the shadows hadn't forgotten. It remembered. And it was waiting for her to remember too.
Liora stood slowly, holding the mask in one arm, and climbed the steps. Each board creaked like a breath held too long. The night outside was deeper, darker than usual. It pressed against the windows like it was trying to get inside.
Ysolde's chair sat empty near the cold hearth.
She was gone.
Liora wrapped the mask in cloth and set it on the table. She lit a candle. The flame jumped and flickered, like it fought against wind that didn't exist.
The quiet wasn't just silence anymore. It felt thick, alive like breath held in the dark. Every creak, every gust of wind against the window, felt like a whisper too low to hear. It wasn't emptiness. It was presence. Something unseen lingered just beyond reach, watching, listening. The air trembled with the weight of it, and deep inside, Liora knew this was no longer stillness. It was a heartbeat. And it was waiting for hers to answer.
She didn't sleep. She stayed beside the hearth, watching the mask, until the candle burned out and darkness filled the room.
At dawn, Ysolde returned.
Her cloak was wet with morning dew. Her face looked older, like she'd been walking through painful memories.
"You went into the cellar," she said, not looking at Liora.
"I did," Liora replied, her voice steady despite the chill crawling up her spine. "I heard whispers I followed them."
Her eyes searched Ysolde's face, hoping for understanding, or at least an explanation but the old woman's expression was unreadable, carved from something ancient and wary. The weight of what she'd touched in that cellar still gripped to her, like shadow stitched to skin.
Ysolde closed the door and passed her in silence. She hung her cloak, poured water, and finally faced her.
"What did you find?"
Liora hesitated. "Books. Writings. The mask."
Ysolde stiffened. "Did you touch it?"
"I held it. Nothing happened." She paused. "But I felt something."
Ysolde studied her for a long time. "Then it knows you now."
"What is it?"
"A veil," Ysolde said softly. "An echo from before. It was Alwen's. She made it with blood and ash, shaped it from grief. It doesn't see the world it sees what lies beneath it."
"And the eyes?" Liora whispered.
"Not all that watches wants harm. But not all should be seen," Ysolde said. She picked up the mask, still wrapped, holding it like it was sacred or cursed. "It was never meant to sleep forever. If you found it, that means it's waking."
Liora's heart raced. "What does it want?"
"Truth," Ysolde answered. "And truth, child, is the sharpest blade."
Later that morning, Liora walked toward the edge of Elderwood.
She needed space. She needed clarity.
The village was quiet. Doors were only half open. Shutters shut tight. No children played. Even the bakery, always warm and full of talk, was silent.
A woman pulled her child away from Liora's path.
A man turned his back and whispered a prayer.
Tomas stood waiting by the well, worry etched across his face.
"They're afraid of you," he said, skipping greetings.
"I know."
"They think you've awakened something that should've stayed hidden."
"They might be right."
His eyes showed pain and fear. "You're changing, Liora."
"I've always been changing. Now I just know it."
He reached for her hand. She let him hold it.
"I don't want to lose you to this."
She looked at him and gave a small, sad smile. "You never had me to lose."
They stood in silence, listening to the wind through the trees.
That night, the dreams returned.
But they weren't just dreams.
They were memories that didn't belong to her.
Flames raced up stone walls. Screams echoed down dark hallways. A circle of witches watched in silence as one of their own was bound by vines and cursed.
Liora stood outside her body, watching Alwen scream in a strange language. The mask sat in her lap. Blood dripped from her hands as she carved a new symbol into it.
Then came the ripping of flesh. Of the world.
The veil tore.
And something stepped through.
Liora woke screaming.
Her skin was soaked in sweat. The crescent mark on her chest burned like fire.
She rose on shaking legs and went to the mirror.
Her own pale, hollow-eyed reflection stared back.
But for just a second just a blink another face appeared behind hers.
Alwen's.
Her mouth wide open,Screaming without sound.
Liora didn't tell Ysolde about the dream.
Not yet.
Instead, the next morning, she returned to the ruins.
The library called her.
The same stone where she'd knelt before pulsed beneath her touch, like it remembered.
She placed the mask on it.The runes sparkled and the stone cracked.
Just a narrow opening, but deep. Just enough to slide the mask inside.
She paused.
Then let it go. The earth swallowed it.
As soon as it vanished, wind screamed through the trees like sorrow.
Then a voice spoke.
Not out loud. Inside her mind.
One truth opens another.
She staggered back, breathing hard.
The crack closed.
She knew then that the path ahead wasn't hers to choose anymore.
When she returned, Ysolde was gone again.
A note waited on the table.
It's time you saw where Alwen fell. The clearing by the stone path. You'll know it when you feel it.
Liora packed the leather pouch Ysolde gave her long ago. Salt, sage a feather and the ring.
She walked toward the old stone road.
Once it had been a real path. Now moss covered the stones, and trees bent low, whispering things she couldn't understand.
She followed it until it opened into a clearing.
And she knew.
This was where it happened.
Where Alwen died or became something else.
The grass grew in strange circles. Trees leaned away. In the center stood a black stump.
Liora stepped into the ring.
And the air changed.
Her vision blurred, then sharpened.
Time peeled away.
She wasn't alone anymore.
Hooded witches stood all around.
Alwen stood bound in the center.
But she was smiling.
Not with joy with defiance.
"They feared what I saw," she said. "So they tried to blind me."
"Stop this," one witch pleaded. "You opened the veil. You broke the oath."
"I broke silence," Alwen said. "Silence lets rot grow."
The witches raised their hands.
Alwen didn't move.
She reached into her robe and pulled out the mask.
"No more hiding."
She placed it on her face.
Light burst from the clearing.
The witches screamed.
Alwen rose, free. Then Fire.
Liora gasped and dropped to her knees.
The vision ended.
But something remained.
A pendant.
Half buried in the earth.
She dug it out a silver charm shaped like a flame, marked with the mask's symbols.
As she closed her hand around it, a voice whispered inside her.
She left it for you.
Liora stood, breathing hard.
She was being led.
By what, she didn't know.
Back at the cottage, Tomas waited.
His face was pale, his hands shaking.
"They arrested Ysolde," he said.
Liora froze. "What?"
"This morning the council said she kept forbidden books and practiced old magic."
"She was protecting knowledge."
"They don't care. They're scared."
Liora's breath came fast. "Where is she?"
"The tower. Where they hold people before judgment."
Liora turned, her mind spinning.
"I'm going to get her out."
"You'll be hunted too."
"I'm ready." Tomas grabbed her arm. "Don't do it alone."
But Liora's eyes had turned hard.
"I don't have a choice."
She stepped inside, shut the door, and grabbed her cloak.
She fastened the flame pendant around her neck.
And then she heard it.
The scratching.
Not from the cellar.
From all around her. The walls.
Then came the whisper.
Not one voice, but many.
She is waking. And with her, the veil thins.
Liora stood frozen.
She turned slowly toward the mirror.
This time, her reflection didn't move with her.
It stared with glowing eyes.
And it smiled.