The girl didn't lower her sword.
Though her arms trembled slightly, her gaze remained locked on Aiden. She wasn't sure if he was human, spirit, or something far more dangerous.
Aiden took a cautious step back. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She narrowed her eyes. "You just stopped time."
"I… don't know how I did it."
She studied him for a long moment, then finally relaxed her stance. "Then either you're lying… or you're new."
Aiden nodded slowly. "I am. I don't even know where I am."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "You were summoned then. A Wanderer."
"A what?"
She sighed and sheathed her sword. "Come with me. If you stay out here, something worse than a Bonehound will find you."
As they walked, Aiden glanced sideways at her. "What's your name?"
"Lyra."
She didn't offer a last name.
He nodded. "I'm Aiden."
They moved in silence through the woods until they reached a hilltop. Beyond it lay a wide valley scattered with small huts, a winding river, and distant watchtowers glowing with soft blue flame.
"This is Elarin's Edge," Lyra said. "The last friendly place this side of the Wild Realms."
Aiden exhaled. For the first time since arriving, he saw something close to civilization.
As they descended the hill, Lyra spoke again, softer this time. "You really don't remember being summoned?"
"No. One moment I was in my world. Then... light. A mark. And I was here."
Lyra stopped in her tracks. "You bear a mark?"
Aiden hesitated, then pulled the fabric of his tunic aside, revealing the faint glowing symbol on his chest.
She paled. "That's not a summon mark."
"What is it then?"
Lyra stepped back. "That's an Ancient Thread. The kind the old texts speak of. Powers that were supposed to be long dead."
Aiden looked down at the mark, now dim.
He felt no different.
But Lyra's reaction said enough.
As they reached the village, eyes followed them. Wanderers were rare—and the last one who came had left behind only ash and ruins. Aiden could feel it: fear.
But in the shadow of one broken tower far beyond the valley, something else stirred.
A man cloaked in black watched through a circle of carved bone. He sat alone on a throne of twisted metal and roots, a crown of teeth upon his brow.
His eyes, pitch black, opened slowly as the vision formed.
> "He has arrived."
A voice slithered behind him, not human. "You said the Thread-Soul was extinct."
The man smiled without warmth. "I was wrong."
> "Send word to the Ash Circle. Tell them... the Rebirth has begun."
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