She watched from the shadows.
Day after day, night after night, always at a distance — high in the trees, beneath brush and bramble, crouched in silence where the light could not touch her. The hunting party never knew she was there. But Anecia was always watching.
At first, it was just curiosity — the kind that pulled at her ribs like hunger. The strange sounds they made, the way they used their mouths and hands together. The symbols they carved into the dirt. The way they pointed to things, looked at each other, understood.
She mimicked them in secret.
Her fingers shaped the words in the dirt. Her mouth twisted around the sharp edges of their sounds. It was clumsy at first. She hated the heaviness of the words. The clatter of syllables against her tongue. But the more she listened, the more they began to fit. Like they had always belonged inside her, just waiting to be remembered.
One night, she whispered a word she'd heard Damien say: "water."
The wind didn't shift. The wolves didn't howl. But something inside her did.
Her mark pulsed.
A slow, warm throb — not painful, but potent. Like breath drawn through glowing embers. She pressed her hand over it, eyes narrowing. The shape of the black cat shimmered faintly beneath her skin, stretching like it had awoken from a long sleep.
She didn't know what it meant. Only that it felt right.
Like the word had unlocked something old.
She began to know things. Not learn — remember.
Words came easier. Meanings clicked into place without effort.
She heard "fire" and felt warmth. Heard "hunt" and her muscles tensed with readiness.
She heard "Damien," and her heart... stuttered.
She did not say his name out loud.
Not yet.
That night, drawn by instinct and something quieter — something soft — Anecia followed him.
He had slipped from camp alone, bare-footed and shirtless, a towel slung over his shoulder and a blade at his side. He moved quietly, but she was quieter.
The moon hung low, fat and glowing. It kissed the surface of the river in silver light, making the water shimmer like spilled starlight. Damien stepped into the shallows, slow and unhurried, letting the cold ripple over his legs.
Anecia perched in a tree above, hidden among leaves, her eyes fixed to the sight.
He didn't look like the others now. Not loud, not armored in metal or leather. Just... skin and breath and shadow. Moonlight poured over his back, illuminating the scar that stretched along his ribs, the muscles that flexed with each movement, the dark hair plastered to his neck.
He submerged himself, water spilling over his shoulders. When he emerged again, his face tilted skyward, water ran in rivulets down his chest, catching moonlight in quiet glimmers. And in that moment, Anecia didn't see a threat. She didn't see a hunter.
She saw something beautiful.
Foreign. Soft. Strange.
And beautiful.
She leaned forward, breath caught in her throat.
A branch cracked beneath her heel.
Damien's head snapped up. His eyes scanned the trees — alert, wary. But not afraid.
"I know you're there," he said softly, his voice like gravel smoothed by time. "You've been watching for days, haven't you?"
Anecia didn't move.
"I won't hurt you."
Still, she said nothing.
"I saw you that night," he went on, voice gentler now. "By the fire. I thought maybe I dreamed you. But I knew I didn't."
She shifted slightly, just enough for the moon to catch the edge of her face — the gleam of her eyes, the curve of her lips.
Damien didn't flinch. Didn't call out.
He only smiled — small, careful, real.
"You're not a ghost," he murmured. "Are you?"
She tilted her head. He spoke like his voice could reach through trees.
"I don't know if you understand me. But... I've been hoping you'd come back."
Anecia's chest ached.
The words made her feel like he was pulling her. Like he'd somehow reached inside her and tugged gently on a string she didn't know she had.
She whispered something.
It was only one word.
Soft. Broken. But his.
"Damien."
He froze. The river around him stilled.
"…You do understand."
Anecia blinked, then vanished — her form swallowed by the trees before he could say more.
But her voice remained, a breath on the wind, a name on his skin.
And deep in her chest, her mark burned like moonfire.