Tessera's morning wind was soft but biting. Kael walked slowly down a dirt path that led toward the village's edge. Past thorny bushes and crumbling brick walls stood an old stone well—no rope, no bucket, just a dark hole that felt... too deep.
Ilya was already there.
She sat on a rock, knees pulled to her chest, staring into the well as if waiting for something to rise from the shadows.
"Kael," she said before he could speak. "You finally came."
"How do you know my name?"
"I heard it," Ilya replied plainly. "The wind carries voices. And whispers."
Kael said nothing. The Mark on his chest grew heavy, responding to her presence.
"I saw you in my dreams," Ilya continued. "But that's not all. You are the crack."
"The crack?"
"This world is like an old wall. Flaking. Rotting. But you… you're the first crack that will break it."
A chill crawled down Kael's spine—not from the wind.
"What do you mean?"
"Those who stitch the future cannot lie to a thread already torn," she whispered. Then she pointed at the well. "Look inside. But be careful. Sometimes… what looks back isn't just your reflection."
Kael stepped forward, peering in.
Dark. Deep.
Then something emerged.
Not a shadow. Not his face.
A single eye.
Red, round, and unblinking. Staring up from the bottom of the well.
He stumbled back, breath quickening.
The Mark on his chest burned—glowing red as if set aflame.
Ilya didn't flinch. She only whispered,
"It's been waiting for you… for a very long time."