The forest had grown quieter since the chaos by the river. The rustling leaves seemed to hold their breath, and the air carried a faint chill that crept under Aaron's skin. He walked beside Lyra, who moved with the same feline grace she had shown before, her ears alert for the faintest disturbance. The sunlight struggled to pierce through the dense canopy, casting long, trembling shadows that moved like living things.
Aaron's mind was a whirlpool of questions, most of them about her.
Lyra was an enigma — one moment cryptic, the next strangely protective. He wanted to demand answers, to press her until she explained everything, but instinct told him this wasn't the time.
They came to a clearing where the trees gave way to a stretch of moss-covered stones. Lyra stopped abruptly, holding out a hand for Aaron to halt. Her gaze swept the area, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"What is it?" Aaron whispered.
"Something's off," she murmured, crouching low. Her hand brushed the ground, fingers trailing over the moss as if reading some invisible script. "The forest is… restless here."
Aaron scanned the clearing. To him, it was just another patch of damp green in an endless woodland. But there was a weight in the air — not danger exactly, but expectation. The kind of feeling you get before a storm breaks.
Lyra rose slowly. "Follow my steps exactly," she instructed, and began moving across the stones in a deliberate pattern. Aaron obeyed, placing his feet carefully where hers had been. It felt like they were walking through some invisible maze.
Halfway across, he caught a faint shimmer ahead. Like heatwaves on a summer road, but this was no sunlit mirage — it hung in the shade, rippling faintly in midair. Lyra stopped just short of it.
"This is a veil," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Old magic. Strong magic."
Aaron's curiosity flared. "A veil? Like… a portal?"
Her eyes flicked to him. "Not exactly. Think of it as… a curtain between worlds. What lies behind it depends on who opens it."
Aaron stepped closer, but the moment his fingers reached toward the shimmer, Lyra caught his wrist with surprising strength. "Not yet," she warned. "If you touch it without knowing the rules, it can swallow you."
The words were simple, but they carried weight. He pulled his hand back, a little shaken.
Lyra closed her eyes, pressing her palm lightly against the air just beside the shimmer. The surface seemed to ripple under her touch. For a moment, Aaron thought he saw faint lines of light trace themselves across the invisible curtain, forming strange runes before fading away.
"It's dormant," she said at last, lowering her hand. "But someone woke it recently."
"Who?" Aaron asked.
"That," she said, "is the problem."
They moved on, leaving the clearing behind, but the shimmer haunted Aaron's thoughts. He kept glancing back, half-expecting something — or someone — to step through it.
The forest began to change subtly as they walked. The ground sloped downward, and the trees grew taller and older, their trunks twisted as if frozen mid-movement. Strange markings appeared on some of the bark — not carvings, but natural shapes that looked eerily like faces.
Aaron shivered. "This place is… creepy."
Lyra didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed ahead, and the tension in her shoulders made him uneasy.
They came to a stream, its waters dark and slow. A fallen log formed a makeshift bridge. As Lyra crossed first, Aaron noticed movement in the water — a faint, swirling shadow beneath the surface. He hesitated.
"Don't stop," Lyra called without looking back.
Reluctantly, he stepped onto the log. The shadow in the stream seemed to follow his movements, curling and uncurling like smoke underwater. When he reached the far side, the shadow dissolved into nothing.
Aaron's heart was still pounding when they reached a rocky outcrop overlooking a valley. From here, the forest stretched endlessly in all directions, but in the far distance, a faint column of smoke rose into the pale sky.
"There," Lyra said, pointing. "That's where we're going."
"What's there?"
"A village," she replied. "Or what's left of one."
Something in her tone made him frown. "What do you mean, 'what's left'?"
She glanced at him, her eyes unreadable. "You'll see."
They descended the slope, the air growing cooler as they neared the valley floor. The trees thinned, replaced by open grassland. And then Aaron saw it — the village, or rather, the remains of it.
Blackened timbers jutted from the earth like broken bones. Ash coated the ground, and the few structures still standing leaned precariously, their walls scorched. No voices, no movement — just the wind stirring the cinders.
Aaron swallowed hard. "What happened here?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately. She walked to the center of the ruins, kneeling to sift a handful of ash through her fingers. The wind carried it away like dust.
"This was a thriving place once," she said at last. "Until the Veil opened."
Aaron's eyes widened. "You mean that shimmer we saw? It did this?"
"Not the Veil itself," Lyra said. "But what came through it."
She rose and began moving among the ruins, her gaze scanning the shadows as though expecting something to leap out. Aaron followed, his mind a knot of unease.
They stopped before what had once been a large building — perhaps the village hall. Its roof had collapsed, and the door hung from a single hinge. Inside, the smell of smoke was stronger, mingled with something metallic.
Aaron stepped inside and froze. The floor was scorched black, but in the center, a strange mark had been burned deep into the wood — a circle filled with jagged lines, pulsing faintly with residual light.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"A brand," Lyra said, her voice low. "Left by the creature that came through. It's a warning… and a claim."
Aaron felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Claim? Like… it owns this place now?"
Lyra's gaze met his, and for the first time since they'd met, he saw something in her eyes that unsettled him more than her cryptic words — genuine fear.
"Yes," she said. "And if we don't stop it, it won't stop with this village."
A sudden sound broke the stillness — the sharp crack of a branch outside. Both of them turned toward the doorway. The air seemed to thicken, the shadows stretching unnaturally.
Lyra moved first, slipping silently outside with her hand near the hilt of the blade at her hip. Aaron followed, his heart hammering. The village lay silent, but something was moving in the distance — a tall, thin figure, its outline blurred, like it was half in this world and half somewhere else.
It stopped, head tilting as if it had noticed them.
Then, in a voice like wind scraping over stone, it spoke.
"Aaron…"