The forest swallowed them again, its oppressive darkness broken only by slivers of moonlight cutting through the canopy. Aaron's pulse hadn't settled. Every step seemed to echo louder than it should, crunching twigs beneath his boots, as though announcing their presence to whatever else might be watching.
Lyra didn't slow until they'd put a good mile between themselves and the lantern's glow. Finally, she stopped beside a fallen tree, crouching to catch her breath. Aaron leaned against the damp bark, the ache in his legs making itself known again.
"You said you've seen that symbol before," Aaron pressed. "Where?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled a small waterskin from her pack and took a measured sip before handing it to him.
"Drink. Slowly," she said.
He took it, but didn't drink. "Lyra—"
Her gaze met his, hard and unreadable. "I'm thinking."
Aaron's frustration flared, but he bit back his reply. The voice's warning still gnawed at the edges of his mind, making every pause, every look from her feel like it might hide something.
Finally, she spoke. "It's old. Older than the kingdom, older than the forests we're standing in. The symbol marks objects tied to a group called the Silent Accord."
"The Silent Accord?" Aaron frowned. "Never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have," Lyra said. "That's the point. They don't exist on maps or in records. Officially, they're a myth — whispered about by traders who've wandered too far from safe roads, or soldiers who've seen something they shouldn't. But in reality, they've been moving pieces on the board for centuries."
"What kind of pieces?"
Her jaw tightened. "The kind that change borders… or erase entire cities without leaving a single survivor."
Aaron felt a chill despite the night air being still. "And you've dealt with them?"
"I've crossed their path. Once. And I barely walked away."
The memory flickered behind her eyes, but she didn't elaborate. Aaron didn't push. Instead, he focused on the crate — the carved symbol, the faint glint of something inside when the lantern had swung.
"If they're here, what do they want?" he asked.
"That's what worries me," Lyra said. "The Accord doesn't send their agents without purpose. And if they've got a relic marked with that symbol, it's tied to something… big."
"Like the stone in the clearing?"
Her gaze snapped to him. "Exactly like that. The Accord doesn't collect artifacts for their value — they collect them because they do something. And the fact that you touched one…" She trailed off, looking away.
"What?" Aaron demanded.
"They may already know who you are now."
The words landed like a blow. Aaron straightened. "How? I didn't even—"
"The stone wasn't inert. It reached back," she interrupted. "Whatever spoke to you, it left a mark. They'll sense it. They always do."
A branch cracked somewhere to their right. Both of them froze.
Lyra's hand was on her dagger before the sound had fully registered. Aaron strained to listen — the faint shuffle of boots on leaves, maybe two sets.
"They followed us," Lyra whispered.
Aaron's grip tightened on his own blade. "The Accord agents?"
She shook her head once. "Could be. Could also be something worse."
Another snap, this time closer.
Lyra's eyes darted past him, scanning the dark. Then she made a decision. "We can't fight in the open. Move."
They slipped into a narrow gap between two massive roots, ducking low to keep from breaking any branches overhead. The terrain sloped downward, and the forest thinned just enough for Aaron to make out the faint glimmer of water ahead.
A stream.
They reached its bank, and Lyra dropped to one knee, motioning for him to do the same. She dipped her fingers in the water, then smeared the cold liquid over the soles of her boots.
"Mask your trail," she murmured.
Aaron followed suit, confusion plain on his face. "They can track by—"
"Everything," she cut in. "Footprints. Scent. Heat. If they're Accord-trained, the usual tricks won't work. But water buys us time."
They followed the stream upstream, moving against the current so their scent would be harder to trace. The water was icy, numbing Aaron's toes even through his boots.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the sounds of pursuit faded. Only then did Lyra slow, scanning the trees before gesturing for them to stop.
Aaron let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You think we lost them?"
"For now," she said. But her tone made it clear she didn't believe it would last.
They sat on a dry patch of earth beneath an ancient oak, its gnarled roots curling around them like the claws of some sleeping beast.
Aaron finally broke the silence. "This 'Accord' — you said they erase cities. How?"
Lyra's eyes shifted to the dark canopy overhead. "No one knows exactly. Sometimes there's fire, sometimes nothing but silence. Survivors, if there are any, remember little more than shadows moving in the smoke."
Aaron shivered. "And you think they're after the stone?"
"I think," she said slowly, "they're after what's inside it."
He frowned. "Inside? It's just a—"
"No, Aaron. It's not just a rock. Stones like that are vessels. What you saw wasn't a dream or a vision — it was a containment field. Something ancient was speaking to you."
Aaron thought of the vast figure in the void, the alien stars, the overwhelming weight of its presence. "It… felt like it could crush me just by existing."
"That's because it could," Lyra said simply.
Aaron swallowed hard.
For a long while, neither spoke. The night was unnervingly still, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. Aaron couldn't shake the image of the crate, the carved symbol glaring back at him.
Finally, Lyra stood. "We keep moving. We can't let them get ahead of us."
Aaron rose, every muscle protesting. "Ahead of us where?"
"To the next site," she said. "There's another vessel… and if they find it first, we're finished."
"How do you even know where it is?"
She hesitated — just long enough for him to notice. "Because someone once told me the Accord's map."
"Someone you trust?" he asked.
Her answer was a humorless smile. "No."
The warning in his head echoed louder than ever.
---
They traveled through the night, skirting the edges of game trails and avoiding open ground. When dawn finally began to gray the horizon, Aaron could barely keep his eyes open.
Lyra stopped at the mouth of a shallow cave and motioned for him to enter. Inside, the air was cool and damp, smelling faintly of iron.
"We'll rest here for a few hours," she said.
Aaron sank against the stone wall, exhaustion pulling at him. But before sleep claimed him, he caught Lyra at the entrance, her gaze fixed on the forest beyond. Her hand was resting on her dagger, her posture tense.
She wasn't resting.
And for the first time, Aaron wondered if she was watching for the Accord… or making sure he didn't try to leave.
---