The air shifted the moment Aaron stepped off the dirt path and onto the pale stone that led to the settlement. It was subtle at first—like a faint tingle in the air, a low vibration in his chest—but it grew stronger with every step forward. The towering archway before them, carved from a single slab of black stone, loomed like the jaw of some long-dead beast. Strange markings shimmered faintly across its surface, not with light, but with a kind of absence, as though the symbols ate away at the daylight itself.
Lyra slowed, her eyes scanning the gate with an unreadable expression. Her hand rested on the hilt of her curved blade, not out of immediate threat, but out of instinct. Behind them, the rest of the group followed in silence. Even the loudest among them, Jareth, didn't dare speak.
"This is it," Lyra finally said, her voice low. "The Gate of Forgotten Echoes. Beyond here… things change."
Aaron swallowed hard. "Change how?"
She glanced at him briefly, then looked away. "You'll see. Or hear. The gate remembers everything that has passed through it. Every step. Every death. Every choice."
Aaron's brows knitted. "That sounds—"
"Horrible?" Lyra finished for him. "It is. But it's also necessary."
The group came to a halt just a few paces from the archway. Aaron stared at the markings again. They weren't random. The longer he looked, the more they shifted, aligning themselves into shapes his mind almost recognized—faces, maybe, or echoes of faces—before twisting away again. He felt something tug at his thoughts, pulling them backward, like a hook buried deep in his memory.
A faint whisper brushed his ear.
"Aaron…"
His head snapped to the side. No one was there. Lyra hadn't moved, and the others seemed too focused on the gate to notice.
"You heard it, didn't you?" Lyra asked without turning.
Aaron hesitated. "Something."
"That's the gate," she said. "It calls to the living the way the ocean calls to the shore. But don't answer it. If you answer… it will take more than your voice."
He didn't know what that meant, but his heart was already beating faster.
The journey to this place had felt like a blur—forest paths, scattered skirmishes, strange creatures, the Accord's looming presence—but here, at the edge of whatever lay beyond, reality felt sharper. Every detail pressed in on him: the faint rustle of wind through the dry grass, the low hum in the stone, the scent of cold metal that didn't belong in the open air.
Lyra stepped forward first, her heavy boots thudding against the stone as she passed beneath the arch. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, faintly, Aaron saw a ripple in the air, like heat waves, and Lyra flinched as though something had brushed against her face.
One by one, the others followed. When it was Aaron's turn, he took a deep breath and stepped under the arch.
The world shifted.
It was as if someone had dipped reality in water—sounds warped, the air thickened, and light bent strangely around him. Voices whispered in the distance, some in languages he didn't understand, some in his own.
Why did you leave them?
You could have saved her.
He froze. The voices weren't random—they were from his own memories. His chest tightened, but he forced himself to keep moving, matching Lyra's pace until they emerged on the other side.
The land beyond the gate stretched out like a scar. The sky was dim and colorless, as though the sun had been bled dry. The air here was still, too still, and the ground was a patchwork of stone and strange, brittle grass that crunched underfoot.
In the distance, jagged spires of black rock jutted into the sky, and nestled between them lay the settlement—a cluster of low, stone buildings that seemed to have grown out of the ground rather than been built. Faint lanterns glowed between them, casting narrow halos of light that looked almost fragile in the gloom.
"This is the Sanctuary of the Seven," Lyra said, though there was no pride in her tone. "It's… not what it used to be."
Aaron's gaze swept over the place. It felt old—older than the gate, older than the forest, older than anything he'd seen. He could almost hear the weight of time pressing against the walls.
They descended the sloping path toward the settlement. A few figures moved among the buildings, cloaked and hooded, their faces hidden. They didn't stop to stare, but Aaron could feel their eyes on him all the same.
As they entered the settlement, the whispers returned—fainter this time, but constant. Aaron tried to focus on his surroundings instead: the stone streets, the faint lines carved into the walls, the air that carried no scent of life.
They came to a stop before a wide building with a tall, arched doorway. Lyra turned to him.
"This is where we'll stay," she said. "Rest. Eat. The elders will want to see you in the morning."
Aaron blinked. "Elders?"
"They'll explain things I can't," Lyra replied. "But…" She hesitated, then added, "You might not like what you hear."
Aaron wasn't sure he liked anything he'd heard so far.
They stepped inside, and the change was immediate. The air here was warmer, the light softer. A large hall stretched before them, lined with long tables and lit by flickering oil lamps. The smell of something rich and spiced hung in the air, and for the first time in hours, Aaron's stomach growled.
They were led to a table in the corner. Aaron sat heavily, feeling the weight of the journey pressing into his bones. For a moment, he simply let himself breathe.
Then, somewhere deep in the building, a bell tolled—low and resonant, each note vibrating through the floor. The conversations in the hall died instantly.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "They weren't supposed to call it tonight…" she muttered under her breath.
Aaron frowned. "Call what?"
Before she could answer, the hall doors slammed open.
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