Night did not arrive in Astron all at once.
It crept in slowly like a held breath finally released. The gold of the sky dimmed into deep amber, then softened into shades of indigo and violet. The tall grass around us lost its warm glow and became a sea of shadows, whispering as the wind slipped through it. Somewhere far away, unfamiliar sounds echoed low calls, distant rustles, the kind that reminded me this world was not meant to be gentle after dark.
Aries's hand was still wrapped around mine.
She hadn't let go since the field.
Her grip wasn't tight, but it was steady, like an unspoken promise that she was aware of every step I took, every stumble I nearly made as the narrow path beneath our feet twisted through hills and stone. The ground gradually rose, the soft grass giving way to firmer earth and smooth rock worn down by time.
I didn't speak. Neither did she.
Strangely, the silence didn't feel awkward. It felt… intentional.
The path eventually opened into a clearing carved into the hillside. A small structure stood there half stone, half wood, weathered and quiet, like it had been waiting a very long time for someone to return. Lanterns hung from curved posts around it, unlit, their glass faintly glowing as if responding to the approaching darkness.
Aries slowed to a stop.
"We'll rest here tonight," she said softly. "It's safe."
I glanced around. "Safe… how?"
She smiled, just a little. "Relatively."
That wasn't comforting. But something in her tone suggested honesty, not fear.
She finally released my hand, and even that small separation made my fingers feel cold. I didn't realize how much warmth I'd been drawing from the contact until it was gone.
Aries stepped toward the lantern nearest the entrance and lifted her hand. A pale silver light flared to life beneath her palm, gentle and quiet, like moonlight condensed into form. The lantern followed its lead, glowing brighter until the clearing was washed in soft light.
I stared.
"You don't have to explain," I said quickly, sensing the way she paused.
"Thank you," she replied, genuinely.
We entered the structure together. Inside, it was simple: a stone floor etched with old symbols, a low table, woven blankets stacked neatly against the wall, and a hearth built into the far side. Everything felt… preserved. Not abandoned. As if someone had kept this place alive through memory alone.
I lowered myself onto the edge of the stone bench, exhaustion finally catching up with me. My legs trembled now that movement was no longer carrying me forward.
Aries noticed immediately.
She knelt in front of me, close enough that I could see faint flecks of silver threading through her dark lashes. "You pushed yourself too hard," she said.
"I didn't want to slow you down."
Her brows knit together. "You couldn't."
There was something firm beneath the gentleness of her voice. Like she meant it.
She turned away briefly, retrieving a small flask and offering it to me. The liquid inside shimmered faintly.
"Drink," she said. "Slowly."
I hesitated, then trusted her. The liquid was cool and lightly sweet, sending warmth gently through my chest without burning. My breathing eased. The tightness in my muscles softened.
Better.
Aries watched closely the entire time, as if tracking invisible signs only she could see. When she seemed satisfied, she finally sat beside me not too close, but not far either.
Silence settled again, heavier now.
Night pressed against the walls, and with it came the sense of being watched not directly, but by the world itself. I could feel Astrion listening.
"You feel it too," Aries said quietly.
I nodded. "It's like the dark here isn't empty."
"It never is."
She shifted, folding her legs beneath her. The lantern light cast soft shadows across her face, and for the first time I noticed how tired she looked. Not physically but emotionally, like someone who had been carrying a responsibility far longer than they were meant to.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked.
She didn't answer immediately. Her fingers traced one of the symbols carved into the stone floor.
"Because you came through the gate alone," she said at last. "Because the mark on my temple hasn't reacted like that in years." She inhaled slowly. "And because… when I looked at you, I didn't feel fear."
I turned toward her. "You're not afraid of me?"
Her lips curved faintly. "I should be."
"Why?"
She met my gaze, silver eyes reflecting the lantern light like distant stars. "Because people connected to deities tend to change the world around them. And change is never gentle."
The words sent a shiver through me not fear, exactly, but awareness.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," I said.
"I know," she replied without hesitation.
That simple certainty did something to me. I looked away first, suddenly unsure how to hold her gaze without giving too much away.
The night deepened.
At some point, Aries stirred the hearth to life. Flames flickered softly, painting warmth across the stone walls. She offered me a blanket, carefully draping it over my shoulders without fully touching my skin—like she was giving me the choice to move closer if I wanted.
I didn't.
But I noticed.
"Rest," she said. "Tomorrow will be harder."
"You said Astrion changes at night," I murmured. "What changes?"
Her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"At night," she said, "the old things wander."
"Old things?"
"Memories," she replied. "Regrets. Creatures shaped by leftover magic." Her expression darkened. "And sometimes… watchers."
The fire crackled.
I should have been scared. Maybe I was. But sitting there beside her, wrapped in borrowed warmth, fear felt distant blurred around the edges.
"Aries," I said quietly.
"Yes?"
"If the gate only opens for the chosen… does that mean I can't go back?"
She didn't look at me.
"It means," she said carefully, "that going back won't be simple."
That wasn't no.
But it wasn't yes either.
The silence that followed was different charged. Something unspoken pressed between us, stretching thin.
Finally, she stood. "I'll keep watch."
"You don't need sleep?"
"I do," she admitted. "But not yet."
She moved to the doorway, her silhouette framed by the glowing night beyond. I watched her for a long moment, the unfamiliar pull in my chest tightening again.
"Aries," I called softly.
She turned.
"Thank you," I said. "For staying."
Her expression softened in a way that felt dangerously close to something deeper. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."
She settled just outside the doorway, close enough that the warmth of the fire still reached her, close enough that I knew I wasn't alone.
As I lay back, eyes drifting shut, Astrion's night sounds wrapping around us, I felt something undeniable settle into place.
Whatever destiny had brought me here
It had placed her in my path for a reason.
And somewhere beyond the clearing, beyond the hills and the dark, something ancient shifted aware at last that Kai had arrived.
Not as a visitor.
But as a turning point.
The fire dimmed as the night deepened, its glow pulsing softly across the stone walls. I listened to it crackle steady, rhythmic, almost calm. Outside, the world of Astrion shifted. It was subtle at first: a change in the way the wind moved, like it had grown heavier; the distant hum of something stirring where light couldn't reach.
Aries sat just beyond the doorway, her posture still, her attention fixed on a horizon I couldn't see. The lantern beside her flickered with a silver hue that seemed to pulse faintly in time with her heartbeat or maybe that was just my imagination. Everything in Astrion felt like it had its own rhythm, its own consciousness.
I turned slightly under the blanket, trying to sink into the comfort it offered, but sleep didn't come immediately. My thoughts kept circling back to her words, to the strange weight of what she'd said about deities, about the gate, about the way things in this world paid attention.
"Aries?" I said softly.
She didn't move, but I knew she heard me. "Mm?"
"What did you mean earlier… about the mark on your temple reacting?"
There was a pause brief but meaningful.
"You didn't see it, did you?" she said quietly.
"No."
She inhaled deeply. "It glowed. Only for a moment. But that's not something it's done in years."
"Is that… bad?"
"It's not bad," she answered. "It's just… significant. The mark only responds to ancient energy. And you carry some of that with you."
That didn't make me feel any clearer.
"I'm not from this world," I murmured. "How could I be carrying something ancient from here?"
"Ancient magic doesn't belong to one world," Aries replied. "It travels. It binds. Sometimes, it chooses. Sometimes, it's forced." She let out a slow breath. "The gate doesn't open by accident."
I shifted, pulling the blanket a little tighter around me. A strange pressure light but present settled behind my ribs. I wasn't sure if it was dread, curiosity, or something in between.
"Do you know what it means?" I asked.
"I have guesses," she admitted. "But guesses can be dangerous in Astrion."
More silence. Not uncomfortable just full.
The fire popped loudly, making me flinch. Arin glanced back at me then, her eyes catching the warm light. There was no fear in them. Just alertness… and something like understanding.
"You should try to sleep," she said gently. "Your body isn't used to the magic here. It'll drain you faster than you expect."
I nodded and lowered myself completely onto the bench, using the blanket as a cushion. The stone beneath me was surprisingly warm, almost like it remembered the heat of previous travelers who had rested here.
"Will you wake me if anything happens?" I asked.
"Yes."
She didn't hesitate.
My eyes drifted shut for a moment, but the uneasy awareness of Astrion kept tugging me back. There were sounds now soft, almost melodic, echoing from far beyond the clearing. They weren't animal calls. They weren't wind. They were something else. Something I couldn't name.
"What is that?" I whispered.
Aries turned her head toward the sound. "Echo-walkers," she said. "They roam at night but stay far from light. Don't worry they won't approach the lanterns."
"What are they?"
"Memories that learned how to move on their own," she replied. "Old, but harmless. Mostly."
Mostly.
I swallowed. Astrion had an uncanny way of making every reassurance feel like a warning.
Trying once more to settle into sleep, I listened to Aries hum quietly under her breath just a faint tone, barely audible. It wasn't a song, not exactly. More like a protective rhythm. Something she did unconsciously, maybe.
I didn't know when my eyes closed. But I knew the exact moment they opened again.
It wasn't because of a sound.
It was because of a shift.
A subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in the air, like the world inhaled sharply.
Arin was no longer sitting.
She stood at the threshold, body tense, gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the lanterns.
"Aries?" I whispered, sitting up quickly.
Her hand lifted slightly a signal to stay quiet. I froze.
The lantern light flickered. Not from wind there was no breeze. But something just outside its reach moved. I felt it rather than saw it. A presence, watching from the dark, curious and patient.
"What is it?" I asked, voice barely audible.
"One of the watchers," Aries murmured, never looking back at me. "Stay where you are."
Something about her tone rooted me in place.
"The watchers don't usually come this close," she continued quietly. "The fact that it has means it's sensed you."
"Sensed me how?"
Her jaw tightened. "Magic leaves a trail. And something ancient stirs when old power appears again."
That same pressure in my chest returned, sharper this time.
"What do they want?" I whispered.
"Information," she said. "They don't attack unless provoked. They observe. They remember. And they report."
"To who?"
Aries didn't answer immediately.
Finally:
"To the sanctum. To the higher circles. To any being that listens."
A chill crept down my spine not from fear, but from the realization that my arrival had started ripples I couldn't see.
The presence lingered a moment longer, just beyond the edge of light. Then, slowly, the sensation faded, like a shadow retreating back into deeper shadow. The lantern steadied.
Only then did Arin let out a breath.
"It's gone," she said, but her voice was strained.
I stood, the blanket still wrapped around me. "Are we in danger?"
Her expression softened when she looked at me, but the worry didn't fully leave her eyes.
"Not tonight," she said. "But tomorrow… things may change."
I stepped closer to her before I fully realized I was moving. Not too close just enough that the firelight touched both of us.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "For causing trouble."
"You didn't cause trouble," Aries replied. "Your arrival disrupted old patterns. That's different."
"Still sounds like trouble."
Her lips twitched something between a smile and an exhale. "Kai… Astrion has been stagnant for too long. Maybe disruption is exactly what it needs."
I didn't know what to say to that.
Or how to feel.
Aries sat again, her shoulders lowering slightly as the tension bled out of her. The firelight formed a faint halo around her figure.
"Try to rest," she murmured. "I'll stay awake the rest of the night."
"You sure?"
"Yes." She gave a small nod. "You need your strength."
I hesitated, then lowered myself back onto the bench. The blanket didn't feel as heavy now. Or maybe I was just more aware of the air around us.
My thoughts drifted as I closed my eyes once more:
the watchers, the gate, the magic Arin felt, the weight of being "chosen."
And above all
the strange, steady sense that whatever had awakened tonight was only the beginning.
Sleep finally pulled me under, slow and inevitable.
And Astrion watched.