Elara did not sleep.
She lay on her back, staring at the low wooden ceiling, listening to the sounds of the forest pressing in around the house. At night, everything felt closer. Louder. The wind threaded itself through the trees with a low sigh, and somewhere far off, something howled—not sharp, not violent, but deep enough to vibrate in her chest.
She turned onto her side, pulling the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders.
I've read about this, a small, frightened part of her thought.
Stories like this. Places like this.
But the thought brought no comfort.
From the other room came the soft scrape of a chair. Then Rowan's voice—low, careful.
"Elara?" he called quietly.
She held her breath, unsure whether to answer. After a moment, footsteps crossed the floor, stopping just outside her door. He didn't open it.
"You should try to rest," he said. "The night… unsettles the mind."
She swallowed. "I can hear things."
"So can I."
That didn't help.
After a while, his steps retreated. She thought he'd returned to the hearth—but then she heard something else. A second voice. Rougher. Older. Male.
Her heart skipped.
She sat up slowly, straining to listen.
"You should not have brought her here," the stranger said in a hushed tone. "The forest has been restless for days."
"I found her alone," Rowan replied. "Unarmed. Unknowing."
"That makes it worse," the other man snapped. "Humans do not wander there without cause."
"She is human."
There was a pause.
"So you think," the stranger said. "But the wolves have been moving closer. And the old paths are stirring."
Elara's chest tightened. Wolves.
"You felt it too, then," Rowan said quietly.
"I did," the man answered. "And others will soon enough."
Elara pressed a hand over her mouth, fear blooming hot and sharp in her chest.
"We cannot let her be seen," the stranger continued. "Not yet."
"Seen by whom?" Rowan asked.
There was another pause—longer this time.
"By anything that remembers."
Footsteps approached the door. Elara barely had time to scramble back under the blanket before it creaked open slightly.
Rowan peered in, his face shadowed by firelight. His eyes met hers—and he knew.
"You heard," he said softly.
She nodded, unable to speak.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "I just… woke up."
He closed the door behind him and stepped inside, lowering his voice. "You are safe," he said, though something in his expression suggested he wasn't fully convinced. "But tomorrow, we must be careful."
"Who was that?" she asked.
"An old acquaintance," he replied. "One who knows the land well."
"And the wolves?" Her voice trembled. "Are they… coming here?"
Rowan hesitated, then answered honestly. "They are closer than they should be."
Fear spilled over. "I don't belong here," she said, tears burning her eyes. "Everything you say—it sounds like I walked into a nightmare."
He softened, sitting at the edge of the bed. "You did not choose this," he said. "But until we understand why you are here, we must protect you."
"Why?" she asked. "Why me?"
Rowan didn't answer right away.
"Because," he said finally, "the forest noticed you. And when the forest notices something… others follow."
Outside, a low howl rolled through the night—closer now.
Elara flinched.
Rowan stood, gripping his staff. "Try to sleep," he said. "I will keep watch."
As he left the room, Elara curled inward, heart pounding.
She didn't know who Rowan truly was.
She didn't understand the land she'd fallen into.
She didn't yet know what she carried within her.
But she knew one thing with terrifying clarity:
Whatever had brought her to Thalorien had awakened something old.
And it was no longer content to wait.