The forest felt smaller once he left it behind.
Not because it had changed, but because now he carried something with him.
The black stone weighed little in his hand, yet its presence was constant, as if it vibrated softly against his skin. Caelan had wrapped it in a piece of cloth and tucked it inside his jacket, close to his chest.
The cut on his arm had stopped bleeding. He had cleaned it in the stream before returning. He didn't want unnecessary questions.
By the time the first houses of Gray Hollow appeared beyond the fields, the sky was already turning orange.
Smoke rose straight from the chimneys. The air was still.
Caelan walked along the main path without hurry. No one seemed to have noticed his absence. That was good.
But something was different.
It wasn't the village.
It was the atmosphere.
There was tension.
A low murmur, as if the village were breathing with difficulty.
As he turned the corner by the mill, he saw several people gathered in front of Harven's house.
The miller stood there, pale-faced.
Caelan neither quickened his pace nor stopped.
He simply observed.
In other lives, that day ended in screams. In desperate searching. With torches lit by nightfall.
But now…
There were no screams.
No men arming themselves.
Harven didn't look desperate.
He looked confused.
That made something cold settle in Caelan's stomach.
He stepped close enough to listen.
"We found him on the northern road," a woman was saying. "Walking alone."
"He doesn't remember anything," Harven replied, running a hand over his face. "He says he got lost."
Caelan stopped.
Tomas had returned.
That was not correct.
In every previous life, the boy disappeared for three days. Always three.
Then they found the body.
Always in the forest.
Always drained.
But now he was alive.
That meant only one thing.
Something had changed.
Caelan felt the stone against his chest.
And for a moment… it seemed colder.
He lifted his gaze toward the doorway.
And then he saw him.
Tomas was sitting on the step.
Motionless.
Hands resting on his knees.
Head slightly tilted.
Looking at the ground.
His clothes were dirty. Dry mud stained his trousers.
But he wasn't hurt.
Caelan took another step closer.
Tomas raised his head.
Their eyes met.
And the world stopped for a second.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't relief.
It wasn't confusion.
Tomas was looking at him as if he knew exactly who he was.
As if he knew something he wasn't supposed to know.
Caelan didn't change his expression.
But inside, his mind was already working.
In life eight, something similar happened in another village.
A child returned… different.
Two weeks later, the entire village was found dead.
In life nineteen, a woman came back from the forest with the same empty stare.
Three days later, she began speaking in a language no one understood.
In life forty-one…
No.
This wasn't coincidence.
The stone grew cold again against his chest.
Tomas didn't look away.
Harven noticed the direction of his son's gaze.
"Caelan," the miller said. "Did you see him in the forest?"
"No," he replied calmly. "I went to the stream."
It wasn't a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Harven nodded slowly.
"He says he got lost. That he heard something and followed it."
Caelan kept his eyes on Tomas.
"What did you hear?"
The boy didn't answer immediately.
He blinked.
Then spoke in a low voice.
"Someone calling me."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
"Who?" Harven asked.
Tomas slowly turned his head toward his father.
"I don't know."
But when he looked back at Caelan…
he smiled.
It was a slight smile.
Too slight.
Like a gesture that didn't belong on his face.
The stone burned.
It was an internal pressure, as if something inside it had reacted.
Caelan took a subtle step back.
He couldn't act there.
Not in front of everyone.
If what he suspected was happening…
there wasn't much time left.
"You should rest," a woman said, approaching the boy.
Harven helped Tomas to his feet.
The child obeyed without resistance.
But before entering the house, he turned his face one last time.
And whispered something.
Only Caelan heard it.
"You don't belong here either."
Caelan's pulse didn't change.
Neither did his breathing.
But everything in his mind became clearer.
This wasn't a simple variation.
This timeline was deviating.
And that meant danger.
Far more than he had anticipated.
He turned away before anyone noticed his prolonged silence.
He walked toward his house.
His uncle was sitting outside, repairing a tool.
He looked up as Caelan approached.
"You're late."
"Yes."
The man narrowed his eyes at the tear in his sleeve.
"What happened there?"
Caelan looked at the ripped fabric.
"Got caught on a branch."
His uncle didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press further.
"The miller's boy came back," he said.
"I saw."
The man set the tool aside.
"That forest isn't good. Never was."
Caelan knew that better than anyone.
He entered the house without adding anything more.
The interior was dark.
Familiar.
Quiet.
But that quiet now felt fragile.
He climbed to his small room and closed the door.
He took out the stone.
Held it in front of him.
The carved lines faintly glowed, as if breathing.
"Is it because of him?" he murmured.
He didn't expect an answer.
But something happened.
The lines brightened for a second.
And an image crossed his mind.
Roots.
Darkness.
Something spreading beneath the earth.
Not a necrophage.
Something deeper.
Something that had never been active this early in previous lives.
Caelan tightened his grip on the stone until his knuckles turned white.
If the corruption had begun earlier…
If someone — or something — was moving the pieces ahead of schedule…
Then the King of Desolation wasn't the only problem.
Maybe he never was.
Downstairs, he heard the door open.
Voices.
Footsteps.
And then…
a faint sound.
Like nails scraping against wood.
Caelan lifted his head.
The sound came from outside.
From the wall.
He stood slowly.
Put the stone away.
Moved toward the window.
Opened it slightly.
Night had fully fallen.
The village was dark.
Silent.
But across the road…
In front of the miller's house…
A small figure stood.
Tomas.
Barefoot.
Motionless.
Looking directly at his window.
The distance was considerable.
But Caelan could see him clearly.
And he knew the boy could see him too.
There was no expression on his face.
Only absolute stillness.
As if he were waiting.
Caelan didn't look away.
Didn't close the window.
Didn't show fear.
After a few seconds…
Tomas slowly turned.
And walked into the darkness.
Without making a sound.
Without looking back.
Caelan closed the window carefully.
There was no doubt now.
This life no longer followed the same pattern.
And if the pattern was broken…
The hundred previous lives might be useless.
For the first time since waking in this new cycle…
He felt something close to uncertainty.
And that forced a faint smile onto his lips.
"Finally…"
he whispered to himself.
"Something different."
The stone pulsed faintly beneath the cloth.
And somewhere beneath Gray Hollow…
Something began to move.
End of Chapter 4