The figure from the glade had not returned.
Not yet.
But the memory of it clung like cobwebs in the corners of Cira's mind.
Elian hadn't spoken of it since that night.
And Cira didn't push.
Though she caught him sometimes, pressing his hand to his chest absently—like the mark burned when he thought too hard.
He had healed faster than expected. Two days later, he stood, wincing but upright, wrapped in a clean tunic she'd stitched together herself.
"Where are you going?" he asked one morning as she slung her bow over her shoulder.
Cira raised an eyebrow. "Into the forest. Where else?"
He hesitated. "I'll come."
"You're still recovering."
He gave her a long look. "I'd rather walk than lie around listening to you argue with your fox again."
Lumen chuffed. Cira narrowed her eyes. "We don't argue. We discuss."
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The forest wore a different color that day.
Leaves shimmered with an undercurrent of silver, like moonlight had spilled into the bark. Wind whispered in words just shy of understanding, and flowers bloomed in places they'd never seen before.
Elian walked slowly, not from pain—but curiosity.
Every step he took, the forest felt… alive. Like it remembered him. Like it was watching.
Cira pointed out the smallest things: "That mushroom glows at night," she said, kneeling beside a mossy stump. "And that flower—see how it folds when you whistle near it?"
She whistled. The flower shivered closed.
Elian raised a brow. "You talk a lot."
"I do not."
"You've said more in the last hour than I've heard in two days."
She straightened. "Excuse me for trying to fill the silence."
He said nothing. Which only irritated her more.
"You could talk back, you know."
"I don't see the need."
She whirled on him. "Ugh! You're so—so—wooden!"
A pause.
He looked down at a mossy tree beside them and muttered, "That's offensive to trees."
Cira blinked. And for a heartbeat, she almost laughed.
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They crossed an old bridge made of twisting roots, above a slow stream that shimmered with a light beneath its surface. Elian paused and crouched beside it.
"There's stardust in the water," he said softly.
Cira glanced at him.
"How do you know?"
"I don't," he said, confused. "But I do."
She sat beside him. "That's how magic works here. Sometimes it tells you things you forgot you knew."
They were quiet for a moment. The world was still. The water glowed.
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But as they stood to leave, Elian froze.
Far, far in the trees—so faint he almost didn't see it—something shifted.
A flicker of black.
A form that stood too tall.
Gone in the blink of a breath.
Cira noticed him staring and turned. "What is it?"
"…Nothing," he said. "Just a shadow."
But Lumen's fur had risen again, and his eyes glowed gold as he stared into the place where the shadow had been.
It hadn't returned.
Not yet.
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That night, Cira sat by the fire again, sketching something in her book.
Elian sat across from her, arms crossed, watching the flames. The silence stretched, but it wasn't sharp like before.
It was warm.
Comfortable.
Finally, Cira looked up.
"You're not so bad, you know. Once you stop acting like an emotionally constipated statue."
He glanced at her. "You really don't know how to stop talking, do you?"
She smiled sweetly. "Nope."
Lumen sighed loudly from under the table.
And Elian—quiet, tired Elian—let a faint breath of a laugh escape.
Just one.
But it was enough.
Then, almost as if remembering something, Cira tilted her head.
"Wait a second…" she said, narrowing her eyes.
Elian blinked. "What?"
"So, how do you know it?"
"Know what?"
The smile dropped just slightly from her face.
Her voice was soft now—but sharper around the edges. "My name."
Elian's expression didn't change… at first.
But his eyes shifted, almost too quickly.
"I… don't know," he admitted, after a pause.
He looked away, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.
"It just… came out."
Cira studied him, searching for any hint of a lie.
But there was only confusion—and something else. Something buried.
She didn't press him further.
Not yet.
But her thoughts stirred long after the fire went out.
The air shifted that night.
Not in wind, or cold—but in presence.
Cira felt it first. A prickling at the base of her neck, like she was being watched through a pane of glass.
Lumen stirred beside her, ears twitching, restless. He didn't sleep again after that.
Elian sat outside, on the crooked old bench beneath the overgrown archway. The moon cast silver shadows across his face. He hadn't said a word for hours.
When Cira stepped out, the sky was smeared with clouds, and the stars seemed distant—blurred. Duller.
She wrapped a shawl over her shoulders. "Couldn't sleep?"
He didn't turn. "Something's off."
She nodded. "I know."
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Elian spoke. "I've been hearing whispers. But only when I close my eyes."
"Whispers like…?"
"Like voices I almost remember." He clenched a hand against his chest. "And someone is calling my name."
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