"Lumen?" Cira called out, panicked. "Lumen!"
She rushed toward the trees, heart in her throat.
Elian caught her wrist. "Wait. Look."
He pointed downward.
Tiny paw prints, glowing faintly in the earth.
"I think he wants us to follow," Elian said quietly.
Cira looked up at him—eyes wide, but trusting.
"Then let's go."
As they stepped deeper into the forest, the trees closed in, the air thick with memory.
And behind them, in the clearing where the wind had died and the names had faded—
the figure stood again.
Not closer.
Not chasing.
Just watching.
As if it was waiting…
for something to begin.
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They followed Lumen's glowing paw prints for what felt like hours. The fog never thinned, yet somehow they never strayed—guided only by the soft shimmer pressed into the damp forest floor.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable anymore.
It was heavy, yes.
But not cold.
Like a weight they carried together.
Elian walked slightly ahead, eyes sharp, scanning the trees with a soldier's discipline. His steps were quiet, precise, and yet—Cira could tell—he was tense.
He hadn't said a word since the clearing.
And the deeper they went, the more distant he seemed… like he was slipping into something familiar and unwanted.
Cira hugged her arms around herself.
She wanted to talk. To break the silence with something—anything.
But the forest felt different now.
It was like walking through someone's memory.
The trees no longer looked like trees.
Their bark twisted into patterns like veins, and their branches bent in strange, deliberate shapes. Some curved like hands reaching skyward. Others drooped as if mourning.
Then they passed a tree with a deep hollow, its inside carved smooth like a basin.
Cira paused. "Wait…"
Elian stopped beside her.
Inside the hollow, water shimmered unnaturally still. Its surface reflected the sky—but not the sky above them.
Instead, they saw a room.
A boy stood alone inside it. His back to the mirror-pool. A woman watched him from the doorway, hands clenched at her sides.
The boy's voice, distant and warped through water, whispered:
"You said you'd protect me."
And the woman answered,
"I'm trying."
Then the vision snapped—rippling into nothing.
Elian staggered back as if struck. His breathing quickened. He turned sharply, fists clenching.
Cira stepped in front of him.
"Elian—what was that?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because he recognized the boy in the vision.
And the woman.
And it made his heart ache in a way he didn't understand.
They kept walking, slower now. Neither of them spoke. Even Lumen's paws made no sound.
As they passed another tree, Cira reached out and gently brushed the bark.
It was warm.
Not like sunlight-warm… but like skin.
She pulled her hand back quickly.
"Elian," she said quietly, "I don't think this place is just watching us anymore…"
"It's remembering us."
He looked at her—truly looked—and nodded once.
"Maybe showing us what it wants us to see."
They stopped at another clearing. This one, smaller. Overgrown with starpetals and thorned vines.
Cira crouched and touched one of the flowers—it pulsed softly beneath her fingers, like a heartbeat.
Suddenly, Elian tensed.
"What is it?" she asked.
He didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the clearing.
Cira turned—and froze.
The figure was there.
Not moving.
Not stepping forward.
But closer than before.
Its shape blurred by fog. Its face still hidden.
Yet now…
Now it felt aware.
Watching not like a creature…
But like something ancient.
Remembering.
And waiting.
Elian stepped in front of her instinctively, his hand half-lifting toward her as if to shield her without even realizing it.
Cira's breath caught.
And the moment she blinked—
—it was gone again.
The silence that followed was deafening.
But somewhere deep in the woods… a melody began. Soft, like a music box played underwater.
A lullaby neither of them remembered learning.
But both of them recognized.
And neither of them spoke of it.
Not yet.
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