The Fog Before
The dawn was cold, fog curling low around their boots as they left the stream behind, moving into thicker forest where the air smelled of damp leaves and old secrets. Every step Aeris took felt heavier now, the ember within him pulsing like a second heartbeat, warm and cold in turns as if deciding whether to comfort or warn.
Liora walked close, her small hand clutching her bell so it wouldn't ring, storm-grey eyes flicking to the shadows between trees. She hummed softly under her breath, a half-forgotten lullaby that made the fog seem thinner for a moment before swallowing her voice.
Evin led them, his sword across his back, green eyes sharp, scanning the forest with each step. His presence was like a steady flame in the gloom—quiet but unyielding.
Mira followed beside Aeris, her hands brushing her pouches, counting herbs by touch, lips moving in whispered prayers as she watched Aeris from the corner of her eye. She had noticed how his steps faltered, how the ember's glow beneath his collarbones pulsed in odd rhythms.
They did not speak much that morning.
There was a hush in the world, like the forest itself was waiting.
The Village at the Edge
Near midday, the forest opened abruptly, revealing a small, forgotten village swallowed by moss and vines. Stone cottages sagged inward, roofs caved beneath years of rain and rot. The well at the village's center was choked with weeds, its rope snapped, the bucket lying in mud.
"Stay close," Evin ordered, scanning the crumbling homes. "We check for supplies and move on."
They stepped carefully between cracked cobbles and half-buried tools, their breath misting in the cold air. Liora trailed her fingers along a mossy wall, pausing to pick up a rusted tin cup, turning it over in her hands before setting it down.
Aeris knelt near a collapsed doorway, touching the blackened ground. Ash mixed with soil here, faintly warm beneath his fingertips.
"Blight was here," he murmured, eyes distant.
Mira knelt beside him, pressing a hand over his. "And it left."
Aeris's gaze flickered toward her, then back to the ash, the ember within him pulsing once, softly.
The Church Bell
At the village's edge stood a small chapel, its wooden door hanging from one hinge, the symbol of a tree with outstretched branches carved into the frame, half-swallowed by vines.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting wood. Broken pews lay scattered, the altar cracked down the middle, old candle stubs melted onto the stone floor.
Above, a bell hung in the steeple, swaying gently though there was no wind. Each creak of the rope was like a breath in the hush.
Liora stepped toward the altar, pausing, her eyes wide. "They prayed here," she whispered, reaching out.
"Don't—" Aeris began.
But her fingers brushed the cracked wood, and the air shivered.
The bell in the steeple tolled once, the sound echoing across the empty village.
Then everything was silent again.
Liora lowered her hand, her small body trembling. "They're still here."
Ghostlight
The shadows at the edges of the church shifted, pooling and twisting into shapes that almost looked like people—shades of villagers long dead, their outlines shimmering with the faint, sickly glow of the Blight.
Their faces were blurred, features smudged as though half-forgotten in dreams, hands reaching out, mouths moving in silent pleas.
Mira stepped back, her hands lifting, light gathering at her fingertips, soft and gold, pushing back the darkness in small circles.
Evin stepped forward, sword drawn, though he did not strike. "They're not attacking," he said softly.
"They're trapped," Liora whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. "They can't leave."
Aeris felt the ember inside him pulse again, and he stepped toward the shades, lifting a hand, letting a small flame appear in his palm.
The shades flinched back, but did not vanish.
"Let me help you," Aeris whispered.
The Passing
He let the flame grow, warm and soft, light without heat, casting shadows across the ruined church. The shades lifted their heads, the glow within them flickering.
Liora began to hum, her voice thin but steady, the same lullaby she had sung in the forest, but this time it was stronger, a song of memory, of gentle rain, of hearth smoke on cold nights.
The shades moved closer, hands reaching toward the light in Aeris's palm, toward Liora's song, their forms becoming clearer—an old woman with a basket, a child clutching a doll, a man with a carpenter's hammer still tied to his belt.
Mira's light joined Aeris's flame, golden motes rising into the air like fireflies.
One by one, the shades touched the light, and their forms dissolved into drifting sparks, floating upward toward the bell above, which tolled once more, softer this time, like a sigh.
When the last spark vanished, the church was silent, the air lighter, the shadows no longer heavy.
Liora wiped her tears, the bell at her waist chiming softly.
"They're free now," she said.
The Memory Room
They made camp in what was left of the chapel that night, the broken pews pulled into a circle, a small fire crackling at the center.
Evin sat apart, cleaning his blade, eyes distant as he watched the flames.
Mira sat across from him, grinding herbs into poultices, the scent of rosemary and lavender mixing with the smoke.
Aeris pulled out his journal, writing quietly, the ember's glow beneath his robes faint but steady. He paused, looking at Liora, who was curled beside the fire, her bell resting on her chest.
"Do you want to add something?" Aeris asked softly, holding out the journal.
Liora blinked, then nodded, taking the journal with small, careful hands. She opened it to a fresh page and began to write.
"For the ones who stayed behind.
For the ones who could not leave.
May your dreams be filled with gentle rain."
She handed it back, eyes bright.
Aeris read it, then smiled, pressing the page flat before closing the journal and holding it to his chest.
Evin's Memory
Much later, when Mira was tending to her herbs in the dark and the fire was low, Evin stood and approached her.
"Mira."
She looked up, brushing her hair back, leaving a streak of green from crushed leaves across her wrist. "What is it?"
"Do you have a moment?" Evin asked.
She nodded, setting her vials aside, moving to sit beside him near the broken altar where they could see the stars through the shattered roof.
"I grew up in a place like this," Evin began, his voice low, eyes on the stars. "A small village. I remember the way the bell sounded when I was a boy, how it echoed over the fields during the harvest."
Mira watched him quietly, her hands folded in her lap.
"I left when I was sixteen. I thought I needed to fight, to protect, to keep the darkness away." His jaw tightened. "When I came back, the village was gone. Burned. The bell was on the ground, cracked in half."
Mira reached over, taking his hand gently.
"I keep hearing that bell, even now," Evin whispered.
She squeezed his hand, letting the silence stretch between them.
"You fight so others can still hear it," Mira said softly. "And one day, you'll hear it again."
Evin looked at her, his eyes softening, the hard lines of his face easing. He nodded once, a promise made quietly to himself.
Embers in the Dark
That night, Aeris woke to the ember within him pulsing sharply, the heat and cold mingling into something that stole his breath.
He stepped outside the chapel, into the fog, letting the cool air touch his skin. The ember glowed faintly beneath his robes, matching the stars above.
"Still here," he whispered to himself, pressing a hand over his heart.
The fog shifted, and for a moment, he thought he saw the shades from earlier, standing at the edge of the clearing, watching silently.
But then they were gone, and only the night remained.
Dawn
When dawn came, it was soft and pink, the first warmth touching the cold stone of the chapel, the moss catching the light in tiny droplets.
Evin stood at the doorway, sword on his shoulder, looking out at the forest.
Mira packed their supplies, checking each vial and pouch, her motions practiced and calm.
Liora helped Aeris roll up his blanket, the bell chiming softly as she moved.
They stepped out of the chapel together, leaving the village behind, the bell above the chapel tolling one last time as if in farewell.
As they walked into the trees, Aeris glanced back once, the ember within him warm, steady, like a heartbeat against the dawn.
"We keep moving," Evin said quietly.
Aeris nodded, gripping his satchel, the journal inside pressing against his ribs.
"Yes," he whispered. "We keep moving."