The village breathed.
Not loudly. Not all at once. In small, overlapping sounds that filled the spaces between buildings and made the place feel occupied in a way the forest never had.
Alex moved through the square slowly, letting himself be carried by it.
People passed him without stopping. Some nodded in brief acknowledgment. Others barely glanced his way, attention fixed on their own errands. No one stared. No one whispered. Whatever he was—or wasn't—he wasn't unusual enough to interrupt the day.
That unsettled him more than fear would have.
A woman crossed in front of him, carrying a basket hooked over one arm. Dark bread filled it, still steaming faintly, the smell warm and grounding. She wore a simple dress layered with an apron stained by work rather than neglect. Her hair was braided tightly back, threaded with a strip of faded blue cloth.
Her ears showed clearly beneath it.
They tapered to gentle points, no sharper than a leaf's tip. Natural. Unhidden.
Alex slowed.
Another figure emerged from a nearby doorway—an older man with a stoop to his shoulders and a bundle of firewood cradled against his chest. His beard was streaked with gray, his face lined deeply by years of sun and weather.
Pointed ears.
A pair of children darted past, laughter sharp and sudden. One nearly collided with Alex before swerving away at the last second, bare feet slapping against stone. The boy glanced back with a quick, unapologetic grin.
His ears, too, angled subtly upward.
Alex stopped walking.
The realization didn't strike like lightning. It crept in—quiet, insistent—threading together pieces he'd already seen and refused to name.
One of the guards.
He'd worn a helmet.
That was why.
Alex turned slowly, scanning the square with new attention.
Not all of them had pointed ears.
Some villagers looked human at a glance—rounder ears, familiar proportions—but even among them, differences surfaced on closer inspection. Eyes that reflected light too brightly. The teeth were a little too sharp when someone laughed. Skin tones carrying undertones Alex couldn't place, hues shaped by something other than simple ancestry.
Others were unmistakable.
A woman with faint scales dusting the skin along her jaw and temples stood near a well, drawing water with steady hands. The scales caught the light dully, like worn coins. She noticed Alex looking and met his gaze without discomfort.
A man passed with horns curling back from his temples, polished smooth by time and habit. They weren't massive. Not intimidating. Just… part of him. He wore them the way someone else might wear a scar.
Near one of the larger buildings, a figure sat hunched on a low bench, their body broader and denser than the rest. Their skin had a grayish cast, rough-textured like stone left too long in the rain. When they shifted, Alex caught the slow, deliberate movement of someone accustomed to being careful with their strength.
No one flinched around them.
No one gave them space.
They belonged.
Alex's chest tightened.
Dreams didn't do this, he told himself.
They didn't sustain this level of consistency. They didn't populate entire spaces with rules that held even when he wasn't looking directly at them.
He forced his feet to move again.
Up close, the buildings revealed more detail. Carvings ran along doorframes—simple patterns, repeating shapes that might have been protective or purely decorative. Symbols he didn't recognize were etched into lintels and beams, softened by age but carefully maintained, retouched where time had threatened to erase them.
Offerings sat outside some doorways. Bowls of grain. Small bundles of herbs. Smooth stones arranged with quiet intent.
Alex passed another statue.
This one was smaller than most, tucked beside a building near the square. Two figures stood frozen together—one taller, one shorter—hands clasped tightly. Their faces were turned toward each other, expressions caught between relief and despair.
A child.
Alex looked away quickly.
"New face."
The voice came from his left.
Alex turned.
A woman stood there, older than most he'd seen so far. Her hair was silver-white, cut short and practical, framing a face lined deeply enough to suggest both age and laughter. Her posture was relaxed, weight settled evenly, as if she trusted the ground beneath her completely.
Her ears were pointed too—but less sharply than the others, the tips softened, almost rounded with age.
She watched him with open curiosity.
"I—" Alex hesitated. "Is it that obvious?"
She smiled. "You walk like someone listening for the ground to disappear."
That felt uncomfortably accurate.
"I'm Alex," he said after a moment.
She inclined her head slightly. "Lyra."
They stood there for a beat, the space between them filled by the village continuing on without concern.
"You came through the forest," Lyra said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"And crossed the old bridge."
Alex nodded.
Her gaze flicked briefly past him, toward the path he'd taken into the village. Something unreadable crossed her face—respect, perhaps, or calculation.
"Then you were permitted," she said. "That matters."
"Permitted by who?" Alex asked.
Lyra smiled again, but this time it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You'll learn our names when you need them."
That didn't help.
Alex glanced toward the far end of the square, where the massive stone shape lay curled in on itself. From here, it was partially obscured by buildings and passing villagers, its scale broken into fragments that refused to assemble into meaning.
"I was told to speak to the elders," he said.
Lyra followed his gaze, then nodded. "That would be wise. But not urgent. You look like you need to sit before anything else."
"I'm fine," Alex said automatically.
She gave him a look that suggested she had heard that lie many times before.
"Come," she said, turning. "At least drink something warm. Even dreams can be unpleasant when you're thirsty."
Alex frowned. "You said dreams—"
Lyra paused, just long enough for him to notice.
Then she continued walking.
Alex hesitated, then followed.
They passed close to the statue cluster near the edge of the square. As they did, Alex noticed how villagers unconsciously curved their paths around the stone forms, giving them space without avoiding them entirely.
Respect.
Not fear.
As they walked, Alex felt it again—that strange sense of direction, of being gently guided without understanding how. Paths opened. People shifted. He didn't bump into anyone.
"Do people ever… leave?" he asked suddenly.
Lyra glanced back at him. "Of course."
"And come back?"
"Sometimes."
That answer sat heavily between them.
They stopped near a low building with wide windows and a door open to the air. Warmth spilled out—hearth heat, the smell of something simmering.
Alex looked once more across the square.
The stone mass lay quiet.
Curled.
Unmoving.
He still did not see what it was.
And somewhere beneath that ignorance, the dream continued to hold—thin now, strained, but not yet broken.