The valley swallowed them whole.
Fog rolled in thick, heavy, alive—curling around ankles and clinging to cloaks, seeping into lungs with every breath. It was not cold, not truly, but damp in a way that sank beneath skin and bone, as if it wanted to settle there. Even the insects had fallen silent. No buzz of wings. No chirring life. Only the soft crunch of boots on soil, the creak of leather and saddle, and the sound of breathing that felt far too loud in the hush.
Shawn rode with his sword hand hovering near the hilt, eyes constantly moving.
"Feels like the whole world's holding its breath," he muttered.
No one argued.
The path twisted between warped, pale trees, their roots clawing upward like the bones of giants long buried and half-exposed. Bark peeled in ghostly strips, stripped of color as though the valley itself had leeched the life from them. Lyra rode at the front, posture rigid, gaze sharp, scanning every shadow. Selene rode behind her on the same horse, arms wrapped lightly around Lyra's waist—not clinging, but close. Rory and Elise walked just behind, with Shawn guarding their flank.
It was Rory who stopped first.
His small hand shot out, pointing into the fog.
"There."
The mist ahead stirred.
Two figures took shape where there had been nothing—two women, blurred at the edges but moving with unsettling clarity. One bent to lift a wicker basket from the ground while the other leaned into the brush, plucking something unseen and dropping it inside. Their movements were simple. Domestic. Familiar.
And utterly wrong.
Selene frowned. "There's nothing—"
"You don't see them?" Rory's voice cracked, panic sharp.
Elise sucked in a breath. "I do. Right there." Her eyes fixed on one woman. "She looks… familiar—"
"Hold," Lyra snapped. Her voice cut clean through the fog. "No one moves."
"Rory"
But Rory's chest heaved. For a heartbeat—only a heartbeat—the woman turned.Her mother is calling him.
She had his mother's face.
The same soft smile. The same braid, tied just as it had been the day before the fire.
Rory stumbled forward.
"Rory!" Shawn lunged, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him back.
The women straightened. The basket slipped soundlessly from their hands, vanishing before it touched the ground. Their faces blurred, smudged into emptiness.
Then they were gone—dissolving into mist.
Elise's knees buckled. "I saw them," she whispered. "Both of them. I—"
Rory shook violently. "That was her. Don't tell me it wasn't."
Selene stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I didn't see anyone," she said softly. "The fog—it plays tricks. You're exhausted."
"It wasn't exhaustion," Elise whispered. "I heard the basket."
Rory stayed close to Selene now, his fingers twisted tightly in the hem of her cloak, his breathing shallow and uneven.
"Mama… Mum…" he whispered, barely louder than the mist itself.
He tugged her sleeve, desperation bright in his eyes. "What if it was them? What if they really were there, waiting?"
Selene slowed, her chest tightening. She knelt in front of him, cupping his face gently, brushing away tears he hadn't noticed falling.
Lyra's grip tightened on the reins, her knuckles whitening.
"The valley tests us," she said grimly. "It looks for cracks. Don't give it any."
The fog thickened, pressing closer.
They walked on.
Illusions came and went—cruel and precise. Lyra saw her father once, silent and judging. She said nothing, but Selene felt the tension ripple through her, felt the way Lyra's hand slid back briefly to rest against Selene's thigh, as if to confirm she was real.
At one point, the horse snorted and stopped dead.
Elise glared at it. "If you're about to see ghosts too, I swear—"
The horse stamped, unimpressed.
Shawn let out a humorless breath. "Great. Even the horse doesn't want to be here."
"For once," Rory muttered faintly, "something sensible."
The shared breath of laughter was thin—but real. It cracked the tension just enough to keep them moving.
Selene leaned closer to Lyra, voice low. "When we get out of here… remind me to never complain about muddy roads again."
Lyra smirked. "If we survive this, I'll personally escort you along every boring, ordinary path."
Selene smiled, resting her forehead briefly against Lyra's shoulder.
The path narrowed, trees leaning inward like silent witnesses.
That was when the mist turned its attention.
Lyra felt it before she saw anything—a pressure behind her eyes, a weight settling between her shoulders. Not fear. Expectation.
Then she saw him.
He stood just beyond the tree line, armor immaculate despite the rot, posture perfect. Hands clasped behind his back.
Her father.
General Grey.
He said nothing. He didn't need to. His eyes spoke for him—cool, assessing, disappointed.
You're bleeding.
You're tired.
You're leading them into darkness.
Lyra straightened automatically, spine rigid, chin lifting. "I chose survival," she muttered. "That's not weakness."
The figure stepped closer.
You carry my name.
The weight of it crushed her lungs.
Every battle fought in his shadow. Every command measured against a legend. Every doubt sharpened because failure would never be hers alone.
"I'm not you," she whispered.
The mist shifted.
The figure blurred—and vanished.
Lyra exhaled sharply, heart hammering.
Selene's arms tightened around her. "Lyra," she murmured. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine," Lyra said instantly.
A lie she'd worn for years.
The illusions continued—cruel, fleeting things.
It wasn't long before Elise faltered again.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
No one answered.
A voice drifted through the mist—a child's tone, thin and fragile, calling her name.
"Elise…"
She spun.
A man stood at the edge of the fog, one hand lifted. Blood soaked through his armor.
Leo.
Her fellow knight. Her friend. The one who had fallen screaming beneath an arrow on the battlefield.
"Elise," he pleaded. "I'm here."
She lurched forward, tears spilling. "It's him—he's alive—"
Lyra lunged, seizing her wrist. "No! There's nothing there!"
"I can see him!" Elise sobbed. "Selene can heal him—please, Lyra, let me go!"
The figure smiled.
And the smile broke—stretching too wide, too hollow.
Then it disintegrated.
Elise collapsed against Lyra's chest, shaking.
Behind them, Shawn stiffened. He heard a distant war horn—low, echoing, relentless. Each time, Selene saw nothing. Only mist. Only the valley watching the others unravel.
Until she sang.
The melody slipped from her lips without thought—soft, wordless, trembling at first. A lullaby. Rory froze as recognition lit his eyes. The tune steadied him, then the others. The phantoms wavered, unraveling like smoke in sunlight.
The valley recoiled—not in anger, but in attention.
The mist thinned slightly around Selene.
Watched her.
When the song faded, silence returned—but it no longer pressed so hard.
They moved on.
Night fell quietly.
They made camp in a shallow hollow where the fog thinned just enough to breathe. No fire—too dangerous. The others settled quickly, exhaustion dragging them into uneasy rest.
Lyra stayed awake.
When she was certain no one watched, Selene slipped closer and sat beside her, knees touching.
"You didn't see them," Selene said softly. "The illusions."
Lyra shook her head. "I did."
Selene's breath caught. "You did?"
"My father," Lyra admitted, staring into the mist. "He looked at me like I was still failing."
Selene reached for her hand. Lyra hesitated—then let her.
"I can't let them see me break," Lyra whispered. "Not when they're already afraid."
Selene squeezed her fingers. "You don't have to be unbreakable with me."
Lyra finally looked at her. Really looked. The steel cracked.
"I'm so tired," she confessed.
Selene leaned in, resting her forehead against Lyra's. "Then rest. I'll carry you tonight."
Lyra closed her eyes.
For the first time, the valley found no opening there.
And somewhere, far from the path, two figures lingered in the haze—cloaked in silver-threaded garments, hair catching moonlight in shifting shades.
One tilted her head.
"Did you hear that? Someone was singing our song."
The other frowned, tightening her grip on a woven basket.
"It must be from the village. The others must be looking for us. Come—we should return."
They vanished into the fog,
unaware that the melody had already crossed a boundary it never had before—
carried now by a girl walking toward a fate even the valley was beginning to notice.