The forest was breathing again.Not with the soft rhythm of life, but with something older — a heartbeat buried beneath roots and memories. The air was thick, painted in silver and shadow, as Aerin followed Eira down the narrow path. The lantern she held trembled in her grip, its golden light flickering like a small defiance against the dark.
Every step echoed softly. The moss beneath their feet seemed alive, swallowing their sound, and the trees leaned closer as if listening. Aerin could feel eyes — invisible, patient — tracing her every move. She didn't know whether they were spirits, memories, or the forest itself, but she knew one thing: they knew her name.
Eira moved in silence ahead of her, her cloak gliding like a phantom's whisper. The moonlight wove through her hair, silver and soft, giving her the strange beauty of something not entirely human. Aerin's throat felt tight. "Eira," she whispered, "what is this place?"
"The beginning," Eira murmured without turning. "And the end."
They stepped into a clearing — a circle of pale stones veined with moss and light. At its center stood an enormous tree, its trunk scarred and twisted, roots sprawling like veins of bone. Its bark glowed faintly, a web of white lines that pulsed as if the tree had a heartbeat of its own.
Aerin stared, unable to breathe. "It's… alive."
"All things that remember are," said Eira, setting her lantern on one of the stones. "This is where the first wish was bound."
Aerin frowned. "Bound?"
Eira's gaze softened, though her voice stayed cold. "Not every wish is granted. Some are trapped — here — when the forest cannot bear to let them go."
A shiver rippled through Aerin. "So it keeps them?"
"It keeps everything." Eira touched the bark, and for a moment the glowing lines brightened beneath her fingertips. "Every promise broken. Every secret buried. Every soul that whispered something it shouldn't have."
Aerin felt something stir inside her — a faint ache, familiar and foreign all at once. She stepped closer. The hum in the air deepened, and the world seemed to tilt around her. The ground trembled, and from the shadows beneath the tree, shapes began to form.
Faces.Dozens of them.
They flickered into being like reflections in broken glass — blurred, transparent, yet heartbreakingly human. Aerin stumbled back, the lantern's light shaking violently. The figures reached for her, their fingers long and smoky, their mouths opening in soundless cries.
"What are they?" she whispered.
"Echoes," Eira said quietly. "Fragments of those who wished and were forgotten."
One of the faces drifted closer, eyes hollow yet glimmering faintly, as if remembering light. Aerin's breath hitched. She could hear her name — faint, stretched, warped by the wind.Aerin…
Her heart froze.
"No," she said, stepping back. "No, they can't—"
Eira's expression didn't change. "They remember what you do not."
"What does that mean?"
But before Eira could answer, the hum turned violent. The air split with a low moan, and the shadows rose higher, circling them like a storm of memories. The glowing veins of the tree pulsed faster, as though something deep within it had just woken up.
Aerin fell to her knees, clutching her head. Whispers pressed against her skull — fragments of her own voice, words she didn't remember saying.
Promise me.Don't forget.I'll find you again.
She gasped, opening her eyes, and for a brief, dizzy second, she saw herself — a reflection standing before her, older, sadder, her eyes full of storms. And then, just as quickly, the vision shattered into dust.
Eira knelt beside her, steadying her shoulders. "You shouldn't have come here," she said quietly. "The forest never forgets those who once belonged to it."
Aerin's voice was raw. "Belonged to it? What are you talking about?"
Eira looked away. "The truth will find you soon enough."
The hum faded. The shadows melted into mist once more, and silence fell over the clearing. Only the heartbeat of the tree remained — faint, mournful, eternal.
When Aerin finally stood, her knees trembling, Eira had already turned toward the path leading out of the clearing.
"Come," she said softly. "It listens after midnight."
They walked in silence until they reached a small brook. The water gleamed like melted stars, its surface reflecting their faces in distorted silver. Aerin knelt, splashing her hands into the stream. The coolness steadied her breath. She leaned over to look at her reflection.
And froze.
Her reflection smiled.
Not a trick of the light, not her imagination — it smiled. Slowly, knowingly.
Aerin stumbled back, her lantern almost falling from her hand. "Eira—!" she gasped.
But the path behind her was empty.
The air grew heavy. The brook's sound twisted into a whisper, and when Aerin looked back into the water, her reflection had changed. The other version of her — with hollow eyes and a faint, broken smile — was standing behind her in the reflection. But when Aerin turned, there was no one there.
Her chest tightened. Her breath came fast. "Who's there?"
The forest didn't answer — it only breathed. Then a voice, soft as smoke and cruel as memory, came from behind her.
"You shouldn't have come back, Aerin."
She turned.
There, between two trees, stood a girl who looked exactly like her — the same face, the same hair — but her skin was pale as frost, her eyes the color of ash. She smiled with something almost tender.
Aerin stepped back. "Who… who are you?"
The girl tilted her head. "You already know."
Aerin shook her head, voice trembling. "No. No, I don't."
The other Aerin stepped closer, her movements too smooth to be human. "I'm the wish you left behind."
The words struck like lightning.
The forest seemed to draw a breath, and the ground trembled. The brook darkened, its reflection dissolving into ink. The trees leaned closer, their shadows forming patterns like open hands reaching for her.
"You made me," the girl whispered. "You wished to be remembered, and I became the echo of that wish. But when you left, you took the memory and forgot the cost."
Aerin shook her head violently. "I never— I never made any wish—"
The girl's expression softened almost kindly. "Don't lie to yourself."
And then, before Aerin could speak again, the lantern's flame flickered and went out.
Darkness. Total and consuming.
The last thing she heard was her own voice — not spoken, but remembered — whispering from every direction:
You promised.
And the forest, alive and listening, whispered back:
A promise is still a wish.