Morning Astrion didn't arrive with warmth.
with sound.
I woke to the hush of moving air, the faint resonance of stone warming beneath distance light, and a low, chiming note that echoed like glass brushed by water. It wasn't loud just present as if the world itself was quietly clearing its throat.
For a moment, I stayed still.
The memory
It arrived of night lingered heavily.
Watchers. Lanternlight. Aries standing guard at the threshold while the dark
pressed close but never crossed. I half -expected to open my eyes and find the shadows still clinging to the walls.
But dawn had loosened their grip.
Cool silver light filtered through the doorway, washing the stone floor in pale hues that reminded me more of moonrise than sunrise. Astrion didn't wake my like my world did. It didn't rush. It observed first.
I sat up sharply.
Aries was still there.
She stood just outside the doorway, her silhouette framed by rising light. Her posture was straight but relaxed, like someone who had stayed alert all night all night without allowing exhaustion to clam her. The sight of her sent a quite wave of relief through my chest before I could stop it.
"You're awake", she said , not turning around.
"How did you"
"I heard your breathing change," she replied simply.
Of course she did.
I swung my legs off the stone bench, muscles protesting faintly. The exhaustion from yesterday hadn't vanished, but it no longer crushed me. It sat deeper now, like something my body had accepted instead of resisted.
"Did anything happen?" I asked.
Aries shook her head. "Nothing crossed the threshold."
Her phrasing mattered.
Not nothing watched.
Nothing crossed.
She turned then, her silver eyes catching the morning glow. There were faint shadows beneath them evidence of the long night she'd kept watch for me.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
She inclined her head, as if acknowledging something obvious rather than a sacrifice.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
I checked in with myself. The strange tightness from last night had eased, replaced by a low, steady hum beneath my skin. "Tired," I admitted. "But… stable."
A faint nod. "That's good. It means Astrion hasn't rejected you."
I frowned. "Rejected?"
"Yes."
She didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. Some answers felt better left unopened for now.
Aries stepped inside and began gathering the few things we'd used: folding the blankets with care, brushing ash from the hearth, dimming the lanterns with a quiet flick of silver light. Everything she did was efficient, practiced. This wasn't her first time leaving a place like this behind.
"Where do we go now?" I asked.
"There's a crossing two valleys east," she replied. "If we reach it before midday, we avoid the exposed paths."
"And if we don't?"
Her hands paused briefly. "Then we adapt."
Not comforting. But honest.
We stepped back into the open as the light strengthened. The clearing revealed details I hadn't seen the night before: dew clinging to the tall grass like scattered stars, pale veins running through the stone beneath our feet, faint symbols half-hidden by moss and time.
The hills rolled outward endlessly, quiet and watchful. Somewhere far off, something massive shifted too distant to see, but impossible not to feel. The land itself seemed to breathe.
Aries led the way without hesitation. I followed close behind.
As we walked, the world felt alert.
Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Just aware.
"Aries," I said after a long stretch of silence, "what happens at the crossing?"
She didn't slow. "We decide what kind of path you'll walk."
"That sounds permanent."
"It can be."
The pressure behind my ribs stirred again, faint but insistent.
"You're being very calm about all this," I said.
She glanced at me sideways. "I've had time to accept that Astrion doesn't ask permission before changing things."
That felt like a warning.
The land dipped sharply as we crested a ridge, opening into a narrow valley carved by ancient water. Stone pillars rose from the ground at uneven angles, their surfaces etched with symbols identical to those in the shelter.
"This place remembers," Aries murmured. "Step carefully."
The moment my foot touched the first stone, the air shifted.
Not violently.
Subtly.
Like the world had turned its attention fully on me.
The markings beneath my boots glimmered, light threading through them in slow, deliberate patterns. A warmth spread through my chest gentle, resonant like something inside me was answering a call I hadn't known existed.
"Kai," Aries said quietly, stopping short. "Don't move."
"I didn't do anything," I said quickly.
"I know," she replied. Her voice wasn't afraid but it was careful. "The crossing is responding to you."
The ground hummed beneath my feet, a low vibration that traveled up my legs and into my spine. Images flickered behind my eyes not memories, not visions, but impressions. Doors unlocking. Threads tightening. A world pausing mid-breath.
I swayed.
Aries was suddenly there, steadying me without pulling me away. Her touch was brief but grounding, like an anchor thrown just in time.
"Focus," she murmured. "Let it pass."
I inhaled slowly.
The hum faded.
The symbols dimmed.
Silence returned.
Aries exhaled, tension bleeding from her shoulders. "That hasn't happened in generations."
I swallowed. "Is that… bad?"
She studied me for a long moment. Then, softly, "It's unprecedented."
We crossed the valley without further incident, but the air felt heavier now—charged, like something irreversible had been set into motion. I could still feel the echo of the crossing beneath my skin, a quiet reminder that Astrion had noticed me.
By midday, the landscape shifted.
The grass thinned, replaced by pale stone veined with glowing channels of water that flowed without sound. Towers rose in the distance not tall, but numerous connected by bridges that curved in ways that hurt to look at if I stared too long.
"A settlement?" I asked.
"A listening city," Arin corrected. "They observe more than they speak."
"That's comforting," I muttered.
"They don't welcome outsiders," she continued. "But they won't stop you."
"Why?"
"Because they already know you're coming."
Figures emerged along the bridges as we approached cloaked, motionless, watching. None moved to block our path. None spoke. The city itself seemed to lean inward, structures subtly angling toward us like it was curious.
Aries slowed.
"This is where my protection ends," she said quietly.
I turned to her. "What does that mean?"
"In places like this, guides become liabilities," she explained. "If I stay too close, they'll see you as mine. And you're not."
Something about that struck deeper than it should have.
"So you just… leave?"
She shook her head. "I step back. I stay close enough to intervene if necessary. But this part" she gestured toward the city "you walk alone."
My pulse quickened. "I don't know how."
"You will," she said firmly. "Astrion is already answering you."
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting heavy in my chest.
"Will I see you again?"
Her expression softened just slightly. "Yes. This isn't where our paths separate. It's where they begin to curve."
That was enough.
I nodded and stepped forward.
The city responded immediately. Light surged through its channels, towers humming softly as if awakening from a long rest. The air thickened, pressing gently against my skin.
Behind me, Aries watched.
Ahead of me, Astrion opened.
As I crossed the threshold, I felt it choice settling into place, heavy and undeniable. Whatever I had been before stepping through the gate, that version of me was already fading.
Somewhere deep within the ancient core of the world, something older than fear, older than gods themselves, took notice.
Not because I demanded it.
But because Astrion had decided to answer