Dawn broke pale and cold over the clearing, the first light filtering through the trees in thin, silvery strands. The camp stirred slowly. Riders tightened straps and checked their mounts, breath misting in the chill air. The fire had burned low, leaving only glowing embers that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the ash.
Siegfried rose from where he had slept lightly against his pack, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. The forest felt different this morning — not hostile, but watchful, as though the trees themselves leaned closer to listen.
Vinrah was already awake, standing near the carriage with her arms folded, her blond hair catching the dawn like pale gold. She spoke quietly with one of the riders, her expression sharp and unreadable. When she noticed Siegfried approaching, she dismissed the rider with a flick of her hand.
"You slept," she said, though her tone made it unclear whether it was praise or accusation.
"Enough," Siegfried replied.
"Good. We have ground to cover before nightfall. And the road ahead…" Her gaze drifted eastward, toward the dense stretch of forest that swallowed the path. "It is not forgiving."
Siegfried followed her eyes. The trees grew thicker there, their branches twisted together like interlocking fingers. A faint mist clung to the undergrowth, shifting with the breeze.
"What's ahead?" he asked.
Vinrah hesitated — a rare crack in her composure. "Old places. Old magic. The kind that does not care for travelers."
Before Siegfried could respond, the carriage door creaked softly. The silk veil shifted inside, and for the briefest moment he saw those red lips again — still, silent, unreadable. Then the veil fell back into place, and the noble retreated into shadow.
Vinrah stepped between Siegfried and the carriage, her expression tightening. "We leave now."
The retinue mounted up. The wheels groaned as the carriage began to move, rolling toward the mist‑shrouded path. Siegfried walked beside it, the forest closing around them like a great, ancient mouth.
The deeper they went, the quieter the world became. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Only the steady creak of wheels and the soft thud of hooves on damp earth.
Siegfried's hand drifted toward his sword. "This place feels wrong."
Vinrah's voice was low. "It feels alive."
A chill crawled down Siegfried's spine.
And somewhere in the trees, something moved.
Something shifted in the trees not the clumsy snap of a branch or the scurry of an animal, but a deliberate movement, soft and controlled. Siegfried slowed his pace, eyes narrowing as he scanned the dense undergrowth. The mist clung low to the ground, curling around roots and stones like pale fingers.
Vinrah noticed it too. Her hand drifted toward the hilt of her blade, her posture sharpening. "Stay close to the carriage," she murmured.
The riders tightened formation without a word. Hooves pressed into the damp earth, muffled by moss and fallen leaves. The forest seemed to lean inward, branches arching overhead until the sky vanished behind a lattice of dark limbs.
A faint sound drifted through the trees a whisper, too soft to be wind. Siegfried couldn't make out the words, but the tone chilled him. It wasn't human. It wasn't anything he recognized.
Vinrah's ears twitched, her expression tightening. "Do not answer," she said quietly. "No matter what you hear."
The whispering grew clearer, threading through the air like a voice carried on breath. It shifted pitch, rising and falling, as though trying to mimic speech. Siegfried felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.
The carriage creaked as it rolled forward, the noble inside remaining silent. The silk veil didn't move, but Siegfried sensed attention from within a stillness too focused to be fear.
The whispering stopped.
The forest held its breath.
Then a shape moved between the trees tall, thin, and pale, gliding rather than stepping. Its limbs were too long, its posture too still, its presence wrong in a way Siegfried felt in his bones. It watched the retinue with a head tilted slightly to one side, as though studying them.
Vinrah's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do not draw steel unless it moves."
Siegfried's hand hovered near his sword, every instinct screaming to act. But he held still, muscles coiled.
The creature leaned forward, its face half‑hidden by shadow. No eyes were visible, yet Siegfried felt its attention settle on him cold, probing, curious.
Another shape appeared behind it. Then another.
Three figures now, silent and unmoving, blocking the path ahead.
Vinrah exhaled slowly. "Forest wraiths," she murmured. "Old spirits. They do not attack without cause… but they do not let travelers pass freely."
Siegfried kept his voice low. "What do they want?"
Vinrah's gaze flicked toward the carriage. "They sense power. They always do."
The nearest wraith stepped forward, its movement smooth and unnatural. The mist curled around its legs as though drawn to it. It raised one long, pale hand and pointed directly at the carriage.
The silk veil shifted inside a subtle motion, but enough to show the noble had seen.
Vinrah's jaw tightened. "We keep moving," she said. "Slowly. Do not break formation."
The riders urged their horses forward, hooves barely making a sound. The wraiths did not move aside, but they did not strike. They watched, heads tilting in eerie unison as the carriage crept past.
Siegfried walked beside it, every muscle taut, eyes locked on the nearest spirit. It leaned closer as he passed, its faceless head inches from his own. A cold breath swept across his cheek, carrying a whisper he could almost understand.
Almost.
Then the wraiths drifted back into the trees, swallowed by mist and shadow as silently as they had appeared.
Only when the forest opened slightly and the path widened did Vinrah release the breath she'd been holding.
"They should not be this close to the road," she said. "Something has stirred them."
Siegfried glanced at the carriage, at the still veil hiding the noble within. "Something… or someone."
Vinrah didn't answer.
The road ahead remained silent, but the forest no longer felt merely watchful. It felt aware.
The forest thinned just enough for light to filter through, pale and uneven. The retinue slowed, letting the horses breathe. No one spoke. Even the birds kept their silence.
Vinrah guided her mount closer to Siegfried, her expression composed but tight around the eyes. "You handled yourself well," she said quietly. "Most men freeze when wraiths draw near."
Siegfried kept his gaze on the path ahead. "Freezing gets you killed."
"It does," she agreed. "But courage alone doesn't carry you through places like this."
He glanced at her. "Then what does?"
Vinrah's fingers tightened around her reins. "Understanding. Respect. And knowing when you are being watched by something older than your bloodline."
Siegfried let that settle. "You've seen them before."
"Once," she said. "Long ago. They were farther north then, deeper in the old woods. They do not wander without reason."
Siegfried's jaw tightened. "You think they were drawn to the carriage."
"I know they were." Her voice held no doubt. "Wraiths sense power the way wolves scent blood. They felt something within these woods shift — something that woke them."
Siegfried's eyes drifted to the carriage, its windows dark, the silk veil unmoving. "The noble."
Vinrah didn't confirm, but she didn't deny it either. "Your charge is not ordinary. That is all you need to understand."
He walked in silence for a few steps, boots sinking softly into the damp earth. "If the wraiths wanted them, why didn't they strike?"
Vinrah exhaled slowly. "Because they were deciding. Wraiths do not act on impulse. They observe. They weigh. And sometimes…" Her voice lowered. "Sometimes they wait for the right moment."
Siegfried's hand drifted toward his sword. "Then we stay ready."
Vinrah gave a single nod. "Good. But steel won't save you if they choose to return. If they come again, you listen to me. You do exactly as I say."
Siegfried met her gaze. "I will."
For the first time since dawn, something softened in her expression — not warmth, but recognition. "Then we may yet reach Gishtar."
The forest opened a little more, the mist thinning as the path curved eastward. But the air still carried a weight, as though the wraiths lingered just beyond sight, watching the retinue fade into the trees.
The carriage rocked gently as it moved deeper into the forest, the wheels murmuring over roots and damp earth. Inside, the air was still, scented faintly with lavender and old parchment. The silk veil hung motionless, catching only the slightest tremor of light as the trees shifted outside.
The noble sat in silence, hands folded neatly in their lap. Pale fingers rested atop embroidered fabric, unmoving except for the faintest tap of a thumb — a rhythm too controlled to be nervous, too deliberate to be idle. They had not spoken since the journey began, but their presence filled the small space like a held breath.
A soft creak sounded as the carriage tilted over uneven ground. The noble lifted their head slightly, listening. Outside, Siegfried's footsteps kept steady pace beside the wheel, his armor whispering with each stride. Vinrah's voice carried low and firm, issuing quiet commands to the riders.
The noble's lips — the same red Siegfried had glimpsed earlier — pressed together in thought. They shifted closer to the window, though not enough to reveal their face. The veil brushed their cheek as they leaned toward the faint outline of Siegfried's silhouette moving beside the carriage.
For a moment, they simply watched him.
Not with fear.
Not with disdain.
With recognition.
Their fingers tightened around a small object hidden in their palm — a pendant, its chain coiled around their wrist. The metal was warm from their touch, etched with runes that pulsed faintly beneath the silk of their sleeve. The glow dimmed as they closed their hand around it, as though smothering a heartbeat.
A whisper drifted through the trees outside, thin and distant. The noble's posture stiffened. They turned their head slightly, listening with an intensity that bordered on reverence — or dread.
The wraiths had not spoken to the riders.
But the noble had heard something.
Something meant for them.
The carriage jolted again, and the noble drew back into shadow, veil settling once more. Their breath steadied, their hand loosened around the pendant, and the glow faded entirely.
Outside, Siegfried's voice murmured something to Vinrah — too soft to catch, but enough to pull the noble's attention back to the present.
They exhaled slowly.
The road ahead was growing darker.
The trees grew older, their roots twisting across the ground like exposed veins. The air cooled sharply, carrying a faint metallic tang that made Siegfried's pulse quicken.
Vinrah raised a hand, and the riders halted. She stared at a shallow dip in the road where the mist had gathered unnaturally thick, drawn inward as though pulled by an unseen force.
"Stay still," she said.
The mist tightened, spiraling in a slow, deliberate coil. It pulsed once, then split apart as a thin crack of pale light opened in the air itself — a jagged tear that flickered like lightning trapped in place. The forest groaned, branches bending away from it.
Siegfried's hand went to his sword. "What is that?"
"A tear," Vinrah answered, her voice low.
The crack widened, casting warped shadows across the trees. Horses reared and snorted, fighting their reins. The riders struggled to steady them as a deep hum rolled through the clearing, vibrating in Siegfried's bones.
The carriage shuddered.
Siegfried turned sharply. The silk veil inside trembled, not from movement, but from pressure — as if something beyond the tear was reaching for it.
Vinrah snapped an order. "Circle the carriage!"
The riders moved, though their mounts resisted. Siegfried stepped between the tear and the carriage, blade drawn, the air around him cold enough to sting.
The tear pulsed again.
A silhouette pressed against the light — tall, thin, limbs bending at impossible angles. It pushed harder, the crack widening with a sharp, splintering sound.
Vinrah's voice cut through the hum. "Hold your ground."
Siegfried planted his feet, breath steady.
The shape forced its way through.
And something stepped into the world.