By midday, the forest thinned just enough for the riders to see it: a towering monolith of pale stone rising from the earth like the spine of some ancient beast. Moss clung to its surface in long green ribbons, and faint carvings spiraled upward in patterns worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain.
Vinrah slowed her horse, lifting a hand. "The Stone of Veylan," she said quietly. "We've reached the old border."
Siegfried rode forward, studying the monolith with narrowed eyes. The air around it felt different heavier, as though the stone itself held its breath. "I've heard stories," he murmured. "None of them good."
The riders formed a loose circle around the landmark, their unease growing with every passing moment. Birds did not perch on the stone. No vines dared climb it. Even the wind seemed to bend around it, refusing to touch its surface.
Ellina stepped from the carriage, her veil drawn, her presence steady. She approached the stone with slow, deliberate steps, her fingers hovering just above the ancient carvings.
"This place remembers," she said softly. "Old magic lingers here. Older than kingdoms. Older than the roads we travel."
Vinrah shifted uneasily. "Is it dangerous?"
"All things with memory can be," Ellina replied.
The riders exchanged glances, unsure whether to take comfort or fear from her words.
Deep within the treeline, far beyond the reach of mortal sight, a ripple of shadow stirred. The figure watched them from a distance, silent and patient.
He did not step forward.
He did not speak.
He did not reveal himself.
But the Stone of Veylan caught his attention and held it.
A faint smile touched the hidden corners of his mouth.
"So, they've reached the threshold," he whispered to no one. "Good. Let them walk deeper. Let them see what waits."
The shadow swallowed him whole, leaving no trace.
Siegfried mounted again, his voice steady. "We move. Whatever this place is, it's not meant for lingering."
Vinrah barked the order, and the riders pressed onward, leaving the ancient monolith behind. The forest closed around them once more, but the air felt different now charged, expectant, as though the Stone had marked their passing.
Ellina lingered a moment longer, her hand hovering near the carvings. Then she turned, her voice low. "The path to Gishtar grows darker from here."
And with that, the company rode on, unaware of the eyes that followed them, or the shadows gathering just beyond the light of day.
The road narrowed as they rode, swallowed by roots and creeping undergrowth. The trees grew taller here, their trunks thick and ancient, their bark etched with scars that looked disturbingly like claw marks. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy only in thin, reluctant beams, as though the forest begrudged them even that small mercy.
The air grew cooler.
Heavier.
As if the Stone of Veylan had not merely marked a border, but a threshold.
Siegfried felt it first a subtle pressure behind the ribs, a weight that settled on the lungs. Not enough to hinder breathing, but enough to remind him that the forest was watching.
Vinrah rode ahead, her posture rigid, her eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. "The woods weren't like this yesterday," she muttered. "Feels like we crossed into something's territory."
No one disagreed.
The riders tightened formation, shields shifting, hands drifting closer to hilts. Even the horses sensed the change, their ears flicking, their steps cautious, as though the ground itself might rise against them.
Ellina remained silent within the carriage, but Siegfried could feel her attention sharpen a quiet, focused presence, like a candle flame resisting a storm.
As they pressed deeper, strange markings began to appear on the trunks. Not carvings. Not natural growth.
Symbols.
Twisted, looping, almost organic as though the bark had grown around something that once burned itself into the wood.
One rider slowed, staring too long. "Captain… these weren't made by any blade I know."
Vinrah didn't look back. "Eyes forward. Whatever made them isn't here now."
But Siegfried wasn't so sure. The forest felt too still, too deliberate. Every rustle of leaves seemed to pause as they passed, every shadow lingered a heartbeat too long.
By late afternoon, the path had constricted to little more than a deer trail, winding between gnarled roots and moss‑slick stones. The air smelled of damp earth and something faintly metallic a scent Siegfried recognized from battlefields long abandoned.
Vinrah raised a hand. "We'll need to find a place to rest soon. The horses won't last much longer on this terrain."
Siegfried nodded, though unease gnawed at him. "Choose carefully. This place doesn't welcome guests."
Ellina's voice drifted from the carriage, soft but clear. "It never has."
The riders exchanged glances, unsettled by the certainty in her tone.
And as the company pressed deeper into the ancient wood, the shadows thickened, gathering like a silent host waiting just beyond sight.
The deeper they rode, the more the forest seemed to close in around them. Branches arched overhead like the ribs of some colossal beast, blotting out the sky. The air grew thick with the scent of moss and old bark, heavy enough that each breath felt like drawing in fog.
Vinrah slowed her horse, scanning the shadows. "We need a place to rest. The animals won't last much longer."
But the forest offered nothing.
Every clearing they passed was wrong choked with thorned undergrowth or littered with fallen branches that looked too deliberately placed, as if something had dragged them there. The ground sloped unevenly, roots twisting like serpents beneath the soil.
Siegfried frowned. "This place doesn't want us stopping."
He wasn't wrong. Even the birds had gone silent. The only sound was the creak of saddles and the soft, uneasy snorts of the horses.
Ellina's voice drifted from the carriage, soft but steady. "The forest remembers the Stone. It knows we crossed its threshold."
Vinrah muttered under her breath. "Then it can remember we're tired."
At last, after another grueling stretch of narrow trail, the trees parted just enough to reveal a small hollow. Not welcoming nothing here was but open, with a patch of level ground and a fallen log that could serve as a windbreak.
At the far end of the clearing lay a small pond, its surface dark and still as polished obsidian. A thin waterfall trickled down a moss‑slick rock face behind it, the water falling in a narrow, silvery ribbon. The sound should have been soothing, but instead it echoed strangely too soft, too distant, as though the forest swallowed half the noise before it reached them.
Mist clung to the pond's surface, drifting in slow coils that never quite dispersed. The water itself reflected nothing clearly; the riders' shapes warped and stretched across it, as if the pond preferred its own version of them.
Vinrah raised a hand. "Here. It's the best we'll find before nightfall."
The riders dismounted, though none relaxed. The clearing felt… watched. The air was colder here, the shadows deeper, as though the forest had drawn closer to listen.
Siegfried walked the perimeter, boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. He knelt near the pond, brushing aside a layer of dead leaves near the shore. The soil beneath was dark too dark and smelled faintly metallic. The waterfall's trickle seemed to pulse, as if responding to his presence.
He stood slowly. "We make camp. But keep your weapons close."
The riders nodded, their movements quiet and tense. They began to unpack bedrolls, gather wood, and tether the horses, though the animals resisted, ears pinned back, eyes rolling white. Even the waterfall's gentle sound failed to calm them; if anything, it made them more restless.
Ellina stepped from the carriage, her veil stirring in the cold air. She looked toward the pond, her gaze lingering on the mist that curled above it.
"This place is not safe," she said softly. "But it is safer than the road."
No one argued.
Night settled over the clearing like a slow‑falling shroud. The last traces of daylight bled away behind the treetops, leaving only the faint glow of the campfire and the soft, unnatural shimmer of the pond.
The waterfall trickled steadily, but the sound was wrong... too rhythmic, too measured, as if the water were mimicking the cadence of breathing. Mist drifted across the pond's surface in thin, curling tendrils, never dispersing, never shifting with the breeze.
The riders felt it first.
Not danger.
Not a presence.
Just… attention.
As though the water itself had opened an eye.
Vinrah paced the perimeter, her boots crunching softly over damp leaves. She paused often, glancing toward the pond with a frown she didn't voice.
Siegfried sat near the fire, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. Sparks danced off the steel, but even they seemed muted, swallowed by the clearing's oppressive stillness.
The horses refused to drink from the pond. They pulled at their tethers, snorting, ears pinned flat. One stamped so hard it nearly broke its tethering post.
A rider muttered, "They sense something."
Siegfried didn't look up. "Animals always do."
Ellina stood at the edge of the pond, her veil stirring in the cold night air. She did not touch the water she didn't need to. The mist curled toward her, as if drawn to her presence, then recoiled sharply, as though burned.
She watched the waterfall for a long time, her voice barely above a whisper.
"This place remembers old wounds."
Vinrah approached, uneasy. "What kind of wounds?"
Ellina didn't answer.
She simply turned away, her silence more unsettling than any explanation.
As the night deepened, the forest grew unnervingly quiet. No insects hummed. No owls called. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then came the first disturbance.
A ripple across the pond's surface... small, but deliberate.
Not from wind.
Not from falling leaves.
Something beneath.
A rider stiffened. "Did you see..."
Siegfried cut him off. "Eyes on your watch. Ignore the water."
But he had seen it too.
And he did not believe it was harmless.
Later, as the fire burned low, the waterfall's trickle shifted pitch... a faint, hollow note threading through the sound, like a whisper carried through stone.
Ellina's head turned sharply toward it.
Her voice was low, almost reverent.
"It stirs."
No one asked what it was.
No one wanted to know.
The ripple across the pond returned.
Then another.
Then a third... slow, deliberate, too rhythmic to be wind or drifting leaves.
Siegfried rose from the fire, hand drifting toward his sword. "Stay alert."
But the riders were already tense, eyes fixed on the pond's surface. The mist above it thickened, curling inward as though drawn to a single point. The waterfall's trickle shifted pitch again, hollow and resonant, like a voice humming beneath the water.
Ellina stepped closer, her veil stirring. "Something wakes."
The pond went still.
Utterly still.
A perfect mirror of black glass.
Then a pale hand broke the surface.
Slender.
Graceful.
Dripping with water that clung too thickly, like strands of liquid shadow.
Another hand followed, gripping the pond's edge with delicate strength. The mist recoiled, swirling away as a figure pulled herself upward from the depths.
She rose slowly, as though the water itself resisted letting her go.
Her skin was moon‑pale, almost translucent, veins faintly visible beneath. Long hair clung to her shoulders in dark, wet strands, drifting as though underwater even in the still air. Her eyes opened last luminous, shifting between silver and deep ocean blue, ancient and hungry.
A siren.
But not the kind sung of in sailors' tales.
This one belonged to the deep places of the world the forgotten pools, the drowned groves, the waters that remembered old magic.
She stood half‑submerged, watching the riders with a stillness that felt predatory.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Even the horses fell silent, trembling but frozen.
When she spoke, her voice was soft...too soft... like a whisper carried through water.
"You tread where you should not."
The words rippled across the pond, distorting the fire's reflection.
Vinrah's hand tightened on her blade. "Stay back."
The siren didn't even look at her.
Her gaze slid past the riders, past the trembling horses and fixed on Siegfried.
Her eyes widened slightly, as though she recognized something in him.
Something she had not expected.
"You," she murmured, voice threading through the clearing like a current. "The forest stirs for you."
Siegfried's jaw tightened, but he didn't step back. "What do you want?"
The siren tilted her head, studying him with a strange, hungry curiosity.
"You carry a shadow not your own," she whispered. "A mark left by another's hand. It clings to you… like a promise."
The water around her darkened, swirling like ink.
"The dead follow you, Siegfried."
A chill ran through the clearing.
Vinrah swore under her breath. "What does that mean?"
The siren ignored her again her attention never leaving Siegfried.
"The forest watches you," she said softly. "And so does he."
Before anyone could speak, she sank back into the water, her form dissolving into the pond as though she had never been there at all. The mist closed over the surface. The waterfall's pitch returned to its hollow whisper.
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Absolute.
The clearing fell silent after the siren slipped beneath the pond's surface, the mist folding over the water as though erasing her existence. The waterfall returned to its thin, hollow whisper, a sound too steady to be natural. No one spoke. Even the fire seemed to dim, its flames shrinking low as if the air itself resisted burning.
Siegfried stood motionless at the water's edge, her cryptic words clinging to him like cold breath. Borrowed shadow. A thread pulled from another hand. A debt not yet called. He didn't understand them, but he felt their weight settle into his bones.
Vinrah moved to his side, her voice low. "We keep watch in pairs tonight."
He nodded, though his thoughts were far from the clearing.
The riders settled uneasily around the fire, their movements subdued, their eyes drifting often toward the pond. The horses refused to rest, shifting and snorting, their nerves stretched thin. Ellina lingered at the edge of the firelight, her veil turned toward the water, listening to something deeper than the forest.
Night thickened around them. No wind stirred the branches. No insects hummed. The world felt suspended, caught between one heartbeat and the next. The pond did not ripple. The shadows did not move. But the forest watched.
And somewhere beyond the reach of the firelight, a presence lingered silent, patient, content to let the night do its work.
Siegfried finally stepped back from the water and settled beside the fire, sword across his knees. His eyes remained open long after the others drifted into uneasy rest, the siren's whisper echoing in the back of his mind.
You walk in borrowed shadow.
The forest pressed close, listening.
And the night held its breath.