The light inside the barn was pale, slipping through the cracks above as if it hesitated to enter.
The scent of hay, damp wood, and old air created a heavy silence—
not the silence of safety,
but of waiting.
The sorcerer took a single step toward Iris.
The small ostrich stood near the hay, her fragile body unnaturally still.
She did not flee.
She made no sound.
She simply lifted her head
and looked at him.
He bent slightly and extended his trembling hand, brushing her feathers with a touch so light it felt as though he feared breaking something unseen.
She did not flinch.
She did not tremble.
He whispered words that emerged distorted, without a clear language—fragments of an ancient magic:
"Nas... Arail...
You have no time... no name...
I carry what cannot be borne...
and leave it sleeping...
until the tree calls."
Iris did not understand the words,
yet her eyes never left him.
In that moment, he did not look dangerous.
He looked like a weary man
carrying a curse he never asked for.
Then—
A voice cut through the stillness.
"We will search every inch of this village."
His body stiffened.
Rhea's voice was close—far too close.
He pulled his hand away at once and stepped back,
as if his presence beside Iris had suddenly become a threat to her.
He looked at her one last time.
She did not move.
She did not follow him.
But her gaze remained fixed on him.
He retreated into the shadows, his heart pounding violently.
⸻
The voices outside the barn grew louder.
Haron:
"Even here?"
Rhea:
"Yes. No place will be left unsearched."
Footsteps approached.
Doors opened.
Whispers spread.
The sorcerer murmured to himself:
"If they enter... it's over."
Then he heard her say:
"We'll split into groups."
Time seemed to pause for a breath.
Someone leaned toward Rhea, whispering something he couldn't make out.
A brief silence followed.
Then Rhea spoke:
"The king has summoned me.
Begin searching the houses now.
When I return... we'll continue with the other side of the village."
Her footsteps faded away.
But the danger did not.
The sorcerer inhaled deeply.
"This is time..."
he whispered hoarsely.
"But not enough."
⸻
He drew out the amulet.
The eye within it lay still—
but it was not dead.
It pulsed slowly.
Before he spoke a single word,
a sharp ache flared behind his eyes,
as if something were pressing outward from within.
A sudden blue flash.
He closed his eyes and murmured an incomplete spell, more like a broken breath than an incantation:
"Aura Nith...
Eye of what was...
do not show what will be,
but what may be..."
He opened his eyes.
They were no longer yellow.
They had turned a deep, cold blue,
as though the world were now seen through another layer of glass.
He stood in the center of the barn,
yet the place was no longer the same.
The wood, the hay, the shadows—
all faded.
In their place came a glimmer.
A signal.
Here... a vision.
The First Vision
He saw himself.
Not a reflection—
but his true self,
from another angle.
He was perched atop a beam inside the barn,
his fingers clamped around rough wood,
his breath held tight.
The ceiling was close—
too close.
Then—
Grains of dust.
One...
then another.
They drifted downward slowly.
Directly beneath—
Rhea.
She stepped forward carefully.
Then stopped.
She raised her hand...
ran it through her hair.
She stared at the dust on her fingers.
She hesitated.
A voice echoed inside his mind:
"Too close...
closer than it should be..."
He could not tell—
Would she look up?
Would suspicion bloom?
Was this the end?
The vision shattered abruptly.
⸻
He staggered back a step.
The blue in his eyes wavered.
He whispered:
"Did she see me?
Or is there still time?"
The eye gave no answer.
But the amulet pulsed again.
Another flash.
⸻
The Second Vision
He saw himself once more.
Still inside the barn—
but climbing by another path.
Slowly.
Painfully.
His arms shook.
His breathing grew heavy—too loud.
He stopped.
Forced himself onward.
The wood groaned beneath him.
He slipped.
Saw himself sway—
And a strange voice echoed in the void, not his own:
"The slower path...
does not mean salvation."
He did not see the fall.
Nor did he see escape.
The vision broke apart.
⸻
The world rushed back all at once.
The blue faded slowly from his eyes,
replaced by dull, exhausted yellow.
He pressed a hand to his head.
The pain was real—sharp and pulsing.
He breathed heavily.
"Two paths..."
he murmured.
"And neither is complete."
He looked up at the ceiling.
Then into the shadows.
The eye remained silent.
And time...
did not stop.