The place was not as silent as it seemed.
The barn breathed with him,
its ancient wood groaning under the change in air,
the scent of damp hay clinging to his chest.
The sorcerer stood in the shadows,
listening...
counting breaths.
Outside,
sounds were drawing closer.
Hesitant footsteps,
and the whispers of men who did not wish to raise their voices.
He pulled his cloak tighter around his frail body
and slowly lifted his head.
The roof.
Not from the inside...
but from the outside.
The place no one ever searched.
Yet reaching it
was not a promise of safety,
but pure risk.
He hesitated.
Then he thought:
If I stay here, they will find me.
He moved.
⸻
He slipped out of the barn like a shadow leaving a weary body.
Cold darkness wrapped around him,
and the village was awake in a strangely alert way.
He approached the outer wall,
where an old wooden pillar stood—
leaning more on itself than on the ground.
He reached out his hand...
then pulled it back.
His breathing was heavier than it should have been.
He reached again.
He grabbed hold.
He pulled himself up slowly,
as if every muscle were asking him: Why now?
He stopped halfway.
His arms trembled.
The wood creaked softly... but it was there.
He closed his eyes for a moment,
then continued.
When he reached the roof,
he did not lift his head.
He lay flat among hay and wood,
drawing his body in tight, as if he wished to become part of the surface itself.
And below—
the barn door opened.
Light spilled in.
"Search the place carefully."
A man's voice.
Footsteps moving.
Wood creaking underfoot.
Hay being turned over.
The ceiling beneath him trembled slightly.
He held his breath.
A tiny grain of dust
fell through the cracks in the wood.
Below,
the footsteps stopped.
Someone lifted his head a little—
but not enough.
The sorcerer did not move.
Heavy moments passed,
then—
"There's no one here."
The door closed.
Darkness returned.
He remained above the roof
until the last sound faded away.
He descended very slowly,
and the moment his feet touched the ground,
he sat down beside the wall.
His body was trembling...
but not from fear alone.
He felt something changing.
A faint warmth
seeped into his chest.
He moved his fingers.
They were not as weak as before.
Not healing...
but a sign.
He said in a voice barely audible:
"...a small part."
With effort, he stood up
and looked into the barn.
Iris was there.
She did not flee.
She made no sound.
He approached her slowly,
as if afraid that even the air might change direction.
He sat in front of her
and placed his hand on the ground.
He hesitated for a long time.
He was certain of nothing.
The words he knew
were not written for this body,
nor for this moment.
Yet he spoke them—
broken, incomplete,
as if they were being uttered for the first time:
"Aura... Nith...
Eye of what was..."
He stopped.
He looked at Iris.
She was only looking at him.
He swallowed,
then continued in a voice far less steady:
**"If you do not understand...
you will not cling to it.
If you do not fear...
the curse will fall away."**
Nothing happened.
No light.
No sound.
He hesitated.
Then he lowered his head further
and placed his palm directly over the amulet.
The blue eye within it
began to dim slowly.
He whispered a spell older than words—
a spell meant to be used only once:
**"Aura Nith...
Eye of what was,
do not dwell in a body that understands,
nor in a soul that chooses.
Pass without awareness,
settle without memory.
Be a passage...
not a mind."**
He lifted his gaze to Iris
and spoke the final words as if they were a confession:
"Accept the burden...
and do not know its name."
The amulet pulsed—
once.
Then it went dark.
Iris's feathers trembled faintly,
as though a cold breeze had passed through her.
She did not cry out.
She did not move.
But her eyes—
they flickered for a single moment,
then returned to what they were before.
He placed a hand on his chest.
The heavy sensation
was no longer there.
Not gone—
but replaced by a strange emptiness.
He stepped back.
He looked at her for a long time.
In a low voice, without certainty, he said:
"...I don't know if it worked."
Then he returned to the shadows
and sat far away from her.
⸻
As dawn drew near,
he remained inside the barn.
Not asleep...
nor fully awake.
He watched the light as it slowly crept in,
as if testing the place
before declaring it safe.
Iris shifted in her sleep.
She stretched her neck slightly,
then grew still once more.
But her shadow on the wall
was no longer the same.
It stretched—
just a little longer than it should have.
The sorcerer looked at it in silence.
He did not smile.
He did not fear it.
He thought to himself, in a heavy calm:
"Now... time no longer belongs to me alone."
And outside the barn,
dawn had already begun.
But something
had awakened before it.