They did not camp that night.
No one said it out loud, but the decision was mutual—spoken in the way Kael kept scanning the tree line, in how Mira's wards flickered too often to be trusted, in the way Elara's pulse refused to settle into anything resembling rest.
The forest had changed.
Not visibly. The same bent trunks, the same silver-leafed undergrowth, the same distant cry of night birds. But Elara felt it the way one feels eyes on the back of their neck—an awareness without direction.
Something was watching.
Not hunting.
Measuring.
"Stay close," Kael said as they moved. "Whatever that Echo was, it sent a signal."
Mira nodded grimly. "Consequences don't travel alone."
Elara wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. Since the ruins, the world felt thinner, as if she were walking with one foot slightly out of step with reality. Sounds arrived a fraction too late. Shadows lingered a fraction too long.
She caught herself glancing behind them again and again.
Nothing followed.
That frightened her more.
They reached the river before midnight. It curved like a black ribbon through the land, slow and patient, reflecting the fractured moon above. The water smelled old—older than memory.
"This crossing isn't safe," Mira said. "Not tonight."
Kael frowned. "We don't have another option."
Elara stepped closer to the bank.
The moment her boot touched damp soil, the river stirred.
Not a splash. Not a wave.
A recognition.
The surface smoothed, unnaturally still, moonlight sharpening into a perfect reflection—as if the river were holding its breath.
Mira's eyes widened. "Elara… don't move."
The water darkened at the center, deepening until it no longer reflected the sky. From that darkness, something rose.
Not a creature.
A presence.
It did not have a body so much as a boundary—an edge where the river stopped being water and became will.
You return changed, it said, its voice carried by the current itself.
Elara's heart thudded painfully. "I didn't come to disturb you."
You did not need to.
Kael shifted closer to her side. "What is it?"
"A River-Warden," Mira whispered. "One of the old ones."
The presence turned—not physically, but attentively—toward Kael.
Steel still believes it chooses where it stands, it murmured. How comforting.
Kael bristled but held his ground.
The river spoke again, this time to Elara alone.
You have accepted a fracture.
Elara nodded slowly. "I didn't know the cost until it was already mine."
Costs are rarely revealed in advance.
The water rippled outward in slow, deliberate rings. Images shimmered across the surface—flickers of places Elara did not recognize, people she had never met, moments that had not yet happened.
A child crying in ash.
A crown sinking into mud.
A door she would one day refuse to open.
Elara's breath caught. "Are these… futures?"
They are pressures, the River-Warden replied. Where you bend, the world bends with you.
Mira stepped forward. "If she's becoming a convergence point—"
She already is.
The river surged suddenly, water climbing the bank without spilling, forming a luminous wall before them.
What walks as reminder attracts attention, it continued. Not all of it kind.
Elara swallowed. "Then tell me how to protect them."
The river fell silent.
Long enough for fear to bloom.
Then—
You cannot, it said simply.
Kael's voice was sharp. "That's not an answer."
The presence shifted. It is the only honest one.
Elara closed her eyes.
For the first time since the ruins, something inside her steadied—not certainty, but resolve.
"Then teach me how not to destroy them," she said.
The river paused.
Moonlight fractured.
That, the Warden said at last, is a better question.
The water receded, flowing back into itself. The dark center softened, becoming river once more.
You may cross, it said. But understand this, Elara-of-the-Fracture—
The current brushed her ankles, cold but gentle.
You are no longer unseen.
The presence faded.
Silence returned, heavy and real.
They crossed quickly after that, no one speaking until they reached the far bank.
Kael broke the quiet first. "You could have warned us."
Mira exhaled shakily. "Old forces don't warn. They announce."
Elara stared back at the river, now just water again. "It wasn't threatening."
"No," Mira agreed softly. "It was honest."
They continued inland, the forest thinning as dawn crept toward the horizon.
Elara lagged behind, her thoughts tangled.
"You okay?" Kael asked quietly, slowing to match her pace.
She nodded, then shook her head. "I don't know. It feels like… something has shifted its gaze toward me. Like I've stepped onto a lit stage."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then I'll stand where they can see me too."
She looked at him, surprised.
He met her eyes without hesitation. "You don't carry this alone. Not while I'm breathing."
Ahead of them, Mira paused, frowning at the ground.
"What is it?" Elara asked.
Mira crouched, touching the soil.
"There are markings here," she said slowly. "Fresh."
Kael drew his blade.
"What kind of markings?" he asked.
Mira stood, face pale. "The kind left by those who prepare rather than attack."
Elara felt the weight in her chest deepen.
Not pursuit.
Preparation.
Whatever was watching had stopped observing.
And started planning