The fire burned lower.
The Wizards began to drift back toward their bedrolls, one by one, the tension stretching thin but never breaking. No orders were given. None were needed. The camp had changed shape around the truth, and everyone felt it.
Aria did not move.
She stared into the embers until they blurred, until the glow reminded her of the mist unraveling between the trees.
"Wait," she said.
The word wasn't loud, but it stopped them.
Darius turned first. Then Mira. Slowly, the others followed.
Aria took a breath. "Earlier," she said, choosing each word carefully, "when that thing appeared… I didn't understand what was happening."
No one interrupted.
"I spoke because everyone else did," she continued. "I stood there because it felt like I was supposed to. But the truth is—" She hesitated, then forced herself on. "I was guessing. I was playing along."
Nyra's veil stilled.
Aria lifted her gaze. "So tell me. What was that?"
Silence answered her at first.
Then Thane sighed, the sound heavy and old. "A Revenant Tracker."
"I know the name," Aria said. "I don't know what it means."
Eladora stepped closer, her voice gentle but grave. "They are watchers," she said. "Not soldiers. Not judges."
"Historians," Darius added quietly.
Aria frowned. "That doesn't sound threatening."
"That's because you're thinking like a person," Mira said. "Not like fate."
Thane planted his staff more firmly into the earth. "Revenant Trackers were created to observe moments when the world begins to bend," he said. "When prophecy frays. When outcomes multiply."
Kaelos crossed his arms. "They don't stop disasters. They record them."
Aria's stomach tightened. "Record them for who?"
No one answered immediately.
Nyra finally spoke. "For what comes after."
The words settled like ash.
Aria wrapped her arms around herself. "So when it spoke to me—when it said I'd deviated—"
"It meant the future is no longer singular," Eladora said. "Because of you."
Aria shook her head. "I didn't do anything."
Darius met her eyes. "You survived."
That was worse.
A memory flickered—blood, teeth, breath torn from her chest and forced back in. The way the world had waited to see if she would rise.
"And it said 'not yet,'" Aria whispered. "Not here to claim me."
Mira nodded slowly. "Because you haven't crossed the line."
"What line?"
"The one where choosing stops being enough," Nyra said.
The fire cracked, loud in the quiet.
Aria exhaled, long and unsteady. "So it's watching me. Measuring me."
"Yes," Thane said. "And when it returns, it won't be to talk."
Aria looked at each of them—these beings of power and certainty, who had stood firm while she had improvised courage.
"I need to understand," she said. "Because next time, I don't want to pretend."
Darius stepped closer, just enough that she didn't feel alone in the circle.
"You won't," he said. "We won't let you."
For a moment, the night felt less heavy.
Then thunder murmured again in the far distance — slow, patient.
And somewhere unseen, something marked time.
Aria swallowed.
"Are they on our side?" she asked.
The question hung between them, fragile and sharp.
No one answered right away.
Nyra was the first to look away.
That was answer enough.
"They don't have sides," Thane said at last. "Sides imply loyalty. Choice."
Eladora's voice was softer. "Revenant Trackers exist to preserve balance—not lives."
Aria frowned. "Balance between what?"
"Between outcomes," Darius said. "Between futures that should happen, and ones that refuse to."
Aria's hands curled into fists. "So if saving people tips that balance—"
"They let the saving happen," Kaelos cut in, "right up until it threatens the shape of the world."
Mira met Aria's gaze, unflinching. "Then they intervene."
Aria felt a chill crawl up her spine. "Intervene how?"
Thane's grip tightened on his staff. "They remove variables."
Silence.
Aria stared at the fire, at the way flames devoured wood without hatred or mercy.
"So if I make the 'wrong' choice," she said slowly, "I become the problem."
Darius didn't deny it.
"They don't hate you," he said instead. "And that should worry you more."
Aria laughed once—short, humorless. "Great. Monsters who don't care whether I live or die. That's comforting."
Kaelos watched her carefully. "You're not powerless here."
"No," Aria agreed. "I'm visible."
She looked up, resolve hardening beneath the unease.
"Then next time they come," she said, "I won't ask what they want."
The Wizards exchanged glances.
Darius's mouth curved—just slightly—before he forced it away.
"Good," he said. "Because they won't either."
And they all went to sleep.