The morning sun stretched over Arvandor like molten gold, scattering across rooftops and the tops of the trees that bordered the village. Lyra pulled her loose tunic over her shoulders, kicked on her boots, and slipped out the side door before anyone could notice. The palace, grand and polished, always felt too quiet for her taste, like it wanted to remind her she was a princess, not a person. Out here, along the narrow dirt paths and moss-covered stones, she could breathe, even if the village was waking up around her.
She passed the blacksmith's shop, the bell above the door jingling as a cart rattled past. Sparks still clung to the forge, drifting upward like tiny stars caught in the morning light. Lyra waved at the blacksmith, an older man named Jorn who smelled of smoke and iron and always had a grin ready. "Good morning, Princess," he said. "Mind the cart."
"Thanks, Jorn," she replied, ducking around the wagon. She caught a whiff of freshly baked bread from the baker's window and paused, letting the smell wrap around her like an invitation. The baker waved a floury hand. "Don't let the bread burn today," he joked, and she laughed, ducking into the stream of people heading toward the square.
At the village edge, where the forest began its slow climb over rocks and roots, Lyra crouched to touch a wildflower that had stubbornly grown between two stones. Its petals were tiny and violet, delicate as a whisper. She brushed off dirt and looked up. Somewhere in the high branches, a bird called—a long, lilting note that made her stop breathing for a second.
The forest didn't like to be ignored, she thought. It always reminded her, softly, that it was alive.
She moved closer to the stream, where water ran over stones polished smooth by time. A frog leapt from one rock to another, and she crouched low, letting the water tickle her fingers. The stones were cool, slick with moss, and the water smelled like rain that had fallen last night. Lyra smiled, letting the moment stretch, feeling connected to something she didn't have a name for yet.
That's when she saw him.
Ezra stepped from the shadows under the trees, and she froze. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he moved with the kind of ease that made the ground seem smaller, less important. He didn't glance at the villagers or the buildings. He didn't glance at her. He glanced at the forest itself, as if reading the stories hidden in the bark of the oldest trees.
Lyra stayed still, gripping a mossy rock for balance. The fox darted past her legs, tail flicking like fire, then froze, ears flat.
"You're always in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, voice low, teasing but carrying a strange weight.
"I could say the same about you," she replied, though her voice wobbled slightly.
He tilted his head, dark eyes scanning the stream and the forest beyond. "True. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it."
Lyra frowned, brushing dirt from her tunic. "You're impossible," she said, though she smiled despite herself.
They walked along the stream together, not rushing, just letting their steps follow the rhythm of the water. Ezra occasionally bent to touch a leaf, a rock, the smooth bark of a tree, whispering soft words she couldn't understand. Lyra tried not to stare, but she did. She noticed the slight tilt of his lips when he smiled faintly, the way his boots made no sound on the dirt, the way he always seemed just slightly apart from the rest of the world.
"You see too much," he said suddenly, glancing at her.
"What do you mean?"
"Everything. The little things. How the moss clings to stones, how the water curves over them. How the wind catches your hair, even when you're trying not to notice it."
Lyra blinked. "Are you complimenting me or accusing me?"
"Maybe both," he said, and the corners of his mouth tilted in a way that made her chest tighten.
The forest seemed to lean in, leaves whispering, roots twisting just slightly under the earth. The fox barked once, sharp, and darted ahead, as if warning them. Lyra followed, curious, letting Ezra guide her deeper into the edge of the forest that brushed the village.
Small voices called out from the square, vendors shouting prices, children laughing, but it all felt distant, muffled. She and Ezra were in a pocket of quiet, a place the village couldn't touch.
"Why are you here?" she asked, finally.
"To see if you were alright," he said casually, though the shadow in his eyes said something different.
"I'm fine," she replied, even though part of her wasn't. "I'm always fine."
He gave a small nod, as if accepting the lie. For a moment, they walked in silence. The forest smelled richer here, damp and wild, like it had secrets it only shared with the brave. Lyra noticed tiny mushrooms at the roots of a tree, pale and soft, and ran her finger over one. The cap was warm, almost pulsing slightly. She blinked. The forest really was alive.
"I like this part," she said, mostly to herself. "Where the village ends and the forest begins."
Ezra looked at her, studying her expression. "You belong more here than anywhere else, don't you?"
Lyra hesitated. "Maybe. But I can't stay here forever."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The quiet said enough.
They reached a moss-covered stone where the stream widened slightly. Lyra crouched, brushing her fingers through the water. She felt the pulse of it under her skin, faint, like something the forest wanted her to notice. Ezra stayed beside her, watching, not touching, not intruding. Just there.
"Do you ever think about the forest as… something alive?" she asked.
"All the time," he said. "But you don't just think about it. You feel it. That's… rare."
Lyra didn't know what to say. She could feel it, yes, but she didn't have words for it. She only had this strange sense of being seen, and she didn't know if she liked it or hated it.
The fox barked again, impatient, and darted off into the trees. Ezra stood, brushing dirt from his tunic.
"I have to go," he said suddenly. "But I'll see you again."
Lyra wanted to argue. She wanted to ask where, when, how. But she didn't. She simply nodded. "Tomorrow," she said, even though she wasn't sure he would come.
He gave her a faint nod and vanished into the deeper forest, leaving her alone. The air smelled faintly of wet moss and something else she couldn't name.
Lyra laughed softly, shaking her head. She brushed dirt from her leggings and turned back toward the village. The sun was lower now, painting gold across the rooftops. Children chased each other, women carried baskets, men guided carts along the stone streets. Life moved on as if Ezra hadn't been there, as if the forest hadn't whispered its secret to her.
She knew better.
Something was waking. Something that had been sleeping for centuries, and she had felt its stirrings. And she had seen him the shadow in the forest who didn't belong but did.
Tomorrow she would return. She would find him. And maybe, she thought as she ducked under the low branches at the forest edge, she would finally understand what the forest wanted from her.