The castaway's words were still buzzing in my mind when Declan closed the stable door behind us. His silence weighed more than any scream could. We walked back to the house without saying a word. Not even the song of the night creatures dared interrupt whatever was beginning to grow between us.
Once inside, I turned toward him, but Declan didn't look at me. He headed straight for the main room and lit the fire with a quick sweep of his hand. The crackling wood was the only voice that dared break the tension.
—Who was he? —I finally asked, barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer immediately. He stood before the fireplace, as if expecting the flames to speak for him.
—Someone who shouldn't be here —he said at last—. And much less, speaking to you.
—But he did.
—I know.
—And you know him.
—Yes —he admitted, his voice rough—. And if he is who I think he is… then everything just changed.
I stepped closer.
—Why?
Declan raised his eyes to me, still heavy, but no longer burning.
—Because if he's alive, then I'm not the last.
—The last what?
—The last healer.
My breath halted for a moment. I had heard the word before—in whispers, fragments. But this time it sounded different. More real. More terrifying.
Declan sat down, as if the weight of everything left unsaid had finally settled on his shoulders.
—My blood… it's unique. Healing. And cursed. Each generation, there's one. Sometimes none. It's what sustained my people. What kept us… alive. And I was the last. That's what they told me. That's what I believed.
I sat across from him, not breaking eye contact.
—And if you're not?
—Then I don't know if this is a blessing… or the beginning of a war.
I stayed silent, but something inside me churned. As if what I'd just heard fit too perfectly with everything I'd been feeling for days: the dreams, the suspended figure, the pulsing vial. Everything seemed to scream that nothing had been coincidence.
—And that vial you showed me… —I said—. Is it your blood?
He nodded slowly.
—A fraction of it. Preserved for years. Sacred to our kind. If it disappears… so does every chance of healing.
—Healing what?
—Our species —he replied—. Our memories. Our identity. Without a healer, everything dissolves. The lineage dies, and with it, everything we ever were.
A shiver ran down my spine.
—And if there's another like you… why would they hide him?
—Because he didn't choose the right path. He was exiled. We thought he was dead. I… let him go. I thought it would be more humane to let him disappear than destroy him with my own hands.
—Who is he?
Declan closed his eyes tightly.
—My brother. Or he was, at least.
—Why didn't you recognize him right away?
—Because he's changed. Not just physically. His energy… his essence. It doesn't vibrate the same. Our kind doesn't age linearly. Sometimes we change from the inside, and the body reflects it. And he… he's done things that altered him. Darkened his core. Transformed him.
He paused, breathing as if the words themselves hurt.
—When I saw him, I felt something familiar… but distorted. Like a song you know, but played in the wrong key.
—And the others… the ones with him?
—Kyron and Aurel. Not healers, but soldiers, scouts. Loyal to my brother. They disappeared with him. Their presence here can only mean one thing: they're preparing something. They came together. And they knew I was here… with you.
—And Byron… —I said suddenly, as the name slipped out on its own—. Was he the one who attacked me?
Declan nodded, jaw tight.
—Yes. He's in the dungeon. We isolated him as soon as I returned. I would have killed him… but doing so would start a war I'm not ready to begin.
—And if he tries again?
—He won't —he said, without hesitation—. He won't leave that place. Not while I'm breathing.
I looked at him. There was anger in his voice, yes, but also something deeper: restraint. Doubt. The burden of having to be judge when what he wanted was simply to destroy.
I understood Declan's reasons a little more. It wasn't that he couldn't act. It was that he didn't want to lose himself in the process.
I didn't sleep that night.
At dawn, a burst of wind slammed against the window with unexpected force. I got out of bed and opened the curtains. In the distance, at the edge of the northern forest, something glowed between the trees.
Not light. Not fire.
Something pulsing.
I called for Melyra immediately.
—Is that… normal? —I asked, pointing toward the horizon.
She narrowed her eyes. And her face tightened.
—That… is a summons.
—To what?
—To whoever has the courage to go.
I dressed in silence. Something in that glow reminded me of the vial's heartbeat, of the suspended figure, of the strange pulse awakening in my body since arriving on the island. It was the same language. One that didn't speak with words, but with sensations.
Melyra tried to stop me. She grabbed my arm with unusual strength for someone like her.
—Don't go alone —she whispered—. Not without being prepared.
—Prepared for what?
—To understand.
Her words stayed with me as I walked down the hill. The glow pulsed between the trees as if it breathed. With every step I took, the island grew quieter. No wind. No birds. No insects. Only the vibration guiding me.
When I crossed the threshold of the forest, everything shifted.
The light turned bluish, as if I were underwater. And in the center of the clearing, where the trees parted in a perfect circle, I saw it.
A column of crystal hovered above a natural platform of intertwined roots. Inside, a viscous liquid shimmered with a rhythmic pulse. It was the same substance I'd seen in the vial… but alive. Reactive.
I stepped closer.
And then I felt it.
My own body responded.
A gentle heat rose through my chest, as if the substance recognized me. As if we were made of the same material. My hands trembled. My legs, too.
And then I heard something behind me.
A crack.
I turned.
One of the castaways.
He wasn't running. He wasn't hiding. He walked as if he knew exactly where he was going. As if this place was calling him too.
—You shouldn't be here —I said, not bothering to hide the tension in my voice.
He looked at me. This time without the feigned calm from the stable. His eyes held a feverish, almost reverent glow.
—Neither should you. And yet… here we are.
—Who are you really?
—My name is Mikos.
The way he said it wasn't meant to intimidate me, nor to awaken a memory. It was an affirmation, not an introduction. As if the name should already mean something.
—Mikos…? —I repeated.
—Declan's older brother —he added, as if finishing a secret everyone but me already knew.
I froze. The pulse in my wrists quickened, as though the column itself reacted to his name.
—One of the ones who survived —he continued—. One of the ones who remember.
His words struck something in me that I still didn't know how to name. Behind him, the crystal column seemed to vibrate harder.
—What is this? —I asked, pointing at the liquid heart suspended before us.
—A witness —he said—. A blood relic. It responds to what we are… or what we once were.
He stepped toward the column. The substance inside pulsed again. But this time not with warmth— with a cold flare. Like a warning.
—Don't touch it —I said, without knowing why.
—And what if it's already too late for warnings?
Before I could stop him, his hand lifted… but something else stopped him. Not me.
A surge of energy hurled him back with violent force, without anyone touching him. He hit the ground on his knees, gasping.
The column now glowed with two colors: one golden, pulsing toward me. Another bluish-gray, weaker, toward him.
And then I knew we were not the same.
Before I could say anything, another presence cut through the clearing.
Declan.
He made no sound as he arrived, but the forest seemed to tense around him. His gaze went to me first, searching for injuries. Then, without hesitation, it fixed on the castaway—or rather, his brother.
—I told you to stay away from her —he said, voice low and unbreakable.
Mikos rose, brushing dirt from his hands with slow indifference. He didn't seem afraid. Only tired.
—And when did you stop listening to the island, brother?
The silence that followed was more violent than a shout. My eyes widened.
Declan didn't deny it. He didn't confirm it. He simply stepped between us. His body, a wall. His voice firmer now:
—Don't come near her again.
—I wasn't the one who brought her here —he replied—. The island did.
And in his eyes, there was something dangerous. Not hatred. Not jealousy. Something worse.
Certainty.
—Enough! —I said at last, unable to bear the tension between them—. Why do I feel like I know less every time you two speak?
Both men turned toward me, but neither answered. Declan's apparent brother gave a sad, tired smile, and Declan only clenched his jaw.
—We're leaving —Declan said finally, without looking at him—. This isn't your fault, but it isn't your battle either. Not yet.
I lingered a few seconds longer. Something in the column kept pulsing—faster now—as if it had recorded everything. Every word. Every glance. Every tension born here.
This place, like the entire island, was alive.