The wind died too abruptly.
Aarinen felt it like a blade drawn too quickly from its sheath—a pressure released, then replaced by stillness too complete to be natural. Rafi felt it too. The boy stiffened, eyes wide, staring at the empty plains behind them.
"What… what was that?"
Aarinen didn't answer immediately. He listened to the sky, the silence, the trembling of the tall grass. No voice followed. No whisper. No echo.
But he had not imagined it.
The voice had been unmistakable.
Familiar. Quiet. Firm.
Impossible.
Rafi tugged his sleeve anxiously. "Aarinen, who was it?"
"Someone who should not be here."
"Someone from the Root?"
"…no."
Aarinen turned away from the plains. The world behind him felt too open, too exposed. Whoever had spoken—if it truly had been a person—was not close. Voices traveling in unnatural silence meant influence, not proximity.
They needed to move.
"Come," Aarinen said. "We reach the Reaches before midday."
Rafi followed reluctantly. "I thought the Reaches were dangerous."
"They are."
"And we're still going?"
"Yes."
Rafi groaned softly. "Great."
The Land That Does Not Settle
The Grey Reaches rose like a jagged scar upon the landscape. Tall pillars of eroded stone jutted skyward at twisted angles, layered like pages of a book that had been burned and cracked by time. Some were thin as blades, others massive as towers, all leaning in opposing directions as though frozen mid-collapse.
As Aarinen stepped onto the first stretch of shattered ground, a cold vibration moved through the earth beneath his boots.
Rafi shuddered. "It's humming."
"Not humming," Aarinen corrected softly. "Resonating."
"With what?"
"With itself."
The Reaches had a strange gravity—not a pull downward, but inward. Sound carried oddly. Even their footsteps seemed swallowed. The air chilled, though the sun still burned above.
Aarinen placed a hand against one of the stone pillars. The rock felt warm—unnaturally so.
Rafi whispered, "How can it be warm when the air is cold?"
"Because the Reaches listen."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
They ventured deeper. The path narrowed between two towering slabs of stone that bowed inward like rib bones. The shadows there stretched oddly—longer than the shapes that cast them.
Rafi moved closer to Aarinen. "Why would anyone hide here?"
"Because the things that hunt prefer open land."
"And the Reaches… keep people safe?"
"No."
Rafi blinked. "Then why—"
"They keep people hidden."
Rafi swallowed that explanation with difficulty.
They pushed onward. The light dimmed as clouds gathered overhead, thick and heavy. The air tasted faintly of metal. Then, as they rounded a bend between two leaning spires, something new came into view:
Ruins.
Not large. Not grand. But unmistakably deliberate.
Low stone walls, half-collapsed. Remnants of beams. A circle of pillars around a sunken floor—perhaps once a gathering place. The stones here bore carvings worn smooth by time.
Rafi gasped. "People lived here?"
"Long ago."
"Why did they leave?"
Aarinen knelt beside one of the fallen stones, brushing dust away to reveal faint etchings.
A symbol.
A downward crescent.
Rafi's breath stopped. "That… looks like the clasp those watchers wore."
Aarinen nodded slowly. "This used to be a station."
"A station for who?"
"For the ones who silence."
Rafi trembled. "Are they still here?"
"No."
Aarinen lifted his head. "But someone else is."
He stood.
Movement flickered at the edge of the ruins—a silhouette stepping between two broken pillars.
Rafi froze. "A-a person?"
"Yes."
"And they're coming closer."
"Yes."
Rafi tugged urgently at Aarinen's sleeve. "Should we run?"
"No."
"Why not?!"
"Because they are alone."
The figure stepped into view—then stopped several paces away.
A woman.
Her cloak was travel-worn and patched in several places. Dust clung to her boots. Her hair—dark, long, tangled from wind—fell partially across her face. She carried no emblem, no visible weapon, but a satchel hung at her side, filled almost to bursting.
Her eyes—sharp, tired, refusing softness—rested on Aarinen with a mixture of caution and certainty.
"You're exactly where the winds said you'd be."
Rafi blinked. "Winds talk now?"
Aarinen shot him a look.
The woman did not react to Rafi. Her gaze stayed fixed on Aarinen.
"You're the one who came from the Root," she said. "And left with something the rest of us weren't meant to see."
Rafi whispered, "Aarinen, we should go. We should really, really go."
Aarinen stayed still. "Who are you?"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "You hear a stranger in the Reaches and your first question is 'who are you'? Not 'how did you find us'? Not 'what do you want'?"
Aarinen's tone was calm. "Those answers follow the first."
She exhaled sharply, amused despite herself.
"My name is Saevel," she said at last. "I map places that refuse to stay still."
Rafi frowned. "That's… not a job."
"In most places," she agreed. "But in the Reaches, it is survival."
Aarinen studied her. "Why were you looking for me?"
"I wasn't." She shifted her satchel. "I was looking for information. I found you instead. Which means the rumors were right."
"Which rumors?"
"That the Root stirred after decades of silence. That its hum changed. And that someone walked out of it with a memory he shouldn't have."
Her gaze sharpened.
"So tell me, Aarinen—what did the Root give you?"
Rafi jumped. "She knows your name!"
Saevel smirked. "Half the settlements along the southern trails know his name. Quiet travelers don't stay quiet long."
Aarinen's jaw tightened. "Names travel too quickly."
"Only important ones."
Silence stretched.
Saevel crossed her arms. "So? What did the Root give you?"
Aarinen didn't answer.
Not because he refused—but because he didn't know how.
Memory—yes. But memory broken, fractured, half-stolen. Pain removed. Pain left behind. The Root had given him something, and taken something, and the shape of that exchange lived under his ribs like an unanswered question.
Saevel studied him, reading his silence like a page.
"I thought so," she murmured. "You don't even know."
Rafi stepped forward. "Do you know something? Can you tell us?"
Saevel shrugged. "I know many things. Whether I should say them is another matter."
"Why?"
"Because some truths change the course beneath your feet. And some truths demand a price."
Aarinen's eyes narrowed. "And what would you demand?"
She smiled faintly. "Nothing yet. If I wanted payment, I wouldn't have spoken to you first."
"Then what do you want?"
"To see if you're worth the trouble."
Her gaze turned serious—too serious for her earlier tone.
"If you walk into the world as you are now, you won't last a week. Too many eyes are searching. Too many factions whispering. Dawn wants to test you. Dusk wants to claim you. The silencers want you gone. And the ones above them all—" she paused "—want to know whether the Root marked you or cursed you."
The wind stirred uneasily.
Rafi swallowed hard. "What do you want us to do?"
Saevel glanced at the towering stone pillars surrounding them.
"First," she said, "you need to reach a place where questions can be asked safely."
"Where?" Aarinen asked.
"A city."
Rafi brightened. "A city sounds safe."
Saevel shook her head. "Safer than this, perhaps. But only if you stop walking blind."
She pointed northeast, toward faint silhouettes rising from the horizon—a cluster of tall structures, framed by smoke and wind.
"Karathra," she said. "A city of scholars, wanderers, and people who keep their knives hidden behind books."
Aarinen considered it. "And why would you lead us there?"
"Because you're carrying something that shouldn't exist." Her voice softened—not gentle, but weighted. "And I knew someone, once, who carried something like it."
Aarinen's breath stilled.
Saevel tightened the strap of her satchel.
"You can follow me," she said. "Or walk alone. The world won't care which you choose."
Rafi looked desperately at Aarinen. "We can't go alone. Not with watchers and gliders and… and voices in the wind."
Aarinen remained silent.
Saevel turned away. "Suit yourselves."
She began walking.
Aarinen watched her for several seconds.
Then he followed.
Rafi hurried behind them. "Thank the stars, because I am not dying in a place called the Reaches."
The First Pursuit
The Reaches shifted as they traveled—paths narrowing, stone pillars seeming to tilt slightly when not watched directly. Saevel moved with practiced ease, marking twists and hidden turns with small stone markers.
Rafi whispered, "She really does know this place."
Saevel didn't turn. "Better than most."
Aarinen asked, "Why do the Reaches change?"
"Because the land remembers different things at different times," she said. "Memories shift the ground."
Rafi frowned. "That's nonsense."
Saevel shrugged. "So is laughing at fate, yet here we are."
Aarinen said nothing.
They walked for another hour before Saevel suddenly stopped and raised a hand.
Aarinen moved beside her. "What is it?"
She pointed to the ground—where dust had gathered unnaturally in a thin, circular pattern.
"Someone crossed into the Reaches," she whispered. "Recently."
Rafi's voice shrank. "The watchers?"
"No." Saevel crouched, examining the dust. "This pattern forms only under glider shadows."
Rafi paled. "They're following us?"
"No," Saevel said. "They're circling. Waiting."
Aarinen's pulse tightened. "For what?"
"For you to leave the Reaches. They won't enter far—they don't understand how the land moves."
"So we're trapped?"
"No." Saevel stood. "But we must move quickly."
She started forward.
Aarinen stayed a moment longer, staring at the dust circle.
The Reaches felt alive around him—stone breathing, shadows shifting, wind whispering across surfaces that had known more silence than speech.
And beneath it all…
A memory trembled.
Not his.
Not fully.
Not gone either.
A faint image—stone walls, a hand reaching, a voice saying—
Find the one who remembers your name.
Aarinen inhaled sharply.
Rafi touched his arm. "Aarinen? You alright?"
Aarinen steadied himself. "Yes. Move."
Toward Karathra
They exited the Reaches near dusk. The sky burned orange and red—dangerous colors, familiar colors. Aarinen felt the first pulse of the Quiet Hour approaching.
Saevel pointed toward the distant structures. "Karathra is half a day's walk. We camp first."
Rafi groaned. "No more camping."
"Better camping than being hunted," she replied.
Aarinen looked toward the darkening horizon.
"Someone called my name," he said quietly.
Saevel turned slightly. "In the Reaches?"
"Before. On the plains."
"Did you recognize the voice?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what that means."
Aarinen's expression hardened. "It means the past isn't done with me."
"No," Saevel said softly. "It means it's finally catching up."
Rafi frowned. "Who was it, Aarinen?"
Aarinen didn't answer.
The wind grew colder.
Far behind them, a glider circled once, then vanished into clouds.
Ahead of them, the path to Karathra waited.
The world had opened.
And nothing would close it again.