Darkness fell faster than expected.
The last red seam of sunlight faded behind the jagged silhouettes of the Reaches, and the Quiet Hour—longer this far from towns—settled thickly over the land. Aarinen felt it like a cloak placed upon his shoulders: heavy, expectant, listening.
Rafi hugged himself. "I hate this hour."
Saevel struck flint against steel. Sparks danced, catching the dry brush she had gathered. "Everyone hates it. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying or selling something." She nudged the pile until flame gathered. "But it's safer to sit through it than walk during it."
The fire crackled, loud only because the world around it refused to make sound. Even the insects that had chirped faintly in the daylight now kept silent.
Aarinen sat on a wide stone near the fire. The warmth reached him, but only barely. His thoughts had never been louder.
Saevel looked at him from across the flames. "Tell me about the voice."
Rafi tensed. "Do we have to do this now?"
"Yes," Saevel said. "Because if someone can speak your name across open plains and make you stop walking, then we need to know who."
Aarinen didn't answer. He watched the fire dance along blackened wood. The flames wavered gently, bending slightly eastward, tugged by a faint current.
Saevel waited.
Rafi whispered, "Aarinen… you should."
Aarinen exhaled slowly.
"I knew the voice."
"Who was it?"
"Someone from before the Root."
Saevel's gaze sharpened. "Before you entered? Or before the Root took what it took from you?"
"Both."
Saevel drummed her fingers against her knee. "Is he alive?"
"I don't know."
"Is he an enemy?"
Aarinen's jaw tightened. "I don't know that either."
"Friend?"
"…I don't think so."
Saevel lifted one eyebrow. "You think someone who calls your name from a plain you already left behind is neither friend nor foe?"
"I think some people exist in the space between."
Rafi looked between them nervously. "But who is he?"
Aarinen closed his eyes.
A memory flickered—fragmented, incomplete, but stubbornly alive.
A tall figure standing at dusk. A quiet, steady voice. The smell of charred wood. Blood on his knuckles that didn't seem to be his own.
Aarinen opened his eyes.
"He was someone who taught me what not to become."
Rafi whispered, "That sounds like an enemy."
Saevel leaned forward. "What was his name?"
Aarinen looked into the flames.
"…I cannot remember."
Rafi blinked. "But you said you recognized—"
"The voice," Aarinen interrupted. "Not the name."
Saevel exchanged a glance with Rafi. "The Root took his name from you."
"No," Aarinen said softly. "It didn't take it. It buried it under something else."
Saevel's expression shifted—concern mixed with calculation. "Someone who leaves a mark that deep doesn't vanish without reason."
Rafi hugged his knees. "Maybe he's dead."
"No," Aarinen murmured. "Voices don't cross plains from the dead."
"…depending on where you come from," Saevel muttered under her breath.
Aarinen looked sharply at her. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Saevel said, "that some places don't care what death means to most people."
Rafi stiffened. "Like the Reaches?"
"Like many things older than the Reaches."
A gust of cold wind swept across their small camp, bending the fire sideways. The flames hissed, struggling against the quiet.
Saevel stood abruptly.
"We're being watched."
Rafi nearly toppled over. "By what?!"
Aarinen rose silently.
Saevel pointed to the ridgeline north of them. A faint outline moved—slow, deliberate, too distant to see clearly yet too present to ignore.
"Not gliders," Aarinen said. "Too low."
"Not watchers," Saevel added. "They walk with lines in their stance, like they've memorized their purpose."
"What does that mean?" Rafi asked.
"It means," Saevel said grimly, "someone sent them."
Aarinen watched the silhouette. The figure paused on the ridge, as if studying their small fire. Then it moved again—downward.
Rafi hissed, "We should run!"
"No," Aarinen said quietly. "Running draws attention. Hold still."
The figure descended, but stopped halfway down the slope, remaining just at the edge of vision. A tree's shadow blended into its form.
Saevel's hand drifted to her satchel—not for a weapon, Aarinen realized, but for something else.
She whispered, "If they move closer, I can—"
Aarinen placed a hand on her arm. "No."
She glared. "You don't even know what I was reaching for."
"I know we want as few lights pointing at us as possible."
Rafi swallowed. "What do they want?"
"They could want many things," Saevel said. "To observe us. To track us. To wait until we sleep. Or—"
"Or," Aarinen interrupted softly, "they're waiting for someone else."
The figure remained still.
Motionless.
Watching.
Aarinen stepped slightly in front of Rafi.
Saevel whispered, "What are you doing?"
"Listening."
Aarinen closed his eyes.
The Quiet Hour thickened. The silence deepened until it pressed like frost against his skin.
Under that silence, he felt a pull. Not from the figure. From something else.
From the east.
From beyond the horizon.
A whisper—or less than a whisper—brushed the edge of his awareness.
You were not meant to climb out alone.
Aarinen's breath caught.
Rafi whispered, "Aarinen? Hey—Aarinen?"
Saevel watched him with narrowed eyes. "You're hearing something."
Aarinen opened his eyes.
"Not here," he said. "Not now."
Saevel hissed, "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said slowly, "that the voice knows where I am."
Rafi went pale. "The one calling your name?"
Aarinen nodded.
Saevel's face hardened. "Then we move at dawn. No delays."
"And what about him?" Rafi pointed at the distant silhouette.
Aarinen stared at the unmoving form.
"He," Aarinen murmured, "will follow."
The Morning Path
Dawn broke reluctantly, amber light pushing through a sky still heavy from night. The air felt raw. They packed quickly, fire snuffed out, footprints brushed away.
Rafi clutched his bag nervously. "Is he still there?"
Aarinen looked at the ridge.
Empty.
Saevel frowned. "He didn't leave footprints."
"Then he didn't walk," Aarinen said.
Rafi blinked. "He… floated?"
"No."
"Then what?!"
"He waited," Aarinen said, "until we couldn't see him. Then he moved."
Rafi made a strangled noise. "That's so much worse."
Saevel scanned the hills. "We should assume he's following from a distance."
"Why?" Rafi asked.
"Because people who walk like that don't lose track of their quarry."
Aarinen set a steady pace toward Karathra.
Rafi followed closely.
Saevel lingered a moment, staring at the ridge one last time.
Then she joined them.
A Story Half-Remembered
By midday, the outline of Karathra grew clearer—stone towers rising from the earth like quiet guardians, spires wrapped in winding banners, roofs tiled with dark slate. Roads converged toward the city like veins feeding a heart.
Rafi whistled. "It's huge."
"Not huge," Saevel corrected. "Dense. Everything stacked on everything else. You'll see."
Aarinen didn't respond. His mind was elsewhere—still tracking the voice, the silhouette, the unfinished memory.
Saevel noticed. "You're walking like someone holding a secret too heavy for one body."
Aarinen didn't look at her. "Perhaps I am."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to share it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know what it is yet."
Saevel considered him for a long moment. "Then let me give you a truth instead."
Aarinen finally met her gaze.
"People think the Root tests for strength," she said. "But it tests for something else entirely."
"What?"
"Capacity."
"Capacity for what?"
"For change," she said quietly. "For breaking things that others think cannot be broken."
Aarinen felt something tighten in his chest.
Saevel walked ahead. "You carry something that frightens all the wrong people. And all the right ones."
Rafi whispered, "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Saevel said without turning, "that Karathra will not welcome you quietly."
Karathra's Shadow
They reached the outer fields as the sun dipped again toward late afternoon. Workers loaded carts, merchants shouted over prices, children darted between stalls set up outside the main gate.
The city wall loomed above them—ancient stone fitted with iron reinforcements. Guards paced the battlements, crossbows strapped casually at their sides.
Saevel slowed. "We don't enter through the front."
Rafi groaned. "Why not?"
"Because you two look like trouble. And I look like someone who drags trouble with her."
She veered left, toward a narrow trench running parallel to the city wall.
Rafi whispered, "Is this… legal?"
"No."
Aarinen followed without hesitation.
Saevel led them through the trench until they reached an outcropping of large roots—thick, pale, unnaturally twisted.
Rafi stared. "Those don't look like normal tree roots."
"They aren't," Saevel said. "Karathra grew over something. And sometimes the something still wants to breathe."
Before Rafi could respond, Saevel crouched and pushed aside one of the roots. Beneath it, a dark passageway revealed itself—stone walls, a faint drip of water, and a whisper of stale air.
Rafi's voice cracked. "We're going underground?!"
"Yes."
"I hate underground."
"I know."
Aarinen stepped into the passage. "Come."
Rafi swallowed loudly and followed.
Saevel replaced the root behind them, sealing the entrance.
Darkness closed in, broken only by the soft glow of a small vial she pulled from her satchel. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, casting pale blue light on the walls.
Rafi whispered, "How far does this tunnel go?"
"Far enough," Saevel said.
They walked for several minutes, the tunnel widening slightly as it sloped upward again.
Then Aarinen stopped.
"Do you hear that?"
Rafi shook his head violently. "No. And I don't want to."
Saevel listened. "I hear… a scraping?"
"No," Aarinen said. "A breath."
Saevel paled.
Rafi squeaked, "A WHAT—"
At the far end of the tunnel, a shadow shifted.
Then two pale, reflective eyes opened in the darkness.
Aarinen pushed Rafi behind him.
Saevel whispered, "That shouldn't be here."
Aarinen stepped forward.
The creature—or person—exhaled softly.
And in that breath, Aarinen recognized something.
Not the voice.
Not the man from before.
But a message.
A second watcher.
Following the first.
And this one had reached the tunnel first.
Aarinen steadied his stance.
Rafi clung to his cloak.
Saevel's hand drifted toward her satchel.
The eyes blinked once.
And then the darkness moved.