We walk in silence for a while after that.
The path curves away from the Council cottage and back toward the slopes of Mount Berda. The farther we go, the fewer voices we hear. Fields give way to scattered trees, then to stonier ground.
I keep glancing at Varien.
She keeps her eyes on the road.
Her silence scares me more than any word she could have spoken.
Finally, she asks, "Was that all?"
I blink. "All?"
"In the dream," she says. "Did the shadow say nothing else?"
"It did," I admit. "But I wasn't sure if I should tell you."
Her gaze turns to me, gentle but firm.
"If you chose to speak at all, you may as well say everything."
I take a deep breath.
"It told me there was something inside me," I say. "Something I don't understand. It called it… a root. Said if I don't find it, I'll be lost."
The word hangs between us.
Root.
We keep walking.
"The way it said it…" I add, "it was like it was talking about something alive. Growing. Not just an idea."
Varien stops.
She turns to face me fully now, her dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that almost makes me step back.
"Did it call it a specific kind of root?" she asks quietly.
"Yes."
My voice drops to a whisper.
"It said… Night Root."
For a long heartbeat, she doesn't react at all.
Then I feel it —
A tiny shift in the air around us. The way her hands curl into fists at her sides. The way her shoulders tense as if holding back a shiver.
Her eyes, for the first time since we left the cottage, truly look frightened.
Not for herself.
For me.
"What is it?" I ask. "You know something about this. Don't you?"
She closes her eyes briefly, then opens them again.
"I know," she says slowly, choosing each word with care, "that there are stories older than the book I read to you today. Stories that were never written down. Stories that only survived as whispers."
Her gaze drops to my hands — the same hands that reached for the shadow in my dream.
"Some speak of roots that do not grow in soil," she continues. "But in people. Roots that bind, that mark, that connect someone to forces they do not fully understand."
A chill crawls up my spine.
"Forces like… what I saw?" I ask. "Like that dead land? That voice?"
Her jaw tightens.
"I don't know," she says. "And I would be lying if I pretended otherwise."
We start walking again, but slower than before.
"I don't want a root like that inside me," I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend. "I don't want to be marked by anything. I just want…"
I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
I just want a simple life.
I just want to be left alone.
I just want paradise to exist somewhere I can reach.
Varien seems to hear the things I don't say.
"Sibefer," she says, her tone turning gentle again, "people may sleep alone. They may work alone. They may even spend years convincing themselves they feel nothing for anyone but themselves…"
She glances at me.
"But no one truly lives alone. Whatever this dream was, whatever this name means, it is not yours to carry in silence."
"Then whose is it?" I whisper.
She doesn't answer right away.
When she finally does, her voice is low.
"That," she says, "is what I must find out."
We're nearing the slope now. The familiar outline of our cottage appears in the distance — the clay walls, the small window with its crooked frame, the apricot tree leaning over the yard.
Home.
It should make me feel safe.
Instead, I feel like I'm walking toward the edge of something I don't have a name for.
"What should I do until then?" I ask. "About the dream. About Fodiser. About this… Night Root."
Varien stops once more, turning to face me. The breeze tugs lightly at her braid and at the hem of her robe.
"Leave your nightmare where it belongs," she says softly. "For now."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you today," she replies. "If the dream were only a dream, it would fade on its own. If it's more than that…"
Her eyes darken.
"…it will come again."
That thought terrifies me.
And yet, beneath the fear, something else stirs —
A strange, trembling certainty that whatever has awakened inside me will not go back to sleep just because I want it to.
Varien rests a hand lightly on my shoulder.
"I will think on what you've told me," she promises. "I will look for what I can. If I find anything, you'll be the first to know. But until then, don't let this fear steal what is still yours — your days, your choices, the people beside you."
I look past her toward the fields, where Father and the other farmers are working. Toward the road, where Cabe and the others must already have gone their separate ways.
"Is it a sign?" I ask quietly. "A warning? A curse?"
"Maybe it's a reminder," she says. "Not to let go of those who stand beside you."
Her words sink deep.
We walk the rest of the way in silence.
When we reach the path that splits — one way toward my house, the other continuing down into the valley — Varien pauses.
"Go home, Sibefer," she says. "Help your parents. Breathe the air. Touch the earth. Don't let the Shadow be the only thing that feels real."
I nod.
She gives me one last, searching look — as if trying to memorize my face — then turns and walks away, her figure growing smaller against the light.
I stand there for a moment longer, staring at the place where the path disappears.
Something inside me is shifting.
Like a seed cracking underground.
Like a root sinking deeper.
Like a story I didn't know I belonged to finally calling my name.
I don't know yet if this is the beginning of my fall —
or the first step toward something else entirely.
All I know is this:
A new chapter has begun.
Not out there, in Drya's fields and rivers.
But here, in me.