Arin woke at dawn, heart still hammering from the nightmares of the night before. Pale light filtered through the trees and played on the forest floor, strewn with remnants of hurried flight. His body was sore all over, muscles stiff from running. The world around him was silent except for a distant birdcall. Leira shifted beside him, her hand seeking his. The soft sound of her breath anchored him. He met her eyes and took a shuddering breath.
"Arin," Leira whispered, voice rough with sleep and worry. She propped herself on an elbow and offered a shaky smile. He turned toward her and tried to match it. His voice was thick when he answered, "I'm… okay." It felt like a lie. He could still feel adrenaline coursing through his veins. Leira closed her hand over his. "We're alive," she said. "That's what matters." She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.
They had stumbled into these woods in the darkness, fleeing through the night. Now, in the morning mist, the trees felt like silent guardians. A small cave opened at the base of an ancient oak. Inside, the surviving villagers had lit a low fire and piled their belongings. Outside, a few traps lay cast among wildflowers. Arin slowly pushed himself to sit upright.
"How long must we stay hidden?" Arin asked, glancing at the little camp. Leira bit her lip. "We don't know," she admitted. "Until it's safe." Her voice was firm, even if her hands trembled a little. He nodded, each leaf rustle making him glance around. He held his sword loosely, ready.
Leira's voice wavered as she leaned closer. "You did so much," she said quietly. "You led us out of there… I couldn't have made it without you." She rested her head on his shoulder. Arin's chest tightened. He remembered her small, frightened face earlier that night. He murmured, "I saw their trap too late… I'm sorry." She wrapped an arm around him in a half-hug. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "If anyone tells you otherwise, I won't believe it."
They sat like that for several moments, listening to the forest waking around them. Mist lifted off the stream nearby and birds began to sing. When Arin finally straightened, Leira stood too and brushed moss from her cloak. She handed him a handful of kindling and he used it to rekindle the fire. Around the new flames, the others moved quietly: an old man sharpening a knife, a woman wrapping a bandage on her arm. Arin and Leira fetched water from the stream together, silent and in step.
As they worked, Arin's thoughts churned. Fatigue weighed on him, and the power in his eyes felt alive, tugging at him with every flicker of shadow. He struggled not to stare at every movement: a deer's tail flicking in the underbrush, the way sunlight glinted off a spider's web. Leira noticed his distant gaze and reached for his hand. He managed a small smile as he handed her a filled water skin.
By afternoon the forest was alive with green and gold. Sunbeams danced through the canopy, and the air smelled faintly of wild mint by the stream. The camp fell quiet under the heat of the sun. Maera, the village storyteller, sat under an oak splitting walnuts. The cooking woman napped, her sleeping child cradled in her arms. Arin and Leira ate roots and berries, passing a cup of warm herbal tea between them. Leira gave Arin the cup with a smile. "Drink," she said. "It'll steady you." He sipped slowly, feeling the warmth spread through him.
As dusk fell, the survivors gathered again around the fire. Smoke coiled into a deepening purple sky. Taren, the ex-forester, raked a circle of glowing embers. Briona cradled her dozing daughter. Leira sat close to Arin, her shoulder brushing his.
Maera cleared her throat and began in a low, rumbling voice. "In an age long past, there was a boy named Elion," she said. "He was born under the light of a silver moon and had eyes that could see into the unseen. Nothing in this world was hidden from him — neither joy nor sorrow, truth nor lies. He could see the spirits that danced at the edge of the woods, and the fate that flickered in every soul." The group leaned in, captivated. Maera spoke of Elion guiding innocent villagers through darkness and the great sacrifice he made to save them.
Arin felt a chill. The tale of Elion's gift echoed in his mind. His own story, reflected. Leira watched him from the corner of her eye. He met her gaze, and she only squeezed his hand. The fire crackled, leaving the lesson unsaid but clear.
Taren broke the quiet with a soft laugh. "Time for our own rest, I think," he said. Others murmured agreement. Briona settled her daughter in a blanket and yawned. Maera nodded and rose. Arin and Leira lingered by the dying fire, side by side.
Leira's voice was gentle. "That story… it's familiar, isn't it?" Arin thought of childhood nights. "My grandmother told me something similar," he admitted softly. "About a seer with strange eyes." He sighed. "I thought it was just a tale... until now."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Leira asked quietly. "Because it felt like a fairy tale," Arin said. "Our father said stories like that were lies to scare children. But after tonight... I'm not so sure."
They sat in silence as the fire died. Outside the cave, the forest was a silhouette of silver leaves. Leira leaned against Arin, eyes closing. He gazed out, feeling the weight of her faith in him. He stayed alert as the wind moved the branches.
Suddenly, a sharp snap sounded from the trees at the edge of the clearing — crisp and deliberate. Arin tensed.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Leira's eyes shot open. "What was it?"
Arin rose and stepped to the cave mouth, sword in hand. The light behind him left his face in shadow. He peered into the void. The fire was nearly out, and just beyond its glow the forest stood like silent sentinels. He could make out only darkness and leaves.
For a heartbeat, all was still. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: a pale shape slipping between the birch trunks. He spun, but it vanished. Leira came up beside him, alert.
They stood side by side, the only two awake, ready.
He crouched and scooped a few glowing embers into a pot to rekindle the fire softly. It would give them light but not blaze too high. The warmth was small comfort against the chill in the air. He stayed on guard, eyes fixed beyond the light.
In the hush of the forest, something waited.