Chapter Six: The Near Encounter
Morning arrived with voices.
Not loud ones—but purposeful.
Elara woke to the sound of murmured conversation drifting through the thin walls of the house. Her name surfaced more than once, spoken in tones that carried weight rather than warmth.
She lay still, heart already racing.
"She hasn't slept," her mother said quietly.
"That much is obvious," another voice replied—Mireya's.
Elara closed her eyes.
So it had come to this.
"Elara," Mireya called, louder now. "You're awake."
It wasn't a question.
Elara swung her legs over the side of the bed, dizziness washing through her briefly before settling into something dull and distant. Her body felt… muted. As though sensation reached her a fraction too late.
She stepped into the main room.
Mireya stood near the table with two others—both elders. None of them smiled. Her mother hovered close, hands clasped tightly together.
"We're going to ask you some questions," Mireya said.
Elara nodded once. "All right."
"When was the last time you went near the forest?"
Elara hesitated.
Her mother's breath caught.
"Yesterday," Elara said finally. "Only to the boundary."
A flicker passed between the elders.
"And before that?" Mireya pressed.
Elara lifted her chin. "I crossed it."
The room went still.
Her mother made a sound—sharp and involuntary.
Mireya exhaled slowly. "That explains the disturbances."
"I didn't mean to," Elara said. "I didn't know—"
"That no longer matters," Mireya interrupted. "What matters is containment."
The word landed heavily.
"Containment?" Elara repeated.
"For now," Mireya said. "You will not leave the inner paths. You will not approach the forest. You will not sleep alone."
Elara blinked. "What?"
"You'll remain where you can be watched," another elder added. "If attention has settled on you, isolation is dangerous."
Her mother stepped forward. "She's my daughter."
"And she is a risk," Mireya said gently. "To herself. And to us."
Elara's chest tightened. "You're treating me like I'm infected."
Mireya met her gaze. "We're treating you like something has noticed you."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Mireya continued. "There is a test."
Elara's pulse spiked. "What kind of test?"
"If the attention fades," Mireya said, "we will know containment worked."
"And if it doesn't?"
Mireya's expression hardened. "Then we consider… other measures."
Elara didn't ask what those were.
She already knew.
⸻
They escorted her through the village.
Not roughly.
Not kindly either.
People stepped aside as she passed. Some stared openly. Others refused to look at her at all. A woman she had once shared bread with pulled her child closer.
Elara felt it then—clean and cutting.
Abandonment.
She wasn't being protected.
She was being removed.
They stopped well short of the forest, near the old shrine stone that marked the furthest accepted edge. Mireya raised a hand.
"This is far enough," she said. "Stand here."
Elara obeyed.
"If nothing responds," Mireya continued, "we wait until nightfall. If something does…"
She didn't finish.
Elara swallowed. "And if it comes for me?"
Mireya's voice was low. "Then we will know the truth."
The elders stepped back.
So did everyone else.
Elara stood alone.
The sun was high. The world solid. Real.
She waited.
Minutes passed.
Then—
The air changed.
Not abruptly.
Deliberately.
Elara felt it slide over her skin like a shadow passing across light. Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled involuntarily.
"Stop," she whispered.
Pressure settled low in her chest.
Familiar.
Unmistakable.
"Elara."
Her knees buckled slightly.
People gasped.
The ground vibrated—not enough to shake, but enough to announce.
Leaves along the forest edge shuddered violently, though there was no wind.
Mireya swore under her breath.
Elara pressed her hands to her temples. "Please," she said aloud. "Don't do this."
The pressure deepened.
Not surrounding her.
Claiming her attention completely.
You wanted distance.
Her voice shook. "I wanted peace."
Peace is not what you crossed into.
The presence surged—controlled, immense. The boundary stone cracked with a sharp sound, a fracture running straight through its center.
Someone screamed.
Elara dropped to her knees, breath tearing from her lungs.
Not yet, the voice murmured—commanding now. Testing.
Her body responded helplessly—heat flaring, fear dissolving into something heavier, slower, more binding.
"This isn't containment," he said. "This is denial."
The pressure lifted suddenly.
The air rushed back.
Elara collapsed forward, gasping.
The forest fell silent.
No one moved.
Mireya stared at the broken stone, face pale. "It acknowledged her."
Acknowledged.
The word sealed her fate.
⸻
That night, Elara sat alone in her room.
They had allowed her back inside—but no one met her eyes.
No one spoke to her.
Her mother kissed her forehead and whispered prayers that tasted like goodbye.
Elara stared at her hands, barely recognizing them.
She didn't feel fully present anymore.
Like part of her had stepped somewhere else and refused to return.
He hadn't taken her.
He hadn't needed to.
The village had already let her go.
When darkness finally settled, Elara whispered into the quiet, voice steady despite the tremor beneath it.
"I understand now."
The air warmed faintly.
This was never about stopping him.
It was about how long she could pretend the claiming wasn't already underway.