VIOLET
I didn't know my way, or how exactly I expected myself to find the camp—but there was just… a sense of validity.
Like I knew where I was headed.
Like the trees recognized me.
Which is a very stupid thing to think.
But still, every time the wind shifted, every time the sun slipped through the branches to warm my cheek, it felt like a path was being laid out before me. Not with signs or markers—but in the tug in my chest, the ache in my bones. Like a thread I couldn't see, pulling me deeper.
Déjà vu.
That's what it was.
Not just from this life, but something older. Something that whispered through the rustling leaves and the creak of bark overhead.
The rogue camp wasn't supposed to be easy to find. It was designed to vanish, to drift like smoke through the cracks of civilization. But still, I pressed on. Letting my horse pick her steps through narrowing trails, past gnarled roots and thickening fog. Hours passed. Maybe more.
And then… I saw it.
