The knock came again. Three times. Unhurried. As if whoever stood outside already knew what lay within.
Aelira's heart thundered in her chest. The air grew heavy — not just with fear, but with something stranger. The kind of stillness that only happens before lightning strikes.
Mava grabbed a pouch of herbs from the shelf and shoved it into Aelira's hands. "There's a tunnel under the back root cellar. Go. Take the northern path and don't stop until the river."
Aelira opened her mouth to argue, but Mava's expression silenced her.
"Go, girl," she said, softer now. "You were never meant for this village. Your path starts tonight."
Another knock. Closer this time. Somehow louder without being louder.
Aelira fled through the rear door, breath catching as cold air bit her skin. Behind the cottage, moonlight filtered through silverleaf trees. The root cellar's door creaked open under her touch, revealing a narrow passage beneath—a place she'd never known existed.
She slipped inside, crouching, the herbal pouch clutched tight. Her fingers grazed the stone walls as she moved forward, the passage curling like a snake underground. The deeper she went, the more her skin tingled with a strange warmth.
The light again.Inside her.
She reached a sealed wooden trapdoor and pushed it open. Fresh forest air greeted her, sharp with pine and frost. She crawled out into the underbrush and froze.
Someone stood not far ahead.
A tall figure, cloaked in black. A sword at his hip. A silver mask glinting in the moonlight.
She held her breath, ready to flee—
But he didn't move. Didn't attack.
Instead, he turned his head slightly. Watching her.
Her instincts screamed danger, but her body… stilled. Not in fear. Something else. Recognition?
He said nothing. Then, very softly:
"They're coming. You must run."
His voice was low and smooth, like river stones. He took a step toward her — slow, cautious — and removed a small crystal from his cloak.
The moment he did, a chill swept through the clearing. Black mist curled from the trees behind her. A sound like glass shattering echoed through the woods.
Aelira turned — and saw them.
Tall, thin, and hunched — as if their bones bent the wrong way. Skin like ash, eyes glowing red, and no mouths — only endless darkness where their faces should be.
Shadow wraiths.
Just like in Mava's stories.
Her throat closed in fear, but the masked man stepped forward, raising the crystal high. Light erupted from it — not like her soft moonlight, but sharp, burning silver.
The wraiths screamed without voices, recoiling.
"Move!" the masked man shouted. "Now!"
Aelira ran. Branches whipped her face, roots clawed at her feet, but she didn't stop. He ran behind her, guiding her through the dark — until the trees gave way and she stumbled into a clearing beside the river.
There, she collapsed.
Breathing hard. Heart pounding. Hands burning.
When she looked down, they were glowing again — brighter this time.
"I don't understand what's happening," she whispered.
The masked man kneeled beside her, eyes unreadable behind the silver.
"You will," he said.
Then, as the moon rose high above them, he added in a voice that sounded like fate itself:
"You are the last of the Starborn. And the Veil has begun to tear."