It began with a whisper.
Not from the forest, nor the roses. From something more ordinary—yet no less mysterious.
A folded slip of parchment, caught on the corner of Elowen's window, flapping softly in the morning breeze. She found it just after waking, the glass still fogged with sleep, the room humming with dreams not yet finished.
Her name was written on the outside.
Delicate, curling ink. No seal. No mark.
Just Elowen.
She opened it with careful fingers.
The letter was short.
> There are truths even I have buried. The wind remembers them, even when I cannot. If I vanish, follow what it carries. Not all pain is punishment. Sometimes, it is a guide. — A.
Elowen read it twice. Then three times.
It wasn't dated. But she knew it hadn't come from long ago. The ink was fresh. The parchment smelled like roses and silver rain.
Amara had sent it.
And now she was gone.
Elowen dressed quickly, heart hammering. She dashed through the house, barely stopping to grab her cloak. She didn't even eat. Something in her bones told her this wasn't just a message.
It was a warning.
The rose gate stood quiet.
No hum. No bloom. Just vines and thorns.
Elowen pressed a hand to its frame, breath short. "Let me in."
Nothing moved.
So she closed her eyes and listened—to the way Amara had taught her. With her skin. With her heart.
A breeze stirred.
It tugged her hair. Nipped her ear. Curled around her fingers and pulled—not gently this time, but urgently.
She followed.
Through the garden.
Past the well.
Into the wild edge of the woods—where the trees grew close and the air tasted older. She stumbled over roots and brambles, chased the wind like it was a ribbon slipping through her hands.
And then—
There.
Pinned against a twisted oak, another note.
Tied with a single silver thread.
> You're braver than I thought. Good. You'll need to be. Keep following. The wind knows where I've gone. — A.
Tears stung her eyes.
Amara was leaving a trail.
And not because she wanted to disappear—
But because she wanted Elowen to find her.
Elowen pressed her lips to the note, just once, like a promise.
Then she looked up at the sky and whispered, "Carry me where she waits."
And the wind—soft and steady—moved forward once more.