The wind had changed again.
Not the kind of change that bent trees or darkened skies, but the subtle, almost imperceptible shift that only those attuned to the undercurrents of a world could feel. He felt it in his chest before he saw it—the tightening, the waiting. Like something ancient had opened one eye beneath the surface, and then closed it again, leaving ripples.
He moved quietly across the pathless field, the low grass swaying in harmony with his steps. Each footfall seemed to hum against the earth, like the land remembered him. The horizon burned a faint violet, not quite dawn, not quite dusk—caught between decisions, just like him.
He wasn't alone.
She hadn't spoken since they crossed the ridge. Her presence was like shadow at his side—not intrusive, but quietly coiled, observant. Her gaze followed different trails, patterns he didn't see. She didn't ask questions. Not yet.
"You feel it?" he asked, not looking back.
"Yes," she said simply. "It's waiting."
That was enough. They didn't need to name it yet. Not the echo of power, not the shifting structure beneath this land's skin. It was better to let some truths breathe before trying to control them with language.
They came upon a ruined archway, half-sunken in the earth. Stones worn to bone. It wasn't marked on any map. He approached it slowly, placing a hand on the lowest curve. A warmth pulsed faintly under his fingertips—old energy, dormant, watching.
"This wasn't here before," she murmured.
"It was always here. We just didn't notice."
She stepped forward, eyes scanning the moss-lined edges, fingers brushing lightly over faded carvings. Glyphs. Script from a time before written language had sound.
"Is it a seal?" she asked.
"No. A memory." He didn't know how he knew that, only that it was true.
Something in him stirred. Not a voice, but a pull. A direction. Not from the land, but from within. Like something buried deeper than bone had shifted, aligning with the old stones.
He sat at the base of the archway and closed his eyes.
No incantations. No rituals. Just breath.
The silence thickened. Not heavy, but alive. A silence that wasn't absence—but presence.
He began to remember things he'd never learned. He saw a city that had never existed on any map. Roads of glass and sound. Towers that grew like living things. People who bent the sky with thought alone. A boy—himself—standing beneath twin moons, staring into a mirror that reflected not his face, but all the selves he could become.
And then—
A heartbeat.
Louder than thunder, but contained.
He opened his eyes. The archway glowed faintly, but only for a moment. Then it faded.
He rose to his feet. "Something's waking up."
She nodded. "We should move. The forest isn't safe after dusk."
He didn't ask why. Not because he feared it, but because she did.
They walked in silence again, but it wasn't empty. It was filled with small truths unspoken—shared awareness, growing threads between them. Not friendship yet. Something deeper. Recognition.
As the trees grew taller and the sky dimmed, the sounds around them changed. Birds stopped calling. Insects hushed. The air turned colder, even though the fire in his chest hadn't dimmed since the archway.
They passed a stone marker beside the trail—three scratches etched deep into it. Not made by tools. Claws. Fresh.
She stopped walking. "It followed us."
He nodded. "It was bound to."
Her hand went to the hilt of her weapon, but he reached out and gently stopped her.
"No. Not yet. It doesn't want to fight."
"How do you know?"
"Because I wouldn't, if I were it."
That made her pause.
They kept walking, but slower now. The trees closed in, older than either of them could understand. Roots twisted like veins across the path. Somewhere behind them, a twig snapped. Deliberate.
Still, they did not run.
They came to a clearing at last. A circular space, wide and quiet. In the center, a stone dais half-swallowed by moss and time. Symbols glimmered faintly on its surface, shifting like smoke.
She walked toward it, but the moment her boot touched the moss-ringed edge, the air changed.
And something stepped into the clearing.
It wasn't quite beast, nor man, nor shadow. It had no eyes, yet it watched them. Its presence pressed into the lungs like cold water. Not evil—but old. Hungry not for flesh, but purpose.
He stood calmly. "You were waiting for us."
The thing tilted its head.
"You've forgotten your name," he said, more certain now. "You're just echo now."
It didn't respond, but it didn't strike. Not yet.
She stood beside him, silent blade in hand, waiting.
He didn't summon power. Didn't raise his voice.
He just looked at the creature and whispered,
"Then let me remember you."
And the clearing went still, as though the world itself paused to listen.