The sky had grown restless again. Not with storms, not yet—but with the kind of pressure that hung just behind your ears. Like the world was listening too closely.
Ivyra stood at the edge of the charred garden, staring at the earth where nothing had dared to regrow. Her cloak fluttered in the wind. Beside her, Lyxra in his small form gnawed at the brittle edge of a stick with little interest.
"It smells like fear," he muttered. "Thin and sour. The villagers are whispering again."
Ivyra said nothing. Her fingers drifted to the faint warmth glowing beneath her collarbone—the mark. It had pulsed again last night. A heartbeat not her own.
---
The air shifted.
A small giggle broke through the silence. Ivyra turned just in time to see Naia sprinting toward her with a bundle of cloth in her arms.
Lyxra hissed lightly, but Ivyra lifted a hand.
"It's her."
Naia slowed, out of breath and beaming. "You're hard to sneak up on!"
"That's the point," Ivyra replied flatly.
The child grinned. "I brought something! Mama says I shouldn't come here but… I made you something."
She unwrapped the cloth, revealing a tiny, folded paper star—clumsily crafted, but lovingly shaped.
"It's from my old storybook," Naia explained. "It says stars keep nightmares away. You can put it under your pillow."
Ivyra stared at the offering. Her fingers hovered over it, then finally, carefully, took it.
"Thank you."
Naia beamed. "I knew you weren't scary. Even Mama's starting to think so."
"Mama shouldn't," Ivyra said.
"But she does. She told Papa to stop shouting about omens when he saw your eyes in town. He called them 'demon stars.' I think they're pretty."
Lyxra laughed, stretched, and circled Naia like a smug feline. "You might live to be the oldest villager yet, little one."
---
That night, Ivyra dreamed again.
The wind was thick with ash. She stood in a ruined place where trees bowed in grief and stone temples lay cracked beneath layers of moss and dust. Shadows drifted through the ruins—unreal and massive.
And then—the voice.
> "You wake. And still you wait. Do you fear your own howl, little wolf?"
She turned, but saw only outlines—shifting light in smoke.
> "The blade is singing beneath the roots. It waits for your scream."
> "Why haven't you screamed?"
The seal on her chest burned hot.
> "You've tasted softness. A flower. A child's laugh."
> "But all things burn. Will you burn too?"
She reached out, and the vision shattered like glass.
---
She jolted awake, sweat soaking her back. Lyxra lay by the door, his golden eyes open.
"Again?"
She nodded.
He sat up. "It's close. Whatever's calling you… it's not patient."
---
In the daylight, things moved more slowly.
Elynn, pale but improving, stirred by the fire, sipping herbal tea. Serren had come to check on her and now sat on the floor with her legs crossed, eyes on Ivyra.
"The seal is flickering," Serren said.
Ivyra narrowed her gaze.
Serren met her look without fear. "Your aura spikes when you're agitated. Yesterday, when Naia hugged you—"
"It's not your concern," Ivyra interrupted.
Elynn raised a hand. "Serren's only trying to understand."
Serren added quietly, "And maybe help."
There was a long silence before Ivyra relaxed her shoulders. "It's... dreaming again. The ruins. The voice. The weapon."
Lyxra stretched lazily. "Sooner or later, you'll have to answer it."
---
Later that afternoon, Ivyra sat near the stream that bordered the village. Naia joined her again, this time bringing an old, worn comb.
"Can I braid your hair?" she asked hopefully.
Ivyra hesitated.
"You don't have to talk," Naia added. "We can just sit."
To Lyxra's surprise, Ivyra nodded.
Naia sat behind her, small fingers clumsy but careful. She hummed a soft tune.
"Mama says the gods send dreams. Do you think that's true?"
"No," Ivyra replied.
"Why not?"
"Because they stopped listening a long time ago."
Naia frowned, still braiding. "Then maybe the dreams come from people who miss us."
Ivyra didn't answer. But she let Naia finish.
When the braid was done, Naia leaned against her back.
"You're strong, Ivyra. Strong doesn't mean mean. It just means you've had to be."
Lyxra blinked. "That… was oddly wise."
Naia shrugged. "Mama says I've been here before."
---
That evening, the wind rose again.
Serren returned to the outskirts of Ivyra's hut, pacing.
She looked back at the forest, then to the village—conflicted.
Her eyes flicked to Ivyra's chest, where the seal now faintly pulsed through the cloth.
> "What are you becoming?" she whispered.
Behind her, the sky rumbled. The chief's son leaned against a tree, arms folded, watching.
And deep beneath the ruined temple, the weapon sang to the roots.
It would not wait much longer.