The fracture in the sky widened as the day passed.
It wasn't visible to most—not yet. But Elowen felt it in her bones.
A pressure, a pulling, like something above was trying to peel the world open.
Ashen kept glancing up nervously. "It's not just a crack," he muttered. "It's a mouth."
"A mouth?" Elowen asked.
He nodded. "And it's starting to whisper."
They camped beneath a silverleaf tree that night. Its glowing leaves made the forest shimmer like moonlight, even though no moon could be seen.
Ashen tried to sleep.
Elowen couldn't.
The sky hummed.
She stepped away from the camp and climbed a nearby hill to look at the fracture. From this high, she could almost see it moving.
It wasn't just a line anymore.
It was a wound.
And it was bleeding light.
Then she heard it:
Elowen.
A whisper. Gentle, like wind through reeds.
She turned—but no one was there.
Elowen.
This time, it came from above.
She stared at the crack in the sky. "Who are you?"
You know me.
You carry me.
You are my echo.
Suddenly, the star fragment at her chest burned hot. She fell to her knees, clutching it.
Visions poured into her mind:
A throne made of roots and bone.
A child locked in a tower of mirrors.
A woman kneeling in a circle of ash, her hands red with power.
Her own face… with golden eyes.
You are almost ready, the voice said.
But your blood is not enough.
You must give pain to gain truth.
The vision vanished.
She blinked, breathless, her skin damp with cold sweat.
Ashen ran up the hill, sword half-drawn. "Are you all right? I heard your voice."
Elowen nodded, slowly. "It spoke to me. Again."
"What did it say?"
"That my blood isn't enough."
Ashen paused. "Do you believe it?"
Elowen looked at her hands. At the faint glow still pulsing beneath her skin.
"I think... it believes it."
The next morning, they followed a trail of scorched earth northward—toward a place the map called "The Hollow Vale."
According to Ashen, it was a dead place. Cursed. Empty since the last blood war.
But the god's voice was stronger there.
As they approached, birds flew backward.
Trees bent toward the sky as if fleeing the soil.
Elowen held out her hand. Her magic was reacting, burning hotter than before.
Then they saw the figure.
Standing in the middle of the vale, tall and still, with a cloak made of wind and wings made of nothing.
He wore a mask of tears.
And he turned slowly to face them.
Ashen froze. "That's not human."
Elowen whispered, "No. That's a Watcher."
One of the god's silent messengers.
Seen only when a prophecy is about to be broken—or fulfilled.
The Watcher raised one long, bony finger and pointed directly at Elowen.
Then it spoke, voice ringing like thunder in a cave:
Daughter of Blood and Stillness,
you have opened the first gate.
Three remain.
The god watches.
He waits.
And he weeps.
Then the Watcher turned to smoke and vanished.
Ashen exhaled slowly. "That's the second time someone's said the god is weeping."
Elowen stared at the space where the Watcher stood. "Then maybe we need to find out why."
That night, as the wind howled and the forest seemed to tremble, Elowen looked up at the sky.
The fracture was bleeding more now—
but not just light.
Memories.
One dropped like a falling star.
And when it hit the forest floor, it whispered one name:
Serenya.
Elowen's mother.