It lingered at the edge of the ridge, hidden beneath shadow and fog. The creature—if it could be called such—did not breathe as mortals did. It listened.
The rustle of reeds. The soft beating of bird wings. The subtle tremor in the earth when hooves struck stone. These were the things it read like stories.
The watcher had no name in the tongue of men. In its own, it was an echo—a remnant of what once was and might be again.
Long ago, it had walked among thriving cities, through temples carved into stone and towers that scraped the heavens. The scent of sandalwood and copper still clung to its faded memory.
But time had changed this land.
The people it saw now were simpler, grounded, rooted like the forests they tended. And yet, one among them… was different.
The star-borne girl.
It had seen her in a dream—or was it a memory? She carried the weight of two worlds in her gaze. The blood of the ancient ones ran through her, though she did not know it.
The watcher stepped between trees, slow and silent. It did not wish to be seen. Not yet. But it left signs, subtle and placed with intent—a stone here, a carved spiral there, a seed where no plant had grown before.
The village would feel the tremor of its presence soon enough.
But she... she would feel more.
She would begin to remember.
For in her bones was a song of civilizations lost—and the watcher had come to see if she would sing it once more.
But the time is yet to come, so it has to wait a little more.