Sunlight cut through the canopy in long beams, filtered by the forest's dense leaves.
The ground was uneven.
Exposed roots.
Firm earth.
The air… alive.
Nothing there felt out of place.
Until—
space gave way.
There was no sound.
The distortion emerged in the air like a flaw that did not belong there.
A fissure.
Vertical.
Unstable.
Its edges trembled like glass about to break, but did not shatter — they simply existed where they should not.
They did not reflect the surroundings.
They swallowed.
The surrounding form did not warp — it disappeared when it came too close.
The air around it receded a degree.
The light faltered.
The fissure did not close.
It remained.
Unstable.
Then—
something crossed.
The first to emerge was a boy.
The step came out incomplete, as if his body had still been somewhere else the instant before.
He took a second step forward to stabilize.
Black hair, straight and unkempt, fell over his forehead.
Pale skin…
marked.
Fine fissures ran across his face, emitting a soft light — not constant, but pulsing, like something trying to hold itself together.
His breath failed.
Short.
Uneven.
The body still aligning to its own axis.
The eyes—
one blue.
The other… gold.
They moved without focus for a moment.
Then fixed.
Ahead.
Before the air around them could settle—
another crossed.
Éreon emerged.
Without hesitation.
The movement was clean.
The dark fabric fell into place with precision.
Dark eyes scanned the environment once.
Reading.
The air did not react with rupture.
But with adjustment.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
Behind him—
a third presence.
Slower.
The dark cloak concealed the form completely.
No visible trait.
No haste.
The air did not adjust to her.
It simply… yielded.
The ground did not answer the weight of her step.
No confirmation of presence.
And yet… she was there.
Éreon did not move immediately.
His eyes fixed on the boy.
Observing.
Measuring.
"You crossed… without coming apart."
The boy held the gaze for a moment.
But did not answer.
Breath still irregular.
Body still adjusting.
"Your name."
It was not a request.
The boy hesitated.
Almost imperceptible.
"Kaelir."
Éreon's eyes did not change.
They remained a second longer than necessary.
As if something in him… passed through more than one layer.
"Kaelir…"
A slight tilt of the head.
"There is something in you that should not remain whole."
A pause.
"And yet… it does."
The tone did not carry open curiosity.
But there was interest.
Controlled.
"What are you?"
The boy opened his mouth—
but stopped.
His eyes lost focus for a moment.
As if searching for something that was not there.
"Lady Brianna said…"
A pause.
"that I should not answer that kind of question."
The silence did not break.
For a second—
nothing changed.
A faint trace appeared at the corner of Éreon's mouth.
It was not humor.
"She dared to look into the Abyss…"
Eyes fixed on Kaelir.
"…and still teaches caution."
Kaelir did not respond.
His eyes moved.
Stopped on the figure behind Éreon.
A second.
She smiled.
Subtle.
Kaelir nodded.
And then moved.
Toward the fissure.
Passing them.
Without quickening his step.
The air yielded a degree as he passed.
He stopped before crossing.
Did not look back immediately.
When he did—
his eyes were steadier.
More aligned.
"Lady Phoebe left a message."
His breath failed for half a second.
As if the body did not keep up with what needed to be said.
"She said that, the next time you meet…"
A short pause.
"she will not receive you as Tirésias."
His eyes wavered.
"But as the Marchioness."
The silence did not come immediately.
Éreon's eyes did not move—
but something in them… deepened.
As if that information did not belong only to the present.
Kaelir held it a second longer.
Enough.
Then—
he crossed.
The fissure yielded around him.
And swallowed him.
The silence did not fully restore itself.
The wind crossed the clearing.
Low.
Constant.
Moving the leaves without disorder — as if the forest itself avoided resistance.
Éreon took a step forward.
Toward the trees.
The dark fabric followed the movement with precision.
Another step—
and then stopped.
Before crossing the line of shadow.
His eyes remained on the forest line.
Unmoving.
A nearly imperceptible trace appeared in his expression.
It was not surprise.
Nor open curiosity.
It was recognition.
"Interesting…"
The voice came out low.
Effortless.
As if the realization had existed before being spoken.
A brief silence.
Behind him, the presence did not move.
But spoke.
The voice came serene.
Deep.
"What are you referring to?"
There was no urgency.
Nor doubt.
Only… perception seeking form.
Éreon did not turn.
"I did not feel it before."
A light pause.
"The fissure…"
His eyes remained forward.
"It masked
the intentions spread through the forest."
A slight lowering of tone.
"And what moves within it."
He knelt.
Slow.
Controlled.
The space around him absorbed him.
His hand touched the ground.
Fingers settled over the earth as if recognizing something not visible.
His eyes closed.
For a brief instant—
nothing happened.
Then—
the shadows around trembled.
They did not expand.
Did not advance.
But reacted.
As if something in them had been called.
The air lost density for a second.
And then… returned.
Éreon remained still.
Feeling.
Not the ground.
But what moved through it.
Seconds passed.
Few.
Enough.
His eyes opened.
Slow.
He remained in silence for a moment.
His gaze remained fixed on the forest line.
"This forest is not only alive."
A slight shift of the fingers over the soil.
"μύγα. (Fly)"
A single word.
Low.
Precise.
The shadows responded without delay.
They detached from the ground, from the trunks, from the spaces between light.
They took form — ravens.
Not fully solid.
Nor completely ethereal.
They moved as an extension of something larger.
One advanced first, cutting through the air toward the forest.
The others split — part followed it, part broke in the opposite direction, spreading in silence.
Observing.
Carrying with them what did not need to be said.
Silence returned.
One of the ravens broke pattern.
Returned.
Cut the air in a low arc and landed on Éreon's shoulder.
The claws made no sound.
The form wavered for a moment — as if not fully accepted by reality.
Then stabilized.
Éreon's eyes did not move immediately.
But the corner of his mouth yielded a degree.
Almost imperceptible.
"I see…"
A short pause.
"So that's how she led it."
The raven dissolved.
Not into particles.
But into absence.
Behind him, the voice came serene.
Deep.
Unhurried.
"And what exactly do you believe you have understood?"
Éreon remained facing the forest.
"There is movement."
"Organized enough not to be accidental."
A brief silence.
"And careless enough not to be fully concealed."
The presence behind him did not move.
"Movement?"
The question carried no tension.
Only precision.
Éreon tilted his head slightly.
As if listening beyond immediate reach.
"Yes, an army is coming in this direction."
The silence did not break immediately.
The voice behind him returned.
Serene.
"And what do you intend to do?"
Éreon did not answer at once.
"There is no margin for retreat."
A step forward.
This time, crossing the boundary of shadow.
Space seemed to yield a degree to the passage.
The presence behind him approached.
Unhurried.
Éreon did not look back.
"Close your eyes."
A short pause.
"And do not move away from me."
The tone did not rise.
But allowed no doubt.
Her proximity ceased at his side.
The air seemed to compress for a moment.
Éreon spoke.
"Inverted world."
There was no echo.
No visible expansion.
For a single instant, everything remained exactly as it was — the forest intact, the air stable, the light still filtering through the canopy.
Then the ravens fell.
Not like something struck, but like something no longer sustained.
Their wings failed in the air, forms unraveling before even touching the ground — dissolved as if they had never been complete.
And the shadows responded.
A shudder spread across the ground, climbing the trunks, sliding between roots and spaces where light still touched.
They did not advance like a wave, nor expand like an attack — they simply took what was already there, occupying every surface with silent precision.
The forest darkened.
It was inverted.
The light remained, still present between the leaves — but it no longer commanded the space.
It became secondary — displaced, like something merely tolerated within a domain that no longer belonged to it.
And, far from there—
in the same instant, Thalia stopped.
There was no warning.
The pain came whole, sharp, cutting through her body as if something had been imposed on her — beyond the body.
The air failed.
Her fingers tightened hard on the arm of the chair, trying to hold a control that no longer answered.
For a brief instant, she resisted.
Then the body gave way.
The impact against the floor was dry, contained — but enough to break the corridor's silence.
Outside, the sound did not go unnoticed.
Footsteps came next.
Firm.
Without hesitation.
The door opened at once, controlled, without unnecessary violence.
The knight entered already in motion, his gaze sweeping the room just enough before finding her fallen.
There was no pause.
He approached quickly, but without losing form.
One knee touched the ground.
"Baroness."
The voice came low, firm. No panic — but already different.
"What happened?"
Thalia did not answer immediately.
Her breathing came irregular, failing between one effort and another.
Her fingers still contracted, as if the body had not received the command to release.
Her gaze was not in the room.
It was elsewhere.
"Stop!"
The voice tore through the room, abrupt, misaligned with her own body.
"Stop…!"
She tried to rise.
She couldn't.
The movement that came after was not control — it was delayed reaction, as if something still passed through her.
The knight did not retreat.
But hesitated for half a second — enough to realize that this was not merely physical.
Before he could act—
footsteps in the corridor.
Firm.
Unhurried.
He turned his head.
His gaze found first the silhouette in the doorway… and then the details settled.
Pale skin.
Black hair, unkempt in loose strands.
Brown eyes carried no alarm.
Only reading.
The armor was light.
Dark.
Fitted to the body without rigidity — made for movement, not direct impact.
Two blades rested fastened at the sides.
Not ornamental.
Functional.
The kind of weapon one does not carry to display… but to end.
The knight stepped back.
His posture reorganized immediately.
"Lord Doros."
The voice came firm, respectful.
Without excess.
"I heard the impact — when I entered… the Baroness was already like this."
Doros did not answer immediately.
He was already moving.
He entered the chamber without asking for space — like someone who did not need it granted.
His gaze passed over the knight just enough.
And then fell on her.
He approached without haste, but without pause.
He crouched beside Thalia, the movement clean, direct.
His hand rested on her shoulder.
Firm.
Not to restrain.
To feel.
"Thalia."
The voice came low.
Controlled.
No attempt to soothe — only to reach.
No response.
Her eyes remained distant.
Doros tilted his head slightly.
Observing.
"This is not pain."
A short pause.
Enough to conclude.
"It is interference."
The silence did not stretch beyond what was necessary.
"Bring Kael to me. Now."
The order came clean.
Direct.
Without explanation.
The knight nodded immediately.
"Yes, my lord."
He turned without wasting time.
His hand already on the door before the movement ended.
He left.
Without hesitation.
The chamber returned to contained silence.
But not to balance.
On the walls outside the castle—
The wind passed constant, touching stone and banners without altering the usual rhythm.
Two knights held position, facing the forest line.
Their gaze was not relaxed.
But there was no declared alert either.
One of them narrowed his eyes.
His head tilted a degree.
"Do you hear it?"
The other did not answer immediately.
But adjusted his posture.
Listening.
The wind continued.
The leaves moved.
But—
"The birds…"
A short pause.
The first kept his gaze fixed on the forest.
"They're gone."
The second knight drew a deep breath.
"Perhaps they were startled by the men trapped in the forest."
The answer came… without firmness.
The first did not look away.
A light breath through the nose.
"Yes, maybe I'm overthinking it."
His gaze still on the forest line.
The other nodded.
"After all…"
"We have the Baroness."
The first took a moment longer before answering.
"The third wall of the barony."
The wind passed again.
But, this time—
neither of them spoke.