The rain came early, a low mist rolling through the village before the sky opened into a steady downpour. The ground turned to mud beneath the villagers' boots as they hurried between huts, pulling cloaks tight around their shoulders. The cheerful sounds Victor had grown used to—children playing, merchants calling out—were muted by the weather. The whole place felt subdued, like the storm had pressed its hand against every roof.
Victor had slept poorly, tossing in fits. His dreams had been filled with threads of silver winding through black trees, whispering voices calling his name in a tongue he didn't understand. When he finally woke, his chest was tight, as though the forest had followed him into sleep.
He found Thorian near the longhouse, speaking in hushed tones with two hunters. Both men carried long spears tipped with stone, and both looked shaken. They glanced at Victor when he approached but quickly turned away, muttering excuses before disappearing into the rain.
Thorian stood silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the distant tree line. Then he said quietly, "Something prowls closer to the village than it should. A Skryth. The hunters caught sight of its tracks near the marsh."
Victor frowned. "What's a Skryth?"
Thorian's gaze flicked to him. "A forest predator. The villagers fear it more than wolves or bears. Its skin bends light, blurring its shape. In the dark, it looks like smoke—or nothing at all until it's already upon you. They say you hear it before you see it, claws scraping bark, breath rasping like a man choking."
Victor shivered despite the damp warmth of the rain.
Thorian continued, his tone grave. "It should not be this close. Not with the wards still standing. That concerns me more than the beast itself."
Victor remembered the figure from the night before—the threads of silver weaving into a shape, the way it had turned its gaze toward him. "What if it's… connected? To what I saw?"
For the first time, Victor saw Thorian's composure falter. A shadow crossed his face, something like fear buried beneath the lines of his calm mask. "Perhaps. But don't speak of this to the villagers. Panic would serve no one."
Victor wanted to demand answers, to claw the truth out of him, but Thorian's voice held finality. Secrets pressed against Victor from every side, suffocating him.
Later that day, Mira found him in the training yard. The rain had left the ground slick, mud sucking at their boots as they practiced. Victor's strikes were sloppy, his balance off. Mira knocked the practice sword from his hands with a single precise sweep, then crossed her arms.
"You're distracted."
Victor hesitated. "Thorian told me about the Skryth."
Mira's expression hardened, though she gave no sign of surprise. "He shouldn't have."
"I also told him about the… figure. The silver light in the woods."
That caught her attention. Mira stepped closer, voice dropping. "And what did it do?"
Victor swallowed, remembering the way the whispers had wrapped around his mind, pulling him forward. "It noticed me. It felt like it was waiting for me."
Mira's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. "And Liora was there?"
"Yes. She stopped me from going to it."
For a heartbeat, Mira's expression cracked. Something unreadable flashed across her face before she turned away, retrieving his sword from the mud. "Good. Then you weren't alone."
Victor bent to take it, his hand brushing hers. She pulled back swiftly, almost too swiftly, and fixed him with her usual unyielding stare. "Don't let the forest draw you in again. If it wants you, it's not for any reason you'd wish."
Her words chilled him more than the rain.
That evening, she led him beyond the stream, deeper into the forest where the mist clung thick between the trees. They stopped before an ancient oak, its trunk broad enough for ten men to stand abreast. Etched into the bark were faintly glowing symbols, spirals and lines woven together like a knot.
Victor stared. "Another ward?"
Mira nodded. "These are older than the village. Older than me. Older than Thorian. They keep things out—things like the Skryth, or worse."
"Then why did something get through?"
Her gaze cut into him. "That's what we must find out. And why, of all people, it chose to notice you."
Victor felt the weight of her words settle over him like the stormclouds above. The world was shifting, pulling him into currents he barely understood. And there was no sign of the riverbank