The village was quiet that evening, the air heavy with mist. Elena had just returned from the woods, the secret book still hidden beneath her cloak. She tried to calm her heart, but every step toward the mansion seemed watched.
As she reached the iron gates, she noticed a figure standing outside. Tall, cloaked in black, his face shadowed by the hood. He did not move until she drew closer.
"Elena," the stranger said, his voice deep, smooth, almost familiar.
Her blood ran cold. "Who are you?"
The man lifted his head just enough for her to see pale skin and piercing eyes the color of molten gold. They seemed to burn in the mist.
"Do not fear me," he said softly. "I have waited for you."
Her throat tightened. "Waited? Why?"
The stranger's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Because your blood carries his song. The Ancestor stirs… and you are the key."
Before Elena could speak again, a torchlight appeared down the path. Her grandmother's voice rang out, sharp and commanding:
"Elena! Inside. Now."
Elena turned back, but the man was gone—vanished into the fog as though he had never stood there.
Her grandmother grabbed her arm, pulling her through the gates. Her eyes were fierce. "Did he speak to you?"
Elena struggled to answer. "Who was he?"
Lady Isolde's grip tightened. "A warning. That is what he was. From now on, child, you must never step beyond these gates alone. Do you understand?"
But Elena barely heard her. All she could think of were those golden eyes, glowing in the mist.