The eastern hills were never silent.Even when the village below slept, their ridges exhaled mist and whispers that wound through the trees. People said that was the wind moving through hidden caves, but I knew better. There was a rhythm to it — steady, deliberate, too much like breathing.
I wasn't supposed to be there. Nine-year-olds didn't climb the east path alone. But curiosity is a stubborn thing, and I'd run out of excuses to ignore the tug in my chest.
It started at dawn, the air still cool and heavy with dew. I slipped past the sleeping village, through the garden, across the brook, and followed the old stone trail as it curved into the forest. Every step felt like walking deeper into an old song whose lyrics I'd forgotten.
By midday, the fog thickened. The trees grew taller, the ground softer underfoot. The pendant at my neck hummed faintly — like it approved.And then I saw it.
A ruin.
Not large — just a ring of white stones arranged in a perfect circle, half-sunken into the earth. Moss draped over them like age itself had tried to hide their purpose. But the symbols carved on each stone were the same as the ones I'd seen in Havel's notebook — spirals, intersecting lines, and shapes that hinted at something celestial.
I knelt beside one and touched it.
The moment my fingers met the cold surface, warmth surged through me. Not heat — resonance. The kind you feel when a violin string hums beside another in perfect pitch. My vision blurred. The air grew thicker, as if the world had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale.
Then the whispers began.
Not in my ears — in my bones.Not words, but echoes.A language made of intention and sound, half-sung, half-thought.
"Awakened again… the vessel returns."
My breath caught. I tried to stand, but the ground beneath me pulsed like a heartbeat, and for a second I saw light spreading through the lines of the stones, weaving patterns that rose into the air like glowing threads.
When it stopped, I was no longer alone.
A figure stood at the edge of the clearing — tall, slender, wrapped in white and gold cloth that shimmered like mist. Antlers curved from their head like branches made of bone. Their eyes glowed faintly amber, calm and sorrowful.
The same creature I had seen on the hillside — the winged deer — but now it stood upright, human-like, and every instinct in me screamed that it was alive in more ways than one.
"Do not be afraid," it said, though its mouth didn't move. "You hear because you remember."
My voice trembled. "Who are you?"
It tilted its head. "One who guards the Breath. The world still remembers the Elders, even when their children forget."
"The… Elders?" I whispered. "Are you one of them?"
A slow, mournful shake of the head. "No. I am a shadow of their will. You, child of gray blood, are closer to them than I."
Gray blood.The phrase stuck like a thorn."Why am I hearing you?"
"Because the cycles turn. The seventh begins, and the lines between dreams and waking thin." Its gaze softened. "You are not whole yet. But you will be."
Before I could speak again, the ground shivered — faint but certain. The light from the stones flickered once, twice, and then died. The figure turned its head, as if listening to something far away.
"The Star Travelers have stirred. Their path crosses this world again. But not yet."Its voice echoed, fading like candle smoke. "When the rails sing, you will remember the rest."
And then it was gone. The mist swallowed the clearing, the glow faded, and I was left alone with the soft patter of leaves.
My legs shook all the way back down the hill.
By the time I reached the village, the sun was sinking. My mother was waiting at the gate, hands on her hips and worry carved deep into her face."Gray! Where were you? You scared me half to death!"
"I just—" I stopped. What could I even say? "—went walking."
Her expression softened. "Next time, take Mira with you, at least. The woods are… different up there."
Different.Yes. That was one way to say alive.
That night, as I lay in bed, I turned the pendant over in my hands. Its surface was cool again, no longer pulsing. I thought about the figure, the voice, the word Elders.
There were too many questions.But one feeling drowned the rest: I wasn't afraid.
Somewhere beyond this quiet village, beyond the clouds, beyond even the stars — something vast was moving.And for the first time, I had proof.
I fell asleep to the sound of rain on the window, my heart steady in time with the rhythm of the world.