Jake woke to a sound he hadn't heard in days.
Not the child's soft tapping. Not the hum of the forest. Not the whisper of ribbons brushing against bark.
It was an echo.
A faint, distant echo—like someone calling out, swallowed by the trees before the sound could take shape into meaning. He sat up sharply, heart pounding. The forest had been silent for too long. Any sound felt like a lifeline.
He stepped outside, scanning the trees. The echo came again, softer this time, as if retreating. Jake followed it instinctively, moving through the underbrush with more urgency than caution. The bundle of stones on his back shifted awkwardly, but he didn't stop to adjust it.
The forest felt different today. Not hostile, but watchful. The air carried a tension he couldn't name. Even the sky's faint lines seemed to flicker with unease.
He reached a narrow path he didn't recognise. The echo had come from somewhere along it. He hesitated, then stepped forward.
The path wound between tall, thin trees whose branches arched overhead like ribs. The ground beneath him felt uneven, as if the earth itself had shifted recently. Jake pressed his palm to the soil, hoping for a pulse, a rhythm—anything.
Nothing.
Just cold, unmoving earth.
He stood, brushing dirt from his hand, and kept walking.
The echo came again—closer now, but still indistinct. Jake quickened his pace, weaving between the trees. His breath grew shallow. His mind raced with possibilities. Was it the child? Was she hurt? Was someone calling for help?
He rounded a bend—and stopped dead.
A figure stood in the centre of the path.
Not the child. Not the silent stranger. Not the cloaked figure from the ridge.
This one was different.
Their ribbons were bright—vivid reds and deep golds that shimmered even in the dim light. Their posture was relaxed, almost casual, but their eyes were sharp, alert. They watched Jake with a calm intensity that made his skin prickle.
Jake lifted his hand slowly, offering a simple greeting gesture. The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, they tilted their head slightly, studying him.
Jake tried again, pressing his palm to his chest, then outward. Honesty. Vulnerability.
The figure finally moved.
They raised their hand—but instead of returning the gesture, they traced a shape Jake didn't recognise. A sharp, angular pattern that felt more like a warning than a greeting.
Jake's stomach tightened.
He lowered his hand slowly. "I'm looking for someone," he said quietly, unsure if speaking was allowed here. "A child. She hasn't come for two days."
The figure didn't react. Their expression remained unreadable.
Jake took a cautious step forward. "Do you know where she is?"
The figure's eyes flicked to the broken ribbon tied to Jake's bundle. Their expression shifted—barely, but enough for Jake to notice. A flicker of recognition. Or concern. Or judgment.
They stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away. Jake held his breath.
The figure reached out—not to Jake, but to the broken ribbon. Their fingers hovered over the frayed thread, not touching but warming it, as if they were mourning a small, dead thing.
Their voice, when it came, was soft but firm. "Your threads are unravelling."
Jake swallowed hard. "I know. I'm trying to fix it."
The figure shook their head slowly. "You cannot fix what you do not understand."
Jake felt frustration rise in his chest. "Then help me understand."
The figure's gaze softened—just a fraction. They lifted their hands and traced another unfamiliar shape in the air. This one was slower, more deliberate. Jake watched closely, trying to decipher its meaning.
The figure pointed to the forest behind them. "The rhythm has shifted."
Jake frowned. "Because of me?"
The figure didn't answer directly. Instead, they tapped their chest once. "Everything is connected."
Jake felt the words land with a heavy, physical thud—the ninth stone in a bag that was already too heavy to carry. He wanted to ask more, but the figure had already turned away, stepping off the path and into the trees.
Jake took a step after them. "Wait—please. Tell me where she is."
The figure paused, half‑turned, and spoke without looking at him. "Find your missing stones."
Jake's breath caught. "I tried. I can't—"
The figure cut him off with a single gesture—a sharp, downward motion that silenced him instantly.
"Find them," they repeated. "Or the child will not return."
Jake felt the world tilt beneath him. "What do you mean? Is she in danger?"
The figure didn't answer. They stepped deeper into the forest, their ribbons shimmering like embers in the dim light.
Jake tried to follow, but the trees closed around the figure like a curtain, swallowing them whole. Within seconds, they were gone.
Jake stood alone on the path, heart racing, mind spinning.
Find your missing stones.
He looked down at the bundle on his back. The weight felt heavier now, as if the stones inside were pulling him downward.
He turned and began the long walk back to his shelter, the echo of the figure's words following him like a shadow.
When he reached the shelter, he didn't sit. He didn't rest. He dropped to his knees and emptied the bundle onto the ground.
Eight stones.
Four missing.
He stared at them, breath trembling.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt the full weight of what he had lost.
And what he might lose next.