The roots beneath Ren's hand pulsed again.
Not with life—with remembrance.
The clearing exhaled, a slow shudder that made dust rise from the earth.Lyra grabbed Ren's shoulder; Borin took a step forward;Draven tried to hide behind the nearest tree and immediately tripped over his own foot.
Ren didn't move.
He couldn't.
The pulse crawled up his arm, across his ribs, into the echo lodged inside him.For a moment, the two rhythms aligned—the memory belowand the fracture within.
Lyra saw his eyes shift.
Not gray.Not shadowed.
Reflective.
Like he was looking at something far away.
"Ren…?" she asked, afraid of the answer.
He inhaled sharply.
"She left more than an echo."
Borin gripped his axe.
"What does that mean?"
Ren placed both palms on the root now.
And the ground responded.
The clearing vibrated, not violently—but like a giant creature taking a breath after centuries of sleep.
Ren's voice came out quiet.
"When she came here…she didn't bring silence."
Lyra knelt beside him.
"What did she bring?"
Ren's fingers curled against the root.
"Memory."
Draven squeaked:
"M-MEMORY OF WHAT EXACTLY—? PLEASE LET IT BE SOMETHING NORMAL LIKE BIRDS OR—"
Ren finished:
"Of the one who came before her."
Silence.
A silence so deep it seemed ancient.
Lyra's face paled.
"There was another? Before her?"
Ren nodded slowly.
"A path doesn't appear because one person walks it."He lifted his head."A path is made when footsteps repeat."
Borin cursed under his breath.
"You mean there's a line of… shadows?"
"No."Ren's eyes softened, strangely."There were people.Real people.Before the Shadow became what she is now."
Lyra swallowed hard.
"And the forest remembers them?"
"The forest remembers everything," Ren whispered."It just… doesn't speak unless someone listens."
Draven wailed:
"SO WHY ARE YOU THE ONE LISTENING?!"
The root pulsed again—gentler this time.
Ren's breath hitched.
He felt something brushing his consciousness.
Not a voice.Not an image.
A presence.
Old.Tired.Heavy with regret and hope tangled together.
Ren whispered:
"It's trying to show me something."
Lyra gripped his arm.
"Ren, be careful—"
But the moment her fingers touched him—
The clearing changed.
The air grew thick, shimmering like heat over sand.The trees darkened, losing their color.The sky dimmed, though it hadn't yet dawned.
Lyra gasped.
"Ren… what is this?"
Ren stood.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
"The memory."
Borin raised his axe as the shadows around the trees deepened.
"Memory or not, if something touches the kids, I'll—"
"It won't touch us," Ren said softly.
"How do you know?" Lyra asked.
Ren glanced at her.
And the echo inside him answered instead:
"Because it's not alive."
The clearing rippled.
And then—
A figure appeared.
Not a person.Not a monster.
A silhouette carved from faint light and ancient sorrow.
Tall.Thin.Wrapped in long flowing cloth that moved like water.
The face was indistinct, blurred, but the posture—
The posture was unmistakable:
Waiting.
Lyra's breath trembled.
"Ren… is that her?"
Ren shook his head.
"No."
The silhouette turned.
Slowly.
Elegantly.
And faced him.
Ren felt his chest tighten.
"This is the one who walked before her."
Draven collapsed on the ground.
"WE'RE DEAD. THIS IS HOW WE DIE. WE GET HAUNTED TO DEATH."
But the silhouette didn't move closer.
Didn't attack.
Didn't even acknowledge the others.
It looked at Ren.
Only Ren.
And then—
It bowed.
A small bow.A respectful bow.A bow offered from one walker of a path to the next.
Lyra's mouth fell open.
"Ren… why is it bowing to you?"
Ren's throat tightened.
Because he understood.
Not from the echo.Not from the forest.
From the silence that had lived inside him since the day he woke in this world.
He whispered:
"Because it recognizes me."
The silhouette straightened.
A faint breeze circled them, lifting dust and fallen leaves.
And then—
The memory spoke.
Not in words.Not in sound.
But in a pulse that Ren felt in every bone of his body:
"Not the first.Not the last.But the next."
Ren staggered.
Lyra rushed to catch him.
"Ren?! What did it say?!"
He shook his head.
"It didn't say anything."
She frowned.
"You heard something."
Ren looked at the silhouette again.
"It named me."
Borin scowled.
"What name?"
Ren pressed a hand to his chest.
And answered:
"The next one who will choose."
The silhouette flickered.
Faded.
And then—
It was gone.
No wind.No light.No sign.
Only the clearing remained.
But it felt emptier now.Like something important had just stepped away.
Ren stood still.
The echo inside him trembled—not in fear.
In recognition.
Lyra touched his cheek.
"Ren… does this mean you're destined to follow her?"
Ren closed his eyes.
And whispered:
"No."
She exhaled in relief—
Until he continued.
"It means I'm the only one who can decide not to."
The forest shivered.
And the echo pulsed harder.