The forest did not return to normal.
Even after the boy vanished, even after the clearing emptied of movement, the air remained thick — as if something unseen had pressed its palm against the world and refused to lift it.
Ren stood frozen at the edge of the clearing.
Lyra hovered close, one hand gripping his sleeve.Borin stood half a step ahead, axe raised, eyes scanning the treeline for any hint of movement.
Nothing moved.
And that was worse.
Ren pressed a hand to his chest.
The echo was still there.
But it felt… wrong.
Not silent.Not distant.
Small.
The realization sent a chill through him.
Lyra noticed immediately.
"Ren?"
He swallowed.
"It's… shaking."
Borin's eyes flicked toward him.
"The echo?"
Ren nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Lyra's breath caught.
"But it's ancient. It's survived seals and Shadows and—"
"It's never been hunted," Ren whispered.
The words weren't a guess.
They surfaced fully formed, pulled from somewhere deep inside him — not from memory, but from understanding.
The echo pulsed again.
Weakly.
Like a heart racing after a near miss.
Lyra's grip tightened.
"What does it mean?"
Ren looked at the place where the boy had vanished.
"It means whatever took him… wasn't curious."
Borin's jaw tightened.
"It was measuring."
Ren nodded.
"And it didn't like what it found."
The forest creaked.
Somewhere far away, a branch snapped — deliberate, heavy, paced.
Lyra drew an arrow and nocked it silently.
"Then we leave. Now."
Ren didn't argue.
For once, his instinct agreed.
They moved quickly, but not recklessly — weaving through the trees, avoiding open ground, keeping their breaths shallow.
Ren focused on walking.
On counting steps.
On not listening too closely to the echo's fear.
But it was hard.
The echo wasn't screaming.It wasn't begging.
It was withdrawing.
Pulling inward, curling against itself like a wounded animal.
Ren had never felt it like this before.
Not during the seal.Not during the dream.Not even when the Shadow's presence pressed against him.
This was different.
This was fear without direction.
Fear of something that didn't belong to its world.
Lyra glanced at him again.
"You're pale."
He forced a breath.
"I'm fine."
She didn't believe him.
They reached the ridge and paused.
Borin raised a fist, signaling a halt.
He crouched, touched the ground, then cursed softly.
"Tracks."
Lyra leaned in.
"Fresh?"
"Yes."He frowned."And no."
Ren felt the echo flinch.
"What does that mean?"
Borin traced the disturbed soil with two fingers.
"Something passed through here… but not like before.It didn't walk.It didn't fly."
Lyra's voice dropped.
"Then how?"
Borin straightened slowly.
"It folded the ground."
Ren's stomach twisted.
The echo pulsed sharply — panic flickering through its rhythm.
Lyra noticed.
"Ren—"
"It's not just afraid," Ren said hoarsely."It recognizes it."
Silence pressed in around them.
Lyra swallowed.
"Recognizes it from where?"
Ren shook his head.
"I don't know. But…"He pressed his palm harder to his chest."…this thing isn't from the same era."
Borin muttered:
"Of course it isn't."
Ren looked toward the distant treeline, where shadows clustered unnaturally thick.
"The echo remembers civilizations," he whispered."Wars. Extinctions. Seals."
Lyra's breath slowed.
"And this thing?"
Ren's voice dropped.
"It's not in the echo's memory."
That scared her more than anything else he'd said.
They moved again, faster now.
The village came into view far sooner than Ren expected — or perhaps he had simply been desperate to see it.
Smoke rose from chimneys.Voices drifted faintly on the air.
Life.
Normal life.
The echo quivered, easing slightly at the familiarity.
Lyra exhaled.
"Almost there."
They crossed the treeline.
And the echo collapsed.
Ren staggered.
Lyra caught him instantly.
"Ren!"
Borin spun, axe raised.
"What happened?!"
Ren gasped, breath ragged.
"It's— it's pulling back—"
His knees hit the dirt.
Lyra knelt with him, hands on his shoulders.
"Ren, stay with me."
"I am," he choked."It's just… hiding."
The echo curled inward, shrinking to a dim, trembling presence — not gone, not sealed, but retreating.
Ren felt cold spread through his chest.
Not from the echo.
From the realization.
Lyra whispered:
"Why would something like that hide?"
Ren lifted his head slowly.
His eyes were gray again — but not distant.
Focused.
"Because," he said quietly,"for the first time since it was born…"
He swallowed.
"…the echo understands it can die."
Borin stared at him.
Lyra's heart sank.
From the far side of the village, a bell rang.
Once.Twice.
The alarm bell.
Ren flinched.
Lyra stood sharply.
"That's not us."
Borin turned toward the sound.
"No. That's the south gate."
Ren forced himself upright, the echo trembling faintly inside him.
Whatever was coming…
It wasn't waiting anymore.
And the echo knew it.