Morning came slowly, as though the sun itself hesitated before rising. Its rays filtered through the thinning forest canopy, brushing against Naren's face, warming the cold stillness that sleep had failed to soften.
He had slept lightly, as he always did—half in dreams, half in memories, and half in the vigilance that kept him alive. Three halves made no sense, yet that was how his nights felt.
When he opened his eyes, Rafi was already awake.
Or rather—already speaking.
"…and then he said it wasn't a wolf, but I swear it had horns, and—oh! Good morning!" Rafi straightened, grinning nervously.
Naren blinked at him. "How long have you been talking?"
"Uh…" Rafi tilted his head. "Hard to say. I talk when I'm nervous. Or bored. Or… breathing."
Naren exhaled through his nose, a sound that almost resembled a laugh. Almost.
"Come," he said, rising to his feet. "We leave."
Rafi shouldered his satchel. "Where?"
Naren paused. His fingers brushed the folded letter inside his cloak, the paper stiff and impossibly real.
"West," he said. "Toward the ridge. When the sun sets, the shadow I seek will appear."
"You said that yesterday." Rafi jogged to catch up. "But… what does that mean? What shadow? From what? A person? A place? A—"
"A truth," Naren cut in.
Rafi blinked. "That's very poetic, but incredibly unhelpful."
Naren didn't respond.
They walked.
The Road to the Ridge
The forest thinned further until the trees were scattered like old memories—still present, but fading. Grass replaced roots, and the dirt beneath their feet grew lighter, more traveled.
Naren scanned the horizon with habit, not intention.
"Are we being followed?" Rafi whispered.
"Yes."
Rafi froze. "By what?"
"By the day," Naren said. "It catches everyone eventually."
Rafi groaned. "Why are you like this?"
Naren didn't answer.
But Rafi wasn't wrong.
They were being followed—but not by something Rafi understood.
There had been a presence since dawn. A quiet pressure on the edges of Naren's awareness. Not a beast. Not a person. Something… else.
Something old.
He didn't mention it. Not yet.
Signs of the Three Orders
Around midday, they reached what looked like the ruin of an old checkpoint—stone pillars toppled, banners long torn apart by wind and rain. Rafi examined one of the broken pillars and brushed away moss to reveal a faint symbol:
A circle broken by three lines.
Rafi frowned. "This is… one of the Orders?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
"All of them."
Rafi's eyes widened. "They were here?"
"At some point," Naren replied. "The Orders fought for territory decades ago. Forest paths like these were battlegrounds."
"You sound like you've studied them."
"I've seen what they leave behind."
The air felt heavier suddenly.
Rafi stepped closer to him. "Are the Orders involved in… whatever you're doing?"
Naren looked away. "Not yet."
The boy didn't press further.
The Crow
As the afternoon crept onward, a black speck swooped down from the sky and perched on a gnarled tree limb ahead of them. A crow—large, sharp-eyed, unsettlingly still.
Rafi shivered. "It's… staring at us."
"It's not staring," Naren corrected. "It's learning."
Rafi edged behind him. "Why does that make it worse?"
The crow tilted its head, clicked its beak once, and then—
Spoke.
Not in human words.
But in the unmistakable cadence of a message delivered.
It gave a short caw, hopped forward, and dropped something at Naren's feet.
A black feather, long and unbroken.
Naren stiffened.
"…You know what that means?" Rafi whispered.
"Yes."
"What?"
"That someone has taken an interest in us."
"Is it the Orders?"
"No."
"Is it… bad?"
Naren didn't answer immediately. His fingers tightened around the feather. It was cold—unnaturally cold, as if it had never known sunlight.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"This," he said quietly, "belongs to a Shadow-Warden."
Rafi's breath hitched. "A—those are real?"
"Everything is real," Naren murmured, "once it finds you."
Toward the Ridge
They reached the first slope of the ridge just as the sun began its descent.
The sky deepened into hues of amber and blood-orange—the colors Naren avoided, the colors that reminded him of the day his life was carved into two halves.
Memories tried to rise, but he pushed them back, as he always did.
Rafi followed him up the ridge, panting lightly.
"This feels like…" he paused, searching for the right word, "like we're walking into something important."
Naren nodded once.
"We are."
"And you're sure you want me with you?"
"No."
Rafi deflated. "But you're not sending me away?"
"I could send you away." Naren glanced at him. "You would follow me anyway."
Rafi brightened. "Probably."
The sun dipped lower. The shadows lengthened across the ground, stretching toward the ridge like dark fingers seeking something—or someone.
Naren stopped.
Rafi crashed into his back. "Wha—hey! Why'd you—?"
Naren raised a hand.
Ahead of them, the air shimmered.
Not like heat.
Not like light.
Like presence.
A veil rippled across their path—thin, nearly invisible, made of nothing and yet undeniably there. The strange pressure Naren had felt since dawn surged forward, brushing against his skin.
Rafi stumbled back. "What… is that?"
Naren exhaled slowly.
"The first shadow."
The wind stilled.
The sun froze in place for a heartbeat.
The air turned cold.
Something stepped through the veil.
Not a person.
Not a beast.
A shape—built of twilight, woven from dusk-light itself.
Rafi's voice trembled. "Naren… that's not… normal."
"No."
"What does it want?"
Naren slowly reached into his cloak and touched the letter.
"To lead me," he whispered.
"To what?"
His eyes darkened.
"To the truth of my mother's last words."
The shadow-being raised an arm made of lightless dusk and pointed deeper into the ridge's heart.
The air vibrated—a silent command.
Naren stepped forward.
Rafi grabbed his sleeve. "Wait! You can't go alone!"
Naren looked at him, and for the first time, the hint of a real smile tugged at his lips.
"Then don't let go."
He walked toward the shadow.
Rafi swallowed hard—and followed.
The veil closed behind them.
And the ridge swallowed their forms as the sun finally fell.