The reflection hadn't vanished completely. The light that had risen from the water followed us into the trees, white and silent. It pressed through the mist behind us, steady and alive. Sister Maren's hand gripped my arm, her breath sharp beside me. The rain had turned thin, more like smoke than water.
We ran. Branches tore at my sleeves, and mud swallowed my steps. Behind us, the pale glow pulsed through the forest – slow, rhythmic, almost breathing. The air hummed with a sound that wasn't wind.
"They're still following," she said.
Her voice was calm – too calm. I wanted to ask how she knew, but my throat was tight.
Ahead, the stream had swollen into a torrent. The old bridge that crossed it lay half-collapsed, its stones broken and carried away by the current. Sister Maren stopped short. Her breath came hard, but her eyes stayed sharp.
"We can't cross," she said quietly. "Not now."
Behind us, the sound of armor echoed faintly through the trees – metal striking against metal, steady and closing in. The Radiant Knights were near.
Maren pulled me behind a fallen trunk. The air trembled, thick with rain and the low hum of something deeper. She looked at me – really looked – as if trying to memorize what she saw. Her hand found the pendant at her neck. The crystal inside it pulsed faintly, answering the warmth beneath my shirt.
"They'll be here in moments," she said. "Listen to me."
I nodded, though I didn't understand.
"When the light comes, don't fight it. Whatever happens – keep breathing. Promise me."
"I don't understand," I said.
"You don't have to. Just remember."
The first Knight appeared on the ridge – visor down, sword drawn, white robes soaked with rain. Two more followed, spreading out across the clearing.
"Give him up," one of them called. "The boy is claimed. You know what he carries."
Maren's reply was steady. "That's why you'll never touch him."
She rose, placing herself between them and me. The crystal in her hand flared brighter. The hum in the air deepened, as if the forest itself drew breath.
"Maren," I started, but she turned once, her eyes calm and clear.
"Close your eyes," she said.
The pendant ignited. A sound like wind and bells filled the clearing all at once. The Knights shouted, but their voices vanished as the light poured outward – not fire, not heat, only a brilliance that erased the rain. Her hand touched my shoulder – gentle, final – and then everything broke. The ground shuddered, the air split apart, the storm dissolved into white, and for a moment I thought I was falling upward.
When I opened my eyes, she was gone. No Knights. No voices. Only ash falling where rain had been.
The air was still, heavy with the smell of ash and cold stone. The ground beneath me was soft, blanketed in gray dust that might once have been grass. The stream beside me still moved, but slow and dark, as if it carried too much memory. I tried to speak, but my voice was only breath. Everything felt quieter than it should have been – like the world was holding itself back.
A faint glint caught my eye. Near my hand lay Maren's pendant, cracked down the middle. I picked it up carefully. It was warm – not like metal, but like something still alive. It pulsed once, slow and soft, like a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
I looked around. The forest that had stood behind us was gone. Only black stumps remained, reaching up like burned hands. The old millhouse stood in ruin, its wheel half-melted into the mud. And yet, the pendant still glowed faintly, refusing to fade.
The mark on my chest stirred in answer – a pulse for a pulse. For a moment, I thought I could hear her voice again – not words, just presence – the kind that fills the silence between two breaths.
Keep moving.
The sky broke open to gray light. A single bell rang far away and stopped after one note. I didn't know if it came from the monastery or from my own memory.
I stayed there a long time, kneeling in the ash. The smell of smoke clung to my skin. When I closed my eyes, I saw her face again – calm, sure, vanishing into the light. I wanted to cry, but nothing came. It felt like the tears had burned away with everything else.
I looked at the pendant again. The crack ran straight through its center, like something that had broken to save me. I remembered the way she'd said my name – the way her hand had pushed me back into life. She hadn't been afraid of the Light. She had trusted it. Maybe she had trusted me too.
I walked. At first, I didn't know why or where. The world was colorless, painted in shades of smoke. Every sound echoed – my steps, my breathing, the faint drip of water from dead branches. Hours passed, or maybe minutes. Time felt loose. The hills rose and fell like waves of ash.
In the distance, I saw the faint outline of fields once tilled, fences half-collapsed, a house without a roof. Crows perched on its frame, black dots against a dead sky. I moved toward it without thinking.
The door hung by a single hinge. Inside, the air was damp but dry enough to rest. A broken chair, an overturned bucket, a child's shoe half buried in dust.
I sat by the wall and pulled my knees close. For the first time, I let myself breathe slowly. The silence wasn't peace. It was absence – the kind that waits.
I turned the pendant in my hand, watching the light inside it pulse in rhythm with the mark on my chest. Every pulse brought the faint echo of warmth, like a heartbeat through stone.
Night crept in quietly. Through the hole in the roof, I could see a single star. Its light trembled, blurred by drifting smoke. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then stopped.
I whispered into the dark. "You said I shouldn't let it speak. What if I can't stop hearing it?"
No answer came, but the pendant warmed against my palm.
By morning, the air had cleared. Mist rolled off the fields, carrying the smell of wet earth instead of ash. I stepped outside. The sky was pale, the color of unpolished silver.
I followed the dirt road north. The wind tugged at my clothes, cold but clean. Every so often I saw signs of life – cart tracks hardened in the mud, a fence mended with new wood, smoke far off between hills. People were out there, somewhere.
As I walked, the memories returned in pieces – the echo of prayers in the chapel, the laughter of boys stacking wood, the way Maren hummed when she thought no one heard. Each memory hurt a little, but not like a wound – more like pressure inside my chest. The Light pulsed there, steady, alive.
At midday, I reached a ridge overlooking a valley. Below lay a cluster of stone houses, small and square, their roofs dark with rain. A spire rose among them – not large, but tall enough to carry the mark of the Lumin Order on its flag. My stomach tightened.
Smoke drifted from the chimneys. I could hear voices faintly – the sound of trade and life. I hadn't seen other people since the night of the mirror. Part of me wanted to go down there. Another part remembered the golden threads on the stranger's robe and the way Maren's voice had broken when she said collect.
I stayed on the ridge. The wind shifted, carrying faint chanting – familiar syllables, the old prayers of purification. I recognized the words. They were the same ones whispered over the burned bodies of the White-Burned.
I stepped back. The Light in my chest throbbed once – a warning. The pendant grew warm.
Not now. Not yet.
I turned away from the valley and followed the ridge east, keeping the village at my back. The land sloped down into forest again, greener this time, untouched by the ash. Birdsong returned faintly – uncertain, like the world was trying to remember how to live.
By dusk, I found another stream. Clear water, shallow, cold. I knelt beside it, cupped my hands, and drank. The taste shocked me – clean, sharp, real.
When I looked down, my reflection stared back. For the first time since the chapel, it looked like me. But behind the reflection, in the current's twist, I thought I saw movement – a shimmer, faint as breath. Then it was gone.
I sat back on the bank, breathing hard. The wind had quieted. Sometimes I thought the world was quieter only because it was listening.
I felt the pull again – not forward or back, but inward, as if something within me wanted to open. I pressed my hand against my chest. The mark was warm beneath my skin, pulsing gently.
"Not yet," I whispered.
The last of the daylight faded. Fireflies began to rise between the reeds, small lights wandering without order. For a while, I watched them drift.
Far in the distance, beyond the trees, a shadow moved – tall, deliberate. Not soldier. Not anything that should have still been walking there. It stopped, turned its head toward me, and then vanished into the dark.
The pendant in my hand glowed faintly again, as if answering a question I hadn't asked. I didn't chase the figure. I just watched until the fog swallowed everything.
Then I lay down by the stream, the pendant against my chest, and listened to the water's slow rhythm until sleep came.
--End of Chapter 5--