Elara stood near the hearth, arms folded tightly around herself. The room felt warmer than before, the fire crackling softly, yet she couldn't shake the sense of being out of place—as though the walls themselves knew she did not belong.
The man watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"Before we go," he said, gesturing toward her clothes, "you should not enter Ravenshollow dressed thus. It would… invite questions."
She looked down at herself, finally really seeing it through his eyes—fabric too smooth, seams too precise, shoes unlike anything around her.
"I don't have anything else," she said quietly.
He hesitated, then crossed the room and opened a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Inside were folded linens, simple garments, worn but clean. He lifted one carefully.
"It belonged to my sister," he said after a pause. "She no longer has need of it."
Elara's chest tightened. "I—are you sure?"
He nodded once. "It will serve."
He turned away respectfully as she took the dress. The fabric was coarse beneath her fingers, heavier than what she was used to, smelling faintly of herbs and smoke. She changed slowly, awkwardly, unsure of herself. When she finished, she stepped back toward the hearth.
The dress was simple—muted blue, long-sleeved, tied at the waist with a thin cord. It felt strange against her skin, unfamiliar and grounding all at once.
He turned then, studying her—not unkindly, but with quiet assessment.
"That is better," he said. "Now you look as though you belong to this land."
The words struck her harder than she expected.
"I don't," she said softly.
He met her gaze. "Perhaps not. But the town need not know that."
They left the house soon after, the forest greeting them with rustling leaves and filtered light. Elara felt different walking now—less exposed, less wrong. Yet the weight of everything pressed heavier on her chest with every step.
By the time Ravenshollow came into view, her nerves were stretched thin.
As they entered the town, people still looked—but not with open confusion now. Their gazes were curious, cautious, measuring. She looked like one of them… almost. Enough to pass. Enough to avoid questions she couldn't answer.
Still, whispers followed.
"Do you know her?"
"She's not from here."
"Which road did she come by?"
The man walked steadily beside her, presence firm and grounding. When someone dared ask aloud, "From which town do you hail, miss?" he answered before she could.
"She is under my care," he said calmly. "And weary from travel."
That was enough.
For now.
Elara kept her eyes forward, heart racing, the borrowed dress brushing against her legs as she walked deeper into Ravenshollow—into a life she had never chosen, in a land that was already beginning to take notice of her.
And somewhere beyond the forest, beyond time and memory,
The man led Elara down a narrower street, away from the open square and the heavier foot traffic. The stone beneath her feet was uneven here, the buildings pressed closer together, their shadows stretching long across the road.
Elara hugged her arms to herself.
Nothing made sense. The town, the people, the way everyone looked at her as if they were trying to see through her rather than at her. She felt exposed, even in the borrowed dress.
"Why are they staring?" she asked quietly.
The man glanced at her, then ahead again. "Because you are not of Ravenshollow."
"That much is obvious," she said, her voice strained. "But they're looking at me like I don't belong anywhere."
He slowed slightly. "Because they feel it."
She stopped walking.
"Feel what?"
He turned to face her, studying her as though she were a puzzle he had not yet solved. "When I found you in the forest," he said, "I knew at once that you were strange."
Her stomach twisted. "Strange how?"
"You did not carry yourself like one born to these lands," he said. "Nor did the forest react to you as it would a threat. You felt… human."
Elara stared at him. "What does that even mean?"
He frowned, clearly surprised by her reaction. "You truly do not understand?"
"No," she said, her voice rising despite herself. "I don't understand anything. You keep saying things like they're normal, and they're not. None of this is normal."
He hesitated, then spoke more carefully. "There are many who walk Thalorien who do not appear as they are," he said. "Some hide what they are by blood. Others by choice."
She shook her head slowly. "You're talking in riddles."
"I am speaking plainly."
"No," she said, her hands curling into fists. "You're not."
Rowan exhaled, rubbing his thumb along the grain of his staff. "The folk here learn young to notice what cannot be seen. The forest teaches it. So do the old stories."
"What stories?" she demanded.
"Of the fae. Of night-walkers. Of wolves who wear the skin of men."
Elara's breath hitched—not in recognition, but in disbelief.
"That's—those are just stories," she said. "Things people make up."
Rowan looked genuinely taken aback. "You have never known them to be real?"
"No," she said firmly. "Never."
He watched her for a long moment, something cautious entering his gaze. "Then I was right."
"About what?"
"You are human," he said. "Entirely so."
Relief flickered through her chest—but it was quickly drowned by confusion.
"Entirely?" she repeated. "Why would I not be?"
"Because," Rowan said quietly, "most who wander where you did are not."
She swallowed. "Rowan… what exactly do you think I am?"
"I think," he replied, choosing his words with care, "that you are human, yet remember nothing of the world you stand in. And that is… rare."
The street seemed to narrow further, the air pressing in around her. "You're talking like this place isn't for humans."
"It is," he said. "But humans are not alone in it."
She looked away, her heart pounding. She didn't understand what he was implying, and that terrified her more than if she did.
"I just want to go home," she whispered.
Rowan's expression softened. "Then first," he said gently, "you must survive here."
They resumed walking.
Behind them, the whispers followed.
And ahead, unseen, the world was already taking note of her presence.