The wind did not belong to this world.
Lira knew it the moment it whispered her name.
She stood at the edge of the forest, boots half-sunk in silver moss, watching the trees bend without touching. The villagers had warned her: "Nothing good lives past the Veilwood." But nothing good had ever called to her either.
"Lira…"
The voice came again—soft, like breath against glass.
She stepped forward.
The moment her foot crossed into the forest, the world changed. The air shimmered. Colors deepened. Shadows stretched as if alive. And then she saw it—a creature perched on a broken branch, its body made of faint starlight, its eyes ancient and knowing.
"You came," it said.
Lira swallowed. "You called me."
The creature tilted its head. "Not called. Remembered."
A strange warmth spread through her chest. "I've never been here before."
"Haven't you?" it asked gently.
Before she could answer, the ground trembled. A low, distant roar echoed through the trees. The creature's glow flickered.
"It's already hunting," it whispered. "You're late."
"For what?"
The creature leapt down, landing soundlessly before her. "To decide who you are."
The trees began to twist, their branches reaching, closing in. The path behind her vanished.
Lira's heart pounded. "And if I don't?"
The creature's eyes dimmed, just slightly.
"Then the forest decides for you."
Another roar—closer now.
The creature extended a glowing hand.
"Come," it said. "Before it finds you."
Lira hesitated only a second… then took its hand.
And the forest exhaled.