The dawn fog hadn't burned off. Of course not.
It clung to their boots like it had nothing better to do, hiding the trail like it was playing coy. The sky looked like someone had forgotten to paint it. No birds, no songs, just that lovely, murdery silence, thick as wet cloth and twice as welcoming.
Kaal's breath was shallow. His ribs still ached, but it was the silence that unnerved him.
He used to crave quiet. In the palace, noise meant questions, obligations, people watching and listening. But this kind of silence wasn't peace.
It was listening.
Lyra walked ahead, slower than usual, her hand resting near her blade. She'd said little since they'd broken camp. Not that she'd ever been chatty, but today felt different.
Alert. Wary.
Not just watching for danger. Expecting it.
The trail narrowed, leading them into a forested hollow. The trees here were twisted, their branches arched over the path like a ribcage. Moss blanketed everything, even the rocks, as if the forest had grown tired of being seen and tried to cover itself.
Then they heard it.
A whisper.
Soft. Almost nothing. Like wind brushing against fabric.
Kaal stopped. "Did you hear that?"
Lyra raised a hand without turning. "Yes."
They both listened.
The whisper came again. This time, it was clearer, though it carried no words. Just breath. Something distant trying to get close.
Kaal's fingers tightened around the dagger hilt at his belt. "It's not the wind."
"No," Lyra said. "It's not."
They moved more carefully after that, speaking only when necessary. The forest twisted tighter, and by midday, the path split.
To the left, a dark cleft in the rocks, narrow, steep, barely a trail at all. The trees leaned away from it, as if whatever lived inside wasn't welcome.
To the right, the forest brightened slightly. Not much, but enough to see further. The trees there were still and straight, but the air smelled strange, too sweet, like rotting fruit.
Lyra stared at both paths for a long time. "We don't have a map for this part."
Kaal looked down the right fork. "That one feels wrong."
"They both feel wrong," she muttered.
She crouched near the ground, brushing aside leaves. No tracks. No signs of others. Just untouched earth.
"Thoughts?" she asked finally, looking back at him.
Kaal hesitated. "The left feels worse. But maybe that's better."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "That some royal logic?"
"No," he said. "It's just… the things that look easier often aren't."
She studied him, then nodded once. "Left it is."
The path narrowed fast, forcing them into a single file. The rocks scraped against Lyra's shoulders, and mist pooled at their feet, stubborn and thick. Sometimes the stone walls dripped. Not with water, but something that smelled faintly metallic.
Kaal didn't mention it.
Lyra didn't stop.
After nearly an hour, the trail opened into a wider space, a bowl-shaped clearing surrounded by stone. At the center stood an archway.
Ancient. Broken. Blackened by time and soot. Carvings ran along its sides, mostly worn away, but some symbols remained. Familiar spirals. Crescent shapes.
And a word, partially buried beneath moss.
Kaal stepped forward and crouched.
He brushed the moss back.
The word wasn't in any language he knew, but something about it made his stomach turn.
Lyra watched him from a distance, hand on her dagger. "What is it?"
He stood slowly. "I don't know."
"You're not glowing."
He blinked. "What?"
"Your veins. Usually, this kind of creepy gives you a glow-up."
He looked at his hands. Nothing.
"Maybe it's dormant," he said. "Maybe whatever this is... it's old enough to forget me."
"Or maybe it remembers too well," Lyra muttered.
"I can't believe we actually think this place is related to you." She rubbed her face.
They didn't step through the archway. Not yet.
Instead, they set up camp at the edge of the clearing, where the stone met trees.
The light never shifted. The sun didn't rise or fall. It just hovered, pale and suspended, like the day itself was holding its breath.
Kaal sat cross-legged on his bedroll, reading from one of the journals he'd brought. The pages were full of maps and half-legends, notes written in the margins by scholars long dead. The arch wasn't mentioned, but the symbols were.
"Elder marks," he murmured. "From the First Trials. Before recorded Zmryt history."
Lyra glanced at him. "You think this was some kind of test?"
"Maybe. A gate. A ritual. A warning."
She threw a stone at the base of the arch. It clinked harmlessly, bounced, and rolled into shadow.
Nothing happened.
She didn't relax.
Night fell slowly, or maybe not at all,it was hard to tell.
They sat close, back to back, watching opposite sides of the clearing.
"You think we'll make it?" Kaal asked quietly.
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "I don't know. But we're too far to turn back."
"I think I believe her," he said, voice soft.
Lyra glanced at him. "Who?"
"My mother. She believes in Eternity. Believes it can help me."
Lyra was quiet. "That's nice."
Kaal turned slightly. "Don't you have someone?"
"Once upon a time," she said. "But people don't stay."
Silence again.
Then the whisper returned.
Closer this time.
Both of them froze.
The wind didn't move. The trees didn't sway. But something was there.
Watching.
And still, the arch stood in silence.