Unraveling Threads

Kaelen didn't speak of what had happened in the tavern, and Solenara didn't ask. But the silence that stretched between them was as thick as a forest at midnight, filled with unseen dangers and unspoken truths.

She should have been relieved—after all, wasn't this what she had wanted? Distance? Detachment? If he was turning away, perhaps it was for the best.

Yet, a restless unease gnawed at her. The night before had unraveled something within her, left her grasping at half-remembered visions. A goddess, a grove, a question unanswered.

And now, Kaelen returned different. Something intangible had shifted, though she couldn't name it. He had lost something in the night—or gained it.

She turned away from him, pressing a hand to her temple. The clearing she had chosen for clarity had only left her with deeper confusion. She had dreamed more vividly than ever before, feeling the pulse of a forgotten world beat within her. The truths were nearly within her grasp, yet like sand slipping through her fingers, they eluded her.

"I'll go ahead," Kaelen said, his voice unreadable. "We should keep moving."

She hesitated. "Kaelen—"

He didn't wait. Without a glance back, he disappeared through the trees.

Solenara exhaled shakily, fists clenching at her sides. Something inside her whispered that she should stop him. But the voice of reason—her own voice—reminded her that this was what she had always told herself she wanted.

Wasn't it?

Kaelen moved through the dense foliage like a shadow, his pulse unsteady. The lingering scent of wildflowers clung to him, seeping into his skin, into his thoughts. Althara's touch still lingered—a ghostly warmth along his arms, his lips.

Yet beneath the pleasure, a growing unease took root. His memories of the night were scattered at best, and that disturbed him. He was never careless, never reckless. But with her… something had felt inevitable. As though resisting had never been an option to begin with.

Something about her words tugged at his mind. Fate works in mysterious ways, doesn't it?

Fate.

The word echoed through him like an omen.

His fists tightened. He had long since stopped believing in destiny. Yet here he was, feeling like a pawn on an unseen board.

Ahead, the sound of running water reached his ears. A river. Good. Something constant. Something real.

He knelt at the water's edge and splashed the cold liquid onto his face, breathing heavily as though it could wash away whatever had been placed upon him.

Then he saw it.

A faint shimmer along his forearm, just where Althara's fingers had trailed. It was barely noticeable in the daylight—only when the sunlight caught it just right. A marking? A sigil? His breath came faster as he rubbed at the skin, but the faint silver imprint remained.

Dread curled in his stomach. This was more than a night of indulgence. Something had changed.

But what?

Solenara reached the riverbank just moments after him, pausing when she saw him tense over the water's edge. He had not yet noticed her presence, and for a moment, she debated whether to announce herself at all. The thought of leaving him alone with whatever thoughts consumed him was tempting—perhaps even wise.

But wisdom didn't soothe the ache in her chest.

She stepped forward. "You're quiet."

Kaelen stiffened but did not look up. "So are you."

Solenara eyed him carefully. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

A humorless chuckle escaped him. "That's rich, coming from you."

She bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

For the first time, he turned to face her, and Solenara immediately caught the flicker of something dark in his gaze—something wounded, something guarded.

"It means you've spent every step of this journey telling me not to get close." His voice was even, but there was an edge to it. "You build walls so high even you can't see over them. So why ask now?"

The words struck like an open palm to her chest. She recoiled, but she wasn't certain whether it was in anger or something else entirely.

Because he was right.

She opened her mouth, closed it. Frustration warred with something deeper, something she had yet to name.

"Maybe," she said finally, "because I can feel something is off. And I don't know why I care. But I do."

Kaelen stared at her, long and searching. Something in his expression softened, though the weight in his eyes did not disappear.

"It's nothing," he said at last. "Let's move on."

But he clenched his hands into fists as he spoke, and Solenara caught the faintest trace of silver glinting along his forearm before he turned away.

She said nothing. But the unease inside her only grew.

That night, as they made camp beneath the tangled boughs of an ancient oak, Solenara tried to will herself into another dream. To return to that place, that vision, that voice.

But the sleep that claimed her was restless, fractured.

She found herself in the remains of a grand temple, its ceiling broken open to the vast night sky. Moonlight bathed the marble floors in silver, illuminating the delicate carvings along the walls—images of rivers, mountains, endless forests.

She turned, and there—standing before the altar—was a woman. The very air around her pulsed with energy.

Solenara inhaled sharply.

It was herself.

Not as she was now, but as she had once been. Tall, regal, powerful beyond comprehension. Her golden eyes burned like firebrands, her presence commanding the very earth beneath her feet.

"You are not ready," the vision said, voice layered with something both ancient and knowing.

Solenara took an unsteady step forward. "Ready for what?"

The other version of herself tilted her head. "For the truth."

The dream shattered.

Solenara awoke, gasping, drenched in sweat despite the cool night air. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, the image of her other self burned into her mind.

This was no ordinary dream. It was more.

She was running out of time.

Kaelen did not sleep. He sat by the dying fire, staring into the embers, turning the words of the night over and over in his mind. Fate works in mysterious ways.

His fingers curled into the dirt beneath him.

He did not know what Althara had done to him. He did not know what part he now played in this larger game.

But deep within him, something stirred.

And whatever it was, it was waking.