Alaric

Ron tilted his head. "Okay, sorry—pause. Who's that guy?"

Everyone turned to face the stranger. The one who'd first greeted them — tall, composed, still standing near the dry fountain like the center of some invisible orbit. His posture was elegant, but effortless. Every movement, even his silence, felt... intentional.

Ron waved vaguely toward him. "Are we just gonna pretend Abercrombie & Cryptic over here isn't staring into our souls like this is some season finale reveal?"

The man tilted his head slightly, almost amused.

Samantha stepped forward cautiously. "Who are you?"

A beat passed.

Then: "Alaric."

He said it like the name itself held weight. Like it meant something — not just to him, but to them. Like they should know it. Should feel it.

Samantha repeated it softly, letting it sit on her tongue. "Alaric."

He gave her a slight nod. "I've been watching for a long time."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "See, that's not creepy at all."

Alaric's gaze didn't waver. "You came. That's what matters."

Before Samantha could respond, movement stirred at the edge of the clearing.

The hooded figure — the one who had haunted Samantha's nights and flickered at the edge of her waking vision — stepped forward at last.

The air thickened.

He walked slow and deliberate, boots silent on the mossy earth. And when he reached them, he pulled down the hood.

Samantha's breath caught.

His face hadn't changed.

It was the same one she had seen before — in flickers, shadows, half-lit moments that blurred dream and memory. But this time, there was no escaping it.

Now, his features looked sharper somehow. Not older, but worn. Like time had brushed too close to his skin. The faint strain in his eyes, the way his jaw held tension — it all looked the same… but heavier.

And for once, he wasn't glancing about warily, half-turned, half-hidden.

He stood still. Fully present. Like someone stepping into his name.

He placed a hand over his chest.

"You may call me M."

Samantha squinted slightly. "Just... M?"

"Yes."

Ron stared. "Wait, just the letter? That's it?"

M nodded.

Ron threw up his hands. "Okay, no offense, but what is up with you people and one-letter names? Is there some ancient alphabet cult I'm not cool enough to join?"

J snorted. "You get used to it."

"I won't," Ron replied. "I stand with full names. Nicknames at least. Something."

Samantha didn't laugh. She was still staring at M — or maybe past him, into all the moments that now made a new kind of sense.

"You've been following me," she said softly.

"Protecting," M replied. "Guiding."

"You left me things. Messages."

"I left reminders. Echoes. You've only just begun to hear them."

A beat passed. Samantha tried to steady her breathing. The wind tugged at her sleeves, gentle but firm, like a nudge.

M's presence wasn't loud. But it filled the space — the kind of energy that made you stand straighter without knowing why.

"You know what this is about," Samantha said.

M nodded. "Not just what. Who. You."

Ron glanced between them. "Okay, again — I'm still not seeing how I factor into this cosmic drama. I'm not glowing. I don't see ghosts. I don't even get good WiFi most days."

"You weren't meant to come," M said without malice.

Ron made a strangled noise. "You what—?"

"But you did," M continued. "And that choice changed everything."

J crossed her arms. "Like it or not, he's part of this now."

M looked at Ron fully for the first time. Not with disdain. Not even surprise. Just… acknowledgment.

"Your presence here is not a mistake. But it is an anomaly."

Ron let out a long, exaggerated breath. "Wow. Truly honored to be the sentient plot twist."

Samantha gave him a look. "You're more than that."

He tried to joke, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sidekick Supreme. Holder of snacks. Deliverer of sarcasm."

"But also," she said, "the one who found me when I didn't even know I was lost."

That shut him up. For once.

M stepped back slightly, allowing the circle to breathe.

Alaric's voice entered again, soft but sharp. "There are things inside you, Samantha, that are older than memory. Stories etched in bone and shadow. You've felt them, haven't you?"

Samantha nodded. She didn't say yes. She didn't have to.

"The world's not as it seems," M added. "Not entirely. Some truths are hidden… until you're ready."

"And I am now?" she asked.

"You are close," Alaric said. "Close enough to begin."

The wind picked up again. The trees whispered in a language older than words. Somewhere, a crow cried out in the distance — once, twice, then silence.

Samantha's fingers curled at her sides. She glanced at Ron.

He gave her a thumbs-up. "If we're about to enter the Matrix, just know I'm blaming all of you."

She smiled faintly.

Alaric stepped forward, standing now only a breath away. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper — yet it rang clear, straight to her bones.

"Close your eyes."

His eyes searched hers, steady and sure.

"Don't fight it."

A pause — the hush between heartbeats.

"Let it guide you."