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The sound of the wind had faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on Arinthal's chest. She awoke slowly, groggy, the world around her spinning in an indistinct blur. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or how she had gotten there. Her mind was still clouded by the words of the mysterious woman, a figure that seemed more like a dream than a reality.
The last thing she remembered was standing before the woman, feeling a pull that made her want to step closer. Then the gust of wind—violent, disorienting—had thrown her off her feet, and the world had gone black.
Now, as her senses began to return, she realized she was lying on the cold, damp ground. Her body ached in places she hadn't even known could hurt, but there was no immediate danger. No creature stalking her. No one to chase her down.
She opened her eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and saw that she was in a clearing. The trees around her were thick with shadow, their trunks twisted and gnarled, their limbs reaching up like skeletal fingers. The mist still clung to the ground, swirling lazily around her, as though it had never left.
Lyrien was standing nearby, watching her closely, his expression unreadable. His sword was sheathed, but his posture was tense, as if he were prepared to draw it at any moment.
"You're awake," he said, his voice softer than she expected.
Arinthal pushed herself up, wincing at the sharp pain in her side. "What happened? Where are we?"
Lyrien hesitated, glancing around the clearing as though searching for something. "I don't know," he admitted. "We were just following the mist when you… when you collapsed. I couldn't wake you."
Arinthal tried to remember what had happened before she fell unconscious, but all she could recall was the woman, her voice like the rustling of the trees, her cryptic words.
The one you seek… is not as she seems.
"That woman," Arinthal said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She—she said things. Things I don't understand."
Lyrien gave her a quick, concerned look, but didn't interrupt. Instead, he squatted beside her, his eyes scanning the mist-filled clearing. "I felt something too," he murmured. "Something in the air… like we were being watched. But I didn't see anyone else."
Arinthal nodded, her mind still reeling from the encounter. "She said the King Star's rise was tied to the shadow of the past," she murmured, repeating the woman's words. "That Aria isn't what she seems."
Lyrien's frown deepened. "Aria?" he asked, his voice cautious. "You think she's involved in this somehow? I thought we were focused on finding her, not questioning who she is."
"I don't know," Arinthal replied, shaking her head. "But what if we're wrong? What if we've misunderstood everything?"
The doubt gnawed at her, clawing at the edges of her thoughts. They had been so certain, so sure that Aria was the key to stopping Xandros, that she was the prophesied one. But what if they had been blinded by their own hopes, their own desperate need for salvation? What if Aria wasn't the answer at all?
Lyrien stood, his sword glinting in the dim light. "We don't have time to second-guess ourselves now. The prophecy still stands. Xandros is out there, growing stronger by the day, and we've barely even begun our search for the Echoes."
"Right," Arinthal agreed, but her voice lacked conviction. She wasn't so sure anymore. The woman's words—those words that echoed in her mind—continued to linger, twisting and turning like a puzzle she couldn't solve.
"Where do we go from here?" Lyrien asked, his gaze fixed on the path that lay ahead, a road obscured by thick fog.
Arinthal looked around, but the mist seemed to have swallowed all other options. She didn't even know where they were anymore, let alone what direction to take. The world felt disjointed, as if the very fabric of reality had been stretched thin and twisted.
Then something caught her eye—a glimmer of light through the fog. It was faint, barely visible, but there was something about it that pulled at her, something familiar.
"Look," she said, pointing toward the light.
Lyrien followed her gaze, his expression cautious. "What is that?"
"I don't know," Arinthal said slowly, her mind racing. "But we don't have many options."
Before Lyrien could respond, the light flickered again, and then it began to move. Slowly at first, like a candle flame caught in the wind, but then it picked up speed, darting through the mist like a wisp of smoke.
"Follow it," Arinthal said, her voice firm. "We need answers. That's the only thing that makes sense."
Lyrien didn't argue. He simply nodded and started walking toward the light. Arinthal followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest. The air seemed to grow heavier with each step they took, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on them.
The light flickered again, brighter this time, and then, suddenly, it was gone. Arinthal felt a pang of frustration, but before she could speak, Lyrien stopped in his tracks.
"Do you feel that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Arinthal frowned, straining to listen. The fog had thickened, making it harder to hear, but there was something… something off about the air. It felt charged, electric, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Then, from the mist, a figure emerged.
It wasn't a person, not exactly. It was tall—too tall—and its body was cloaked in darkness, its shape indistinct. Its features were hidden beneath a swirling cloak of shadow, and its eyes glowed faintly with an eerie, pale light.
Lyrien immediately stepped in front of Arinthal, drawing his sword in a smooth, practiced motion. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady, though his eyes were wary.
The figure tilted its head, almost as if it were studying them, its eyes gleaming like twin stars. "I am the one who watches," the figure said in a voice that sounded both ancient and otherworldly. "The one who waits for the dawn of the King Star."
Arinthal's breath caught in her throat. The words sent a chill through her, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
"The King Star…" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "You know of it?"
The figure did not respond immediately. Instead, it seemed to consider her question, its gaze piercing, unblinking. Finally, it spoke again, its voice low and gravelly. "The King Star's rise marks the beginning of the end. The prophecy you follow—your quest—is not the end you think it is."
Arinthal's mind raced. "What do you mean? Who are you? What is this prophecy really about?"
The figure's form seemed to flicker, as if it were composed of smoke, and for a moment, it appeared to grow more ethereal. Then it straightened, its eyes locking onto Arinthal with an intensity that took her breath away.
"The prophecy," it said, "is but one thread in a tapestry woven long before your time. You seek to defeat a sorcerer, but in doing so, you will unleash forces far beyond your control. The Echoes you search for will not give you the power to save your world. They will only bring ruin."
Lyrien stepped forward, his sword raised. "What are you trying to say? What will happen to Aria?"
The figure's mouth twisted in what could have been a smile. "The girl you seek is not the child of prophecy. She is something more—something far darker."
Before either of them could react, the figure vanished into the mist as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the echo of its chilling words behind.
---
*Part 2 — Whispering Stones*
The mist hadn't lifted. If anything, it had grown thicker in the wake of the figure's disappearance, curling like smoke around Arinthal's boots. The strange encounter left her thoughts tangled. Questions flooded her mind—questions about Aria, the prophecy, and the chilling possibility that their entire journey had been founded on a misunderstanding.
Lyrien sheathed his sword, his movements tense. "It's trying to confuse us," he muttered, almost as if reassuring himself. "All of it. That… thing in the mist. It's trying to lead us off the path."
Arinthal didn't respond right away. Her eyes scanned the fog as though the figure might return. But all was still. Her breathing slowed. Something inside her—an old, worn thread of instinct honed by years of training—told her it hadn't been a lie. Not entirely. Lies rarely came wrapped in such precision.
"It said Aria isn't the child of prophecy," she finally said, her voice soft. "Then who is?"
Lyrien shook his head. "It's wrong. It has to be. The signs, the omens… they all point to her."
Arinthal stared at the curling fog. "Or maybe we only saw what we wanted to see."
They walked in silence for a while, following the half-vanished trail. The strange flicker of light they had chased earlier no longer appeared. Yet Arinthal had a sense they weren't lost. The forest itself seemed to be listening—watching. Trees leaned closer than they had before. The air was charged, as if thick with whispers that fell silent just as she turned her head.
Then they saw it—a ring of stones. Weathered and half-swallowed by moss, they jutted from the earth like the broken teeth of some long-dead beast. The trees formed a tight ring around the place, unnaturally symmetrical. Lyrien frowned. "What is this?"
Arinthal stepped closer. The stones weren't random. Each one was etched with runes—old, ancient runes. She bent to examine one, brushing away the moss. The symbols weren't just language. They pulsed faintly with residual magic.
"This is a Binding Circle," she whispered. "I've read of them. The old mages used them to trap things. Spirits. Memories. Echoes."
Lyrien's brows rose. "You think there's an Echo here?"
Arinthal shook her head slowly. "Not one of the Echoes of Eternity. But something powerful is sealed in this place."
As she moved to the center of the circle, the mist parted suddenly. A rush of cold air swept outward, lifting leaves, stirring the moss. And then—
Voices. Soft, distant, barely audible.
"…she walks with fire in her shadow…"
"…the star watches through borrowed time…"
"…beware the bearer of false dawns…"
Lyrien stepped back. "You hear that too?"
She nodded, the hairs on her neck rising. The voices seemed to come from the stones themselves—memories caught in loop, remnants of old warnings. The runes flared briefly, then dimmed.
Then, from the center of the circle, a sound—a soft hum—like something awakening.
The ground beneath them cracked.
"Move!" Arinthal shouted, diving backward. Lyrien pulled her aside as the central stone split open. A shaft of light surged upward, gold and violet, and in the light, something began to rise.
It was not a person. Not exactly. The shape was humanoid, yes, but it was composed of fractured light and smoke. No eyes. No mouth. A being of magic and memory. The stones pulsed like drums.
"Who calls the Sentinel?" the being asked, voice layered with many tones, male and female, young and old.
Arinthal stood slowly. "We seek truth. About the prophecy. About the King Star."
The Sentinel tilted its head. "Truth is not a gift. It is a burden. One you may regret carrying."
Lyrien scowled. "We don't have time for riddles."
The Sentinel turned toward him. "You are the sword without a master. Your path is a thread once cut. You walk beside destiny but belong to none."
Lyrien flinched. "What are you talking about?"
Arinthal stepped forward, heart pounding. "Tell us. Please. Is Aria the one?"
The light dimmed. The Sentinel hovered closer, its voice soft. "The child of the King Star bears a mark, yes. But so did others. The Star rises once every thousand years. Each time, a bearer is chosen. Some fall. Some vanish. Some burn the world down."
Arinthal's throat went dry. "What happened to the others?"
"Lost," said the Sentinel. "Some betrayed. Some were betrayed. One turned the echoes against time itself."
Lyrien gripped his sword tighter. "Then what's the point of the prophecy?"
The Sentinel drifted back to the center of the circle. "Prophecies are warnings. Not promises. You seek a girl marked by stars. But the stars lie. The truth you seek lies in the Valley of Ash, beyond the Shrouded Reach. There, the first bearer's memory remains. Find it. Or fall like the rest."
The light flared violently—and the Sentinel collapsed inward, vanishing.
Silence.
Lyrien cursed under his breath. "Valley of Ash? That's in the Forbidden Meridian."
Arinthal felt numb. "So many lies. So many half-truths. We don't even know if Aria is truly chosen anymore."
Lyrien turned to her. "We find her first. Then we find the valley."
Arinthal met his gaze. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then she nodded.
And the mist parted.
Ahead lay a path neither of them had seen before.
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