The grass was cold enough to bite. It curled around Mara's feet like the fingers of something buried, waiting to pull her under. She ignored it.
She kept her eyes forward, towards the line where the orchard met fog. The blue light had flared and vanished, but she could still feel the place where it came from. Not with her eyes. Somewhere deeper. Somewhere older.
She didn't know what she expected to find. A lantern. A fallen star. A meteor. Maybe a reflection of something not meant for this world. Whatever it was, it had called her. Just enough to make her forget how long it had been since she crossed into the trees at night.
The first step felt like trespassing. The second felt like remembering.
By the third, she had stopped thinking altogether.
The orchard had changed again. Branches hung lower. The roots were too thick, too twisted, breaking the ground in strange directions. There were no sounds. Not even wind. The fog shifted as if it were watching her.
She reached the clearing with the hollowed tree and stopped. The tree still stood. Bare. Dead. But not empty.
A faint warmth pressed against her chest. Her breath caught in her throat.
She stepped closer.
There was something in the hollow.
Not the light. But a mark.
Carved.
Fresh.
One straight line, then another curved beneath it. Simple. Deliberate. A symbol she didn't recognize.
She reached out...
A twig snapped behind her.
She spun fast, heart leaping, but saw nothing.
It grew louder and louder but it is as if she's been paralyzed to where she is. The twigs snapping only continued and murder of crows started flocking.
It was intimidating...
Not until, between the trees, a figure stepped forward.
Tall. Wrapped in a long coat darker than the night sky. No sound to their movement. No breath in the cold. A face half-shaded by a wide-brimmed hat. Too old-fashioned. Too clean. Like they had stepped out of another time.
Mara froze.
The figure tilted their head slightly, studying her. They made no move to speak. No move at all. Just watched.
Mara opened her mouth. No words came.
She stepped back.
The figure stepped forward.
Not threatening. Just there.
Then, finally, they spoke.
"You shouldn't be here yet."
Their voice was low and calm.
Mara's throat tightened. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer.
"You saw the light," she said.
The figure just stared. Cold.
"What was it?"
This time, the figure hesitated out of seemingly annoyance.
"Something old. Something waking up. Just like you."
Before she could ask what that meant, a second sound echoed behind her, from the direction of the house.
Barging footsteps as if. Her aunt.
Mara turned instinctively. "Wait—"
When she looked back, the figure was gone.
She was alone again.
The fog rolled in, and the clearing felt colder than before.
She backed away from the tree, then turned, and ran.
By the time her aunt met her at the edge of the field, Mara was breathless.
Her aunt didn't scold her. But visibly she was disappointed. They looked back towards the trees.
"You saw it too," Mara said.
Her aunt didn't answer.
They walked home in silence.
But Mara knew.
The light hadn't come for just anyone.
And whoever that figure was, they had been waiting.
Not for the orchard.
But for ***