THE NEXT DAY, daytime came with a pale hush. I stepped outside first, with the chill brushing against my skin as though the air itself had teeth. Mist hovered between the trees in thin veils, drifting low across the ground.
Miss Alice stood near the steps, already prepared for the day. She wore the same muted coat she always chose when we ventured beyond the cabin, its sleeves rolled neatly to her wrists. Primrose walked beside her, tying her hair into a loose knot while Ophelia circled their ankles in quiet loops.
"We'll head deeper today," Miss Alice said. "There should be wildberries along the riverbank by now."
I nodded, though my thoughts still clung to the dream that had woken me hours before. The shadowed man. His warning. The darkness that swallowed everything. It sat in the back of my mind like a splinter I couldn't reach.
Primrose caught my expression and raised a brow, silently asking if I was alright. I offered a small shrug. It was easier than explaining something I didn't understand myself.
We left the clearing soon after, stepping into the embrace of the forest.
The path wound through towering trunks and tangled roots, the ground damp from the night's dew. Each step sank slightly into the soil. The scent of moss and wet bark hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of blooming undergrowth. Somewhere above us, unseen birds called to one another, their songs echoing faintly through the canopy.
It should have felt peaceful. Instead, an unease settled quietly in my chest.
Miss Alice walked ahead. She had always known this forest better than any of us. Every turn she took seemed guided by memory rather than sight. Primrose walked beside me at first, occasionally nudging fallen twigs out of our way with the tip of her shoe. Ophelia darted between us and Miss Alice. We walked for several minutes in silence.
Then Miss Alice stopped. From where I stood, I didn't need to be close to notice the change in her posture. Her shoulders began to sink. The steady rhythm of her steps faltered, growing slower until she stopped. For a moment she simply stood there, gazing up at the canopy of pale green leaves that swayed faintly in the breeze. It happened so abruptly that Primrose nearly collided with her back. I slowed as well, instinctively alert, my gaze sweeping the surrounding trees for anything out of place. There was no sound of approaching footsteps, no rustle suggesting danger. Only stillness.
Miss Alice didn't move. Her eyes were only fixed ahead. And I followed her line of sight. Beyond a cluster of low shrubs and sloping earth stood a willow tree near the river's bend. Its long, sweeping branches draped toward the ground like strands of silvered silk. The trunk curved slightly toward the water, roots sprawling outward in thick, gnarled arcs that disappeared into the damp soil.
From a distance, it looked ordinary. Just another tree among hundreds. Yet something in the air shifted the moment Miss Alice saw it. She stepped forward slowly, as though drawn by something unseen.
Primrose glanced at me, confusion flickering across her face. I felt it too—that subtle fracture in Miss Alice. The kind that came before a storm, when the sky still looked clear but the air grew heavy with unspoken tension.
Miss Alice moved toward the willow without a word. I followed at a distance, careful not to let my footsteps echo too loudly. The ground softened the closer we came to the riverbank. Each step felt quieter than the last, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.
From where I stood, I didn't need to be close to notice the change in her posture. For a moment she simply stood there, gazing up at the canopy of pale green leaves that swayed faintly in the breeze. Then her composure began to unravel. It wasn't dramatic. There was no sudden collapse, no audible sob. Just a subtle trembling that started in her hands and traveled upward, tightening through her frame like a silent tremor. Her fingers lifted slightly, hovering over the rough bark as though she were touching something fragile and sacred.
A sob settled around her. It radiated outward, thick enough that I could almost feel it pressing against my skin. The sight struck something deep within me.
A year ago, I had seen her by a river much like this one but in Therslomau, kneeling at the edge with her reflection fractured by the current. Her shoulders had shaken then, quiet sobs lost to the sound of flowing water. I hadn't known what to do. I hadn't understood what could bring someone like Miss Alice to such visible sorrow.
I still didn't.
Primrose shifted beside me, her voice barely a whisper. "Hey…"
I shook my head slightly.
We watched in silence as Miss Alice stepped closer to the tree's roots. The willow's long branches framed her like a curtain, isolating her from the rest of the world. For a moment it felt as though we were intruding on something deeply private—an old wound reopened without warning.
Primrose hesitated, then leaned toward me. "Noelle," she murmured. "Remember… the room?"
I glanced at her. "What about it?"
Her eyes flicked toward Miss Alice before returning to me. "Last year. When she wasn't around. I… went inside," she whispered. "I was looking for answers in the academy. But I saw something."
She paused, as though choosing her words carefully.
"There were photos, a letter, and most of all, a dog tag," she continued. "It had a name engraved on it." Her voice softened. "Riven. Riven Hyeon."
"Riven," I repeated quietly. It felt unfamiliar on my tongue, yet strangely heavy. "Do you know who that is?"
Primrose shook her head. "No. But… it was kept carefully. Like it mattered." She looked back toward Miss Alice. "Maybe someone she loved."
The possibility lingered in the air. I mean, she was a resident back at the original haven for the gifted. Maybe Riven was one of them.
I studied Miss Alice again. The way her shoulders curved inward. The way her hand rested against the bark as if grounding herself in the present while her mind wandered somewhere far away.
Someone she loved. Someone named Riven. Or perhaps… not a stranger at all.
I exhaled slowly. "Maybe we shouldn't ask."
Primrose glanced at me. "You're curious too."
"Of course I am," I admitted. "But some questions don't need answers right away."
She didn't respond to that.
Instead, we both turned our attention back to Miss Alice.
She stood motionless beneath the willow, fingers trembling slightly where they rested against its roots, as though touching a tapestry of forgotten pain. Whatever memories lived here, they were strong enough to pull her entirely into them.
For a moment, I considered approaching her.
Then stopped myself.
I shifted my gaze back again to Miss Alice. She stood beside the sprawling roots of the willow, framed by its sweeping branches as though the tree had grown around her rather than the other way around. The river flowed quietly behind her, a muted current that reflected shards of pale sky between drifting leaves. Her fingertips brushed the ridged surface slowly, carefully, as if the texture itself might unravel beneath too much pressure. The movement reminded me of someone reading a worn tapestry, following threads woven long ago, threads that carried stories too heavy to speak aloud.
I watched her shoulders rise with a shallow breath, then fall again.
What lingered around Miss Alice felt different. Older. Quieter. It lived beneath the surface, hidden within the stillness of her posture and the careful restraint in every movement.
I hesitated only a moment before stepping closer.
The damp soil softened beneath my shoes as I approached, each step muffled by moss and fallen leaves. The air near the river carried a faint chill, tinged with the scent of water and growing things. When I finally stopped a few paces away, the willow's shadow fell across both of us, dimming the morning light.
"Miss Alice," I said gently.
My voice felt small beneath the canopy.
She turned slightly, as though pulled back from a distant place. Her gaze met mine, and for a brief instant I saw something unguarded flicker within it—an emotion too raw to fully hide. Then, with practiced ease, she composed herself.
"Yes, dear?" she asked softly.
I swallowed, suddenly aware of how fragile the moment felt. "Are you… alright?"
The question hung between us.
She offered a faint smile. It was the kind she wore when she wished to reassure others more than herself.
"I am," she answered. Her voice remained calm, though a subtle strain threaded through it.
Before I could respond, a gentle pressure brushed against the side of her leg. Ophelia had wandered forward without my noticing, her small form weaving through the hanging branches until she reached Miss Alice's feet. With a soft trill, she pressed herself against the fabric of Miss Alice's coat, tail curling slightly as she leaned into the contact.
Miss Alice's hand lowered instinctively. Her fingers sank into Ophelia's fur, moving slowly through the soft strands as though grounding herself in the sensation. The simple gesture seemed to ease something within her. I saw it in the way her shoulders loosened, in the faint release of tension around her eyes. Ophelia circled once more, then settled close, offering quiet comfort without expectation.
"Thank you," Miss Alice murmured, almost to herself.
She then looked at us. "Thank you to you both for being here."
The heaviness around her did not vanish entirely, yet it softened, like a storm receding just enough to allow a sliver of light through the clouds. Primrose joined me then. She stopped near my shoulder, her gaze moving between Miss Alice and the willow's vast roots. Curiosity lingered plainly across her features, though she masked it with restraint.
Our eyes met briefly.
Neither of us spoke, yet the same question passed silently between us.
Why? Why did the sight of this tree unravel her so completely?
Primrose tilted her head slightly toward Miss Alice, then back toward me. Confusion mingled with concern in her expression. I understood it well. We had both witnessed fragments of Miss Alice's past—scattered hints, half-told stories, memories she guarded carefully. Yet none of it formed a complete picture.
Not enough to explain this.
The forest felt unusually still, as though even the wind had chosen to quiet itself out of respect. Leaves shifted only faintly overhead. The river continued its steady course, indifferent yet strangely gentle in its rhythm. Time stretched. Then a subtle disturbance rippled through the air behind us.
I turned first, instinct guiding the motion, and a familiar presence stepped from between the trees.
Sebastian descended from the canopy like a thought slipping from the mind of the forest. Feathers unraveled into light. Wings drew inward and folded until bone replaced hollow flight. The air around him seemed to hold its breath as motion reshaped him. Each step forward pulled him further from the sky and closer to something human. Talons softened into fingers. Bone lengthened and reformed beneath pale skin as the shape of a man emerged from the silhouette of a hunting bird.
When his feet met the forest floor the transformation settled. Shoulders straightened. Arms rested at his sides. A humanoid frame stood where a creature of flight had been moments earlier. Yet the change halted before completion. His head remained that of an owl. Sunlight traced the curve of a hooked beak and the soft disk of pale feathers framing an unblinking gaze. Large amber eyes caught every flicker of movement within the clearing.
He stepped forward after that. Cloth shifted faintly against newly formed limbs while feathered features stayed perfectly still. The result felt neither monstrous nor natural. Something in between. Something older than either form alone. By the time he reached the clearing's edge he stood fully composed in that uncanny balance.
His gaze settled immediately on Miss Alice. Concern flickered across his face.
He did not rush. Instead, he approached her slowly, careful not to startle or intrude upon the fragile calm surrounding her.
"I thought I might find you here," he said softly once he was close enough to speak without raising his voice. "I was on my way to the cabin. Then it occurred to me you might be out foraging."
Miss Alice turned toward him.
"You know me well," she replied.
Sebastian stopped beside her, close enough to offer presence without crowding. His attention lingered on her face, searching gently rather than prying. Whatever he saw there seemed to confirm something unspoken. His posture shifted slightly, angling toward her with quiet support.
He did not ask what troubled her.
For a moment, none of us spoke.
The willow's branches swayed faintly above, their long strands whispering against one another in the light breeze. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering pale fragments across the ground.
Miss Alice exhaled slowly.
"I suppose I lingered longer than intended," she said.
Sebastian's expression softened. "You're allowed," he answered quietly.
The simplicity of his response carried a depth that made my chest tighten. Primrose shifted slightly beside me, her arms folding loosely across her midsection. She watched the exchange with careful attention, absorbing each detail without drawing notice. I could almost hear her thoughts turning, piecing together fragments the same way mine were.
Sebastian glanced briefly toward us, acknowledging our presence with a small nod before returning his focus to Miss Alice.
"I was going to stop by regardless," he added. "To check on things. To see how you were all settling."
"That's kind of you."
A pause followed, gentle rather than strained.
Then she asked, "How are Molly and Aria?"
"They're well," he replied. "Still guarding the forest where they chose to remain. Nothing has disturbed their territory in recent weeks. They've grown… quite adept at maintaining balance there."
Miss Alice nodded, a quiet satisfaction settling in her gaze. "I'm glad. They deserve peace."
"They've found a semblance of it," Sebastian said. "As much as anyone can, these days."
I listened carefully.
A thought formed slowly within my mind, taking shape with growing clarity.
Sebastian knew.
If anyone understood the source of Miss Alice's grief, it would be him. The question rose to my lips before I could stop it. What happened here? Who was she remembering? Why did this place hurt her so deeply?
I could ask him. All it would take was a single moment of courage. My gaze shifted from Miss Alice to Sebastian.
He remained focused on her, listening as she spoke softly about small matters—the cabin, the surrounding terrain, the foraging we had planned for the day. Nothing in her tone revealed the storm that had passed through moments earlier. She spoke with composed gentleness, as though the grief had been carefully folded away once more.
Sebastian responded in kind, offering quiet observations and reassurance. Their conversation flowed with natural ease, unhurried and sincere.
I hesitated.
The question pressed harder against my thoughts. Curiosity urged me forward. So did concern. If we were to stay together, to build something resembling stability in this fractured world, understanding one another mattered.
Yet another instinct held me back. Some memories were not meant to be uncovered by force. Some wounds required time before they could be spoken aloud without reopening entirely. Miss Alice had chosen not to explain. Sebastian had chosen not to ask. Perhaps that silence was intentional. Perhaps it was necessary.
I stood beside Primrose beneath the shelter of the willow, watching as sunlight filtered through its trailing branches and settled gently across the ground. Whatever story lay rooted within this place—whatever name or face lingered behind Miss Alice's distant gaze—would reveal itself when the time was right.
Until then, I would wait.
***
I knew the moment sleep finally claimed me because the world shifted without warning.
One second I lay staring into darkness, listening to branches scrape faintly against the cabin walls. The next, I stood somewhere that did not belong to the present. The air felt different there—thicker, older, saturated with something I could not immediately name. It wrapped around my lungs with a familiarity that unsettled me more than any nightmare ever could.
At first, I thought I was standing within a memory. Then the ground beneath my feet shimmered. The academy rose before me. Its towering Victorian facade stretched toward a sky that pulsed with fractured color, every window glowing faintly as though lit by distant lanterns long extinguished in reality. The structure looked whole again, untouched by flames or ruin. No scorch marks marred its walls. No shattered glass littered the ground. It stood exactly as it had before everything fell apart—proud, dignified, impossibly intact.
Yet my feet moved. Each step carried me forward along the familiar path leading toward the front porch. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes with a clarity that made the dream feel dangerously convincing. I could smell damp soil. Old wood. The faint sweetness of night-blooming flowers that once grew along the academy's perimeter.
For a fleeting moment, something inside me ached with longing.
Home.
The word surfaced uninvited. But then Primrose appeared. She stood at the center of the courtyard, bathed in light that shifted between brilliance and shadow. Colors moved around her in fractured patterns—violet bleeding into gold, crimson dissolving into deep, endless black. The air surrounding her vibrated with a restless intensity, as though reality itself struggled to contain whatever force pulsed from within her.
Her posture remained rigid, head slightly bowed, brown hair spilling over her shoulders like a curtain drawn between herself and the rest of the world. For a moment she seemed untouched by the storm of light swirling around her, almost peaceful within its chaos. Then I noticed the necklace. It hung at the base of her throat, glimmering faintly at first—just a small, familiar shape resting against her collarbone. I had seen it countless times before. A simple piece. Unassuming. Easy to overlook.
Now it radiated power. A violent, erratic pulse surged through it, each wave of energy rippling outward like a heartbeat amplified beyond control. The light surrounding her responded with every surge, twisting into sharper, more unstable patterns that fractured the space around her.
Something is wrong.
"Prim," I called, though my voice sounded distant, muffled by the strange atmosphere pressing in from all sides.
She did not answer.
I stepped forward.
The ground shifted beneath me, colors splintering with each movement as though I walked across the surface of shattered glass. Still, I kept going. Instinct pulled me toward her with a force I could not resist. Concern. Fear. Something deeper I could not fully name.
"Prim," I tried again, softer this time. "Can you hear me?"
Slowly—too slowly—her head lifted.
Relief flickered for a brief, fragile instant.
Then it vanished.
Her eyes met mine, yet something within them felt… distant. Not empty. Not entirely. But obscured, as though a veil had fallen between the girl I knew and whatever now stood before me.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me in a way that made unease coil tighter within my chest. No recognition softened her expression. No warmth flickered across familiar features. Only a strange, unreadable intensity remained.
The necklace pulsed again. Harder. Brighter. The surrounding light fractured violently, colors collapsing inward before bursting outward in sharp, dissonant waves. I flinched against the sudden surge, raising a hand instinctively as if to shield myself from something that had no physical form yet carried undeniable weight.
"Prim," I whispered.
Her lips parted.
For a moment, hope stirred. Perhaps she would speak. Perhaps she would laugh softly and ask why I looked so frightened. Perhaps this would dissolve into nothing more than a strange, fleeting dream. Instead, the light shifted. Darkness began to seep across the landscape. At first it appeared subtle—nothing more than a shadow cast by the violent glow surrounding her. But it deepened quickly, spreading across her skin in thin, branching lines that resembled fractures forming beneath glass. The warmth I associated with her presence faded, replaced by something colder.
"Stop," I said without thinking, though I did not know what I asked to stop. The transformation? The power? The silence that stretched between us like an unbridgeable distance?
The necklace throbbed with another surge of energy, brighter than before. Light erupted outward in jagged streams that twisted around her form like living things. Within their glow, darkness continued its slow, relentless advance—spreading across her cheeks, her temples, the curve of her jaw.
I could not breathe.
"Prim…" My voice faltered. "Please."
She raised her hand.
For a single, fragile instant, I thought she meant to reach for me. To close the distance. To reassure me that everything unfolding before my eyes held some explanation I simply could not yet understand.
Darkness overtook the remaining traces of light within the landscape. It spread slowly, until the girl I knew seemed buried beneath something vast and unknowable. Not entirely gone. Not erased. But obscured, as though submerged beneath deep, impenetrable water. The light around her collapsed inward.
Darkness surged outward in a violent wave that swallowed the courtyard, the academy, the fractured sky above. It rushed toward me with unstoppable force, devouring every trace of color and form until nothing remained but an endless, suffocating void.
I tried to move, but my body refused. I tried to speak, but no sound emerged. The darkness closed in, pressing against my skin, my lungs, my thoughts. It filled every space within and around me until I could no longer tell where I ended and it began.
Just before it consumed everything, I saw her once more. Primrose stood at the center of that endless void, pleading. The necklace at her throat burned with a final, blinding pulse.
Then even that vanished.
I woke with a sharp, desperate gasp.
Air rushed into my lungs as though I had been drowning. My hands curled against the thin mattress beneath me, fingers trembling as I fought to steady my breathing. For several seconds I could do nothing but lie there, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm while the remnants of the nightmare clung stubbornly to my thoughts.
The room felt oppressively warm.
Moonlight spilled through the window in a pale, narrow beam, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily through the stillness. Familiar shapes gradually emerged from shadow—the small table near my bed, the worn chair tucked into the corner, the faint outline of the door across the room.
Reality. I forced myself to focus on it. Wood. Fabric. Quiet. Safe. Yet the heaviness in my chest refused to ease.
Slowly, I pushed myself upright. My pulse still raced, though not as violently as before. Each breath came easier than the last, grounding me in the present with cautious insistence.
That was only a dream.
A faint movement drew my attention. I turned my head. Ophelia sat near the foot of my bed, perfectly still. Moonlight brushed across her dark fur, outlining the graceful curve of her back and the steady rise of her small chest. Her eyes—bright, reflective—remained fixed on me with unsettling intensity.
"Ophelia?" I murmured softly.
She did not move.
Something about her presence felt purposeful in a way that unsettled me more than the nightmare itself. Usually she greeted me with gentle affection, a quiet purr or the soft brush of fur against my hand. Tonight she simply watched.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cool wooden floor. The chill grounded me further, pulling me away from the lingering shadows of sleep. Slowly, carefully, I stood.
Ophelia's ears twitched. When I took a step toward her, she rose. Without a sound, she turned and leapt onto the windowsill. The movement was fluid, effortless. For a brief moment she paused there, silhouetted against the pale glow outside.
"Ophelia?" I whispered.
She looked back. Then she jumped.
I crossed the room quickly, reaching the window just in time to see her dark form land lightly on the ground outside. She did not wander aimlessly as she sometimes did during late hours. Instead she began to move with clear intention, tail low, body sleek against the shadows as she headed toward the treeline.
A strange certainty settled over me. She wants me to follow.
I did not stop to question it. Pulling a shawl around my shoulders, I slipped out of the room and into the quiet corridor beyond. The cabin remained silent, undisturbed by my hurried steps. I moved carefully to avoid waking anyone, though some instinct told me this journey belonged to me alone. By the time I stepped outside, Ophelia had already reached the edge of the clearing.
"Wait," I whispered.
She did not slow. I followed.
Cool night air wrapped around me as I stepped onto the narrow path leading into the forest. The moon hung high above, casting faint silver light across the landscape. Shadows stretched long between trees, shifting gently with the wind. Ophelia moved swiftly ahead, pausing only occasionally to ensure I remained within sight before continuing onward.
We ran.
Minutes blurred into something longer. The familiar terrain gradually shifted as we moved farther from the cabin than I had intended to go. Branches brushed against my sleeves. Damp earth clung to my shoes. Still I kept pace, driven by a growing sense that this path led somewhere important.
Somewhere inevitable. It was only when the trees began to thin that recognition struck. The bridge. My steps faltered briefly as the wooden structure came into view, spanning the narrow river that separated our current refuge from the ruins beyond. Pale moonlight reflected across the water's surface, transforming it into a ribbon of muted silver.
On the other side lay Therslomau.
Ophelia crossed first, paws light against the worn planks. She did not hesitate. She did not look back. I followed. Each step across the bridge felt heavier than the last, as though everything weighed against my shoulders. By the time I reached the opposite side, my pulse had quickened once more—though this time not from running.
From knowing.
We moved through the remnants of a place that once held our home. Now only silence remained. Broken stone. Faded pathways. The lingering echo of something lost. Ophelia slowed as we approached the small clearing near the edge of the ruins. Two headstones stood side by side beneath the pale glow of midnight.
Mamori & Elliot.
Ophelia approached first, stepping gracefully onto the base of the nearer marker before settling atop it with quiet reverence. Her tail curled neatly around her paws as she looked toward me once more.
I stepped closer. But… Something felt… wrong.
A faint unease stirred as my gaze drifted toward the space between the headstones. Toward the place where, a year ago, Primrose had left her necklace—resting gently against cold stone during one of our visits. I remembered it clearly. The way it had caught the light. The faint, unmistakable energy that had pulsed from it even then.
Now—
Nothing.
The space lay empty.
For a long moment I simply stood there, staring at the bare stone as a slow, unsettling realization began to take shape within my mind.
The necklace was gone.