The forest was shifting. Kai could feel it in the roots underfoot, in the air that tasted of rust.
Autumn should've smelled of loam and smoke but instead, the wind carried the coppery tang of blood. Faint at first, like memory, but growing stronger. Not the scent of a kill. Not even decay. Something older. Something... remembering.
At night, the whispers grew more urgent. Branches tapped windows that didn't exist. Trees swayed when the wind was still. The forest seemed to breathe with a presence just beyond sight.
Then came the dreams.
Not his own. Or not only his.
He stood in a field of swords under a violet sky. Towers burned in the distance. A crown of vines bled in his hands. Each morning he awoke breathless, sweat-drenched, the taste of iron on his tongue.
And always, the whisper:
"You are not what you think."
Kai crouched by the stream one dusk, skin prickling with unease. He hadn't caught anything in days. The animals had vanished. Even the wind was still.
Then the water stopped.
Not froze. Just... ceased. No sound. No movement. A ribbon of stillness, stretched across the earth.
He stood slowly. Every instinct screamed: leave. But something else older than instinct held him there.
Then he saw it.
Across the stream, a deer stood watching him.
But its eyes gods, its eyes were wrong. Not just human. Remembering.
They glowed faintly in the dim, not with light, but with meaning.
A low hum filled the clearing. Not sound. Not exactly. More like a presence slipping behind his thoughts.
The deer didn't move. But Kai felt it touch him. Not physically. Spiritually. Like it was turning the pages of a book only he could read.
Then it vanished no rustle, no sound. Just gone.
And the whispers changed.
They no longer warned.
They called.
High above, nestled in the crook of an ancient elm, Lyra watched.
Her red hair was tied back, her breath shallow, her bow unreadied. She made no move to follow. Not yet.
But her voice was steady in the crystal attached to her collar.
"He felt it," she whispered.