Mara didn't return to the ruin the next morning. She didn't go back to the house either. Instead, she wandered through the far fields, where the grass reached her knees and the fences had long since fallen. This land had been cleared generations ago, but no one kept it now. There were only wildflowers, reeds, and the occasional post rotting in the soil. She moved without aim, hoping the quiet would bring clarity. The charm in her pocket was silent again, cool and unmoving.
She had begun to notice the changes. Not in the world, but in herself. The way her eyes sought out the unnatural. The way her thoughts drifted back to the symbols and the voice in the ruins. She no longer questioned whether something strange was happening. The question now was how much stranger it could get.
A wind picked up from the east, pushing the tall grass sideways. She turned into it, letting it press against her face. The sky above was clear. The clouds had vanished since yesterday, and the air carried the faint scent of smoke from a far-off hearth. Somewhere, someone was living a normal day.
Mara crouched beside a small stone set crooked in the earth. It bore no markings, not anymore, but it had clearly once been part of something. A path? A border? She ran her fingers along its surface, half-hoping it might respond like the charm had. It didn't.
She stood again and whispered, "You're quiet now. Does that mean you're watching?"
There was no answer. Just the wind.
She followed the slope of the field until it dipped into a shaded gully. Water trickled through a narrow stream, clear but slow. The trees along the edge were thinner here, more spread out. Someone had once tried to build something here. Remnants of a stone bench sat crumbling under a birch tree. Nearby, a rusted lantern hung from a crooked hook.
She sat on the bench, the stone still firm under the moss. Her legs ached from the walking, though she hadn't realized how far she'd gone. This place felt like it belonged to a forgotten part of the village's past, a place meant to be ignored.
As she sat, she heard the sound of footsteps. Not behind her, but on the far side of the stream. She didn't stand. She didn't move at all. Just turned her head.
A girl was watching her from across the water. She looked about Mara's age, but her clothes were cleaner. Pale blouse, dark boots, a band tied around her wrist. Her hair was tied back loosely. She didn't look surprised to see Mara. If anything, she looked like she'd been expecting her.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then the girl raised a hand. Not a wave. Just a slow, deliberate lift of the arm.
Mara didn't return the gesture. She stood, finally, and took a step toward the stream.
The girl spoke first. "You're the one who walked into the ruin."
Mara didn't deny it. "And you're the one who's been watching from a distance."
"I wasn't hiding."
"You didn't exactly come close, either."
The girl took a step closer to the water's edge. "You talk to things no one else can see."
Mara nodded slowly. "And you're not surprised by that."
"No."
The water between them rippled, though no stone had touched it. Mara glanced down, then back up at the girl.
"Who are you?"
The girl hesitated. Her mouth opened, then closed again. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter.
"My name's Iya."
Mara's eyes narrowed. "That's not a village name."
"I didn't say I was from the village."
They stared at each other again. A bird called somewhere above them. The sun had begun to dip behind the taller trees, and shadows stretched along the ground.
Mara crossed the stream in two careful steps. Iya didn't move. They stood a few feet apart now.
"Why are you following me?" Mara asked.
Iya's gaze didn't shift. "Because you're walking into something dangerous."
"And you're here to stop me?"
"I'm here to decide if I need to."
Mara didn't flinch. She met her stare fully now. "Then you're late. It's already started."
Iya didn't respond. But she didn't leave either.
The sun dipped lower. The stream behind them whispered over stone. And for the first time in days, Mara wasn't alone in the silence.