The night was still, save for the occasional whisper of wind brushing through the vastness of the Silent Forest. Ember stood at the edge of the mossy cliff, her cloak fluttering behind her like the wing of a wounded bird. The stars overhead blinked with quiet urgency, as though they, too, awaited her next move.
Behind her, Kael's footsteps were soft on the ancient ground. "You shouldn't be alone tonight," he said.
She didn't turn. Her eyes remained fixed on the sky. "I wasn't alone. Not really."
He hesitated before standing beside her. "Thinking of your mother?"
Ember nodded, lips pressed together. "This is where she used to bring me when I was a child. She said this cliff was a place where the world forgot its burdens."
Kael glanced up. "It's quiet. Almost like the stars are… listening."
"She believed they were," Ember said, her voice low, reverent. "She said the stars remember the songs of those we've lost."
Kael said nothing for a while. Then: "What was her song?"
Ember smiled bitterly. "A lullaby. About a bird who flew too high and burned its wings trying to reach the sun." She let the silence breathe for a moment before continuing. "But the bird didn't fall. Not really. It learned to glide with scorched feathers, carrying warmth wherever it went."
Kael studied her. "And you think that's you?"
She finally turned to face him. Her expression was neither proud nor sad—just real. "I think… she knew I'd have to carry some fire."
He looked away toward the trees. "You're not the only one carrying something heavy, Ember. I had a sister once. Elira. She was all brightness and laughter. The kind of person who made strangers feel like old friends."
"What happened?"
"She vanished. No trace. One day, she walked into the Obsidian Vale, said she heard something calling her. We never saw her again."
Ember's hand instinctively found Kael's. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't be. Maybe she found something better. Or maybe she became something the rest of us can't understand. Either way, I stopped looking for answers a long time ago."
"But you still carry her," Ember said softly.
He didn't deny it.
Suddenly, the stars above began to shimmer—no, hum—with a vibration so subtle it was almost imagined. The wind shifted, carrying with it a sound that neither of them could place. Not words. Not melody. Something older.
"Do you hear that?" Ember whispered.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Yes. It's... like a voice. But not one I recognize."
They turned together, their eyes drawn toward the forest behind them.
A light was pulsing between the trees—dim, golden, moving.
They moved toward it, careful not to break the fragile tension hanging in the air. The deeper they went, the louder the sound became. Still no words. Just vibrations that stirred emotions too ancient to name.
The light settled at the base of a withered oak, illuminating a figure kneeling beneath it. A woman, draped in woven starlight, her face hidden beneath a veil of shadows.
Ember's heart thudded painfully. She knew this presence, even if her mind resisted.
"You came," the woman said, her voice both distant and immediate.
Ember's voice caught. "Who are you?"
"I am the memory of what you forgot," the woman replied. "The thread between your past and the future you're afraid to claim."
Kael stepped forward. "You're not real."
The woman didn't even flinch. "Neither is fear. But you both let it guide you."
Ember looked down at her hands. They were trembling.
The woman extended hers. "Come."
Ember hesitated, then reached out. The moment their fingers touched, a flood of visions overtook her—flashes of a city beneath a sapphire sky, her mother's laughter echoing in crystalline halls, and a throne carved from obsidian and vines. But more than that, she felt connected. Not just to her mother. To everything.
She stumbled back, gasping.
"What was that?" Kael asked, grabbing her shoulders.
The woman was already fading into light. "You are not just a thread in the tapestry, Ember. You are a needle. You will choose what gets stitched into the next world."
Then she was gone.
Only the stars remained, humming softly above them.
Kael steadied Ember. "What did you see?"
Ember wiped her eyes. "A choice. A kingdom. And a warning."
Kael waited.
"She said… if I don't remember who I am, someone else will rewrite me."
The words hung heavy.
They returned to the cliff, the silence more profound now. Not empty, but full of potential.
"Do you believe her?" Kael finally asked.
"I don't have the luxury of doubt anymore," Ember replied. "I need to find the Eclipse Gate before the others do."
Kael nodded. "Then we go at dawn."
"No." Ember turned to him, resolve blazing. "We go now."