Morning broke clear and cold. Mist hung low over the marshes, and frost glittered on the rooftops of the village. For the first time in weeks, there had been no alarm bells in the night, no cries of terror as Shades breached the boundaries. The villagers emerged cautiously, blinking at the pale sunlight as if expecting the darkness to return at any moment.
But it hadn't.
The shrine still stood at the edge of the marsh, silent except for the faint hum that now lingered in the air—a resonance born from the new bond. Some villagers described it as a low song beneath the wind; others swore the ground itself pulsed faintly beneath their feet. Either way, everyone felt it.
Liora sat on the steps of the shrine wrapped in a thick wool cloak, her hair still damp with morning mist. Her body ached in ways she didn't fully understand—muscles sore, bones humming, as though her flesh had been reforged overnight. But beneath the exhaustion was a new steadiness. The bond between her and the Beast now ran deep, alive, almost instinctive. She could feel its presence even when she closed her eyes—watchful, patient, wild.
Corren approached, carrying a bundle of bread and smoked fish. "You should eat," he said, handing it to her. "Maren says the bonding burns through strength like firewood. You'll need to recover."
She gave a tired smile. "It feels strange. Like I'm hearing everything twice—once through my ears, once through the Beast."
"That sounds… unsettling."
"It's not," she said after a moment. "It's like the world got sharper."
Corren sat beside her on the steps. "Dren's already stirring the pot. Half the village saw the light last night. Some are saying it's a blessing. Others…" He shrugged. "Others are whispering witchcraft."
Liora sighed. "Of course they are."
"He's called a council meeting for this afternoon," Corren continued. "Wants answers. And control."
Liora's fingers tightened on the edge of her cloak. She had expected resistance, but not so soon. "Then we'll give him neither," she said quietly.
The council gathered in the longhouse as the sun reached its peak. The room was crowded—not only the appointed council but soldiers, elders, farmers, and curious onlookers pressed against the walls. The air was thick with smoke from the hearth and the low murmur of voices. Dren stood at the center, armored and sharp-eyed, projecting command.
Liora entered with Corren and Maren beside her. Conversations faltered. Dozens of eyes followed her, some filled with awe, others suspicion, a few open fear. Dren raised a hand, silencing the room.
"Last night," he began, "a column of light erupted from the shrine. The Shades withdrew for the first time in weeks. Something has changed. We are here to decide what that change means for the village."
An elder woman with a weathered face leaned forward. "It means the old Circle is awake again," she said. "We felt it, all of us. The marsh sings like it did in the stories."
Another man muttered, "Or it means something dangerous has been unleashed."
Dren's gaze locked on Liora. "Explain yourself."
She stepped forward, spine straight. "The bond between me and the Beast is no longer temporary. We completed the joining. The Circle is reinforced. That's why the Shades couldn't break through last night."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Dren's lips thinned. "You did this without the council's approval. Without military oversight. You performed a binding of ancient magic that no one fully understands."
Maren's voice was cool. "You misunderstand, Commander. The Circle is older than any council. It doesn't ask for permission."
"That's exactly what worries me," Dren snapped. "We cannot place the fate of the village in the hands of an untested girl and a creature that belongs to the marsh."
Something inside Liora stirred at his words—not anger, exactly, but a wildness she recognized as the Beast's response. Her senses sharpened; every heartbeat in the room felt loud. She took a breath, reining it in.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," she said. "The Circle works. That's proof enough."
"And when it fails?" Dren countered. "What happens when you fail? Do we have any defense besides your willpower?"
The room fell silent. It was the question hanging over all of them.
Corren broke it. "She hasn't failed. The Circle held. If we're smart, we'll stop wasting time arguing and start preparing for what's coming. Because last night wasn't the end."
Liora glanced at him. He knew. She'd felt it too, just before dawn: a distant stirring, far beyond the marsh. Something older than the Shades had felt the surge of the new bond.
That evening, Liora stood at the edge of the marsh, the Beast beside her. The village bustled behind them, soldiers patrolling, torches flickering, but here the world was quiet except for the wind stirring the reeds. She closed her eyes, listening through the bond.
Far away, beyond the marshlands, a faint rhythm echoed through her mind. Heavy, deliberate. Like the heartbeat of something massive waking from slumber. The Beast rumbled low in its throat.
"I hear it too," she whispered. "It's coming, isn't it?"
The Beast's gaze fixed on the horizon. In her mind, a single word formed—not spoken, but felt.
Yes.
She turned toward the distant trees, unease settling deep in her bones. Whatever stirred out there was moving closer. And it wasn't just another wave of Shades.
Night fell, and as the village settled, Maren joined her by the shrine fire. The older woman carried an unrolled scroll, its parchment cracked with age. "This is one of the oldest Circle texts I could find," she said, lowering herself onto a log. "It speaks of what happens when a bond is reforged after a long dormancy."
Liora leaned closer. The script was dense, written in the curling language of the marsh clans. Maren traced a line with her finger.
"'When the Circle burns bright after silence,'" she translated slowly, "'the Sleeper will stir. It will test the bond. It will test the land. And what rises to meet it will shape the fate of both.'"
Liora swallowed. "The Sleeper?"
Maren's eyes met hers. "Older than the Shades. Some say the Shades are fragments of its dreams—broken pieces that leaked out when it was bound. If the Sleeper wakes fully…" She let the sentence hang.
Liora stared into the fire, the crackling flames reflected in her eyes. The bond pulsed faintly within her chest, steady but not calm. "Then we need to be ready," she said.
Far beyond the marsh, deep within the drowned forest where no human dared tread, something shifted beneath the black water. Roots coiled and branches creaked. The ground trembled softly as if a giant had rolled over in its sleep.
And somewhere in that darkness, two golden eyes opened.