Chapter Two: The Name No One Speaks
Elara did not remember leaving the forest.
One moment she had been running—branches tearing at her sleeves, breath burning her lungs—and the next she stood at the edge of the village, one hand braced against the familiar wooden post by the well.
Her legs trembled.
She straightened slowly, forcing air into her chest. The village looked unchanged: stone houses crouched low beneath the morning light, smoke drifting lazily from chimneys, chickens scratching at the dirt. Somewhere, a child laughed.
Normal.
Too normal.
Elara's gaze flicked briefly toward the tree line. The boundary stone sat where it always had, worn smooth and unremarkable.
Nothing marked what lay beyond it.
She turned away before the pressure could return.
"Don't draw attention," she murmured.
The village did anyway.
Old Mara paused mid-sweep as Elara crossed the square. The broom scraped harshly against the ground.
"You're up early," Mara said.
Her eyes lingered—not on Elara's face, but past her. Toward the forest.
"So are you," Elara replied, forcing lightness.
Mara's mouth tightened. "Didn't sleep well?"
"No," Elara said. "Did you?"
Mara did not answer. She resumed sweeping with unnecessary force.
Elara moved on, pulse quickening.
Whispers followed her like a draft through closed doors. Conversations dipped, then resumed once she passed. A pair of men near the trading post stopped talking altogether.
No one asked where she had been.
That frightened her more than if they had.
At her mother's house, Elara slipped inside and shut the door quietly. The air within felt heavier, as though it carried memory.
Her mother looked up from the hearth.
"You're back already," she said.
Elara nodded. "I went for a walk."
Her mother's hands stilled.
"A walk where?"
The question was careful. Controlled.
"Near the woods," Elara said.
Silence fell.
Her mother turned slowly. "Which woods?"
Elara held her gaze. "The eastern edge."
Her mother's face drained of color.
"You crossed the stone," she said.
It wasn't a question.
Elara's throat tightened. "I didn't know—"
"You did know," her mother cut in sharply. "Everyone knows."
"I didn't understand," Elara said. "No one ever explains anything."
Her mother exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to the table. "Some things aren't explained because explanation invites curiosity."
"And curiosity invites what?" Elara asked.
Her mother's voice dropped. "Attention."
The word landed like a blow.
"Elara," her mother continued, lowering her voice, "did you see him?"
Elara hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Her mother closed her eyes briefly. "You shouldn't have survived that."
A chill crept up Elara's spine. "He told me to leave."
Her mother looked at her sharply. "He spoke to you?"
"Yes."
The room seemed to shrink.
"We don't say his name," her mother whispered. "We don't think it. We don't acknowledge him."
"But everyone knows," Elara said. "They act like he's listening."
"Because sometimes," her mother said quietly, "he is."
Elara swallowed. "What does he want?"
Her mother shook her head. "What he wants isn't our concern. What matters is that we never give him reason."
Elara thought of the forest reacting to a single step. Of his calm voice. His certainty.
"I think," she said slowly, "that reason already exists."
Her mother reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. "Then you must stay away. Do you understand me?"
Elara nodded, though the words rang hollow.
By midday, the distance was undeniable.
At the market, the baker's wife hesitated before handing Elara her bread.
"You should leave," the woman said quietly.
Elara frowned. "Leave where?"
"Anywhere but here," the woman replied. "Before it notices again."
The loaf was pressed into her hands—then snatched back.
"I'm sorry," the woman added. "I can't."
Elara stared as the bread was set aside. "I've paid."
"I know," the woman said, eyes flicking nervously around them. "But I won't risk it."
Risk what?
Or who?
Elara stepped back, heat rising behind her eyes.
As she turned, a hush fell over the market.
The wind shifted.
Not a breeze.
A pressure.
The boundary stone hummed faintly in the distance.
Elara's breath hitched.
She felt it again—that unmistakable awareness, sliding over the village like a hand testing a wound.
A voice brushed the edge of her thoughts.
Not loud.
Not gentle.
You disobeyed.
Elara froze.
No one else seemed to hear it. People went about their business, heads bowed, hands busy—pretending.
But Elara knew.
Her chest tightened painfully as the truth settled deep and cold.
She had crossed a boundary.
She had been noticed.
And whatever ruled the forest did not give warnings twice.
Far beyond the village, in the shadowed heart of the woods, Kaelreth watched.
And this time—
He did not turn away.