Quenya hovered near the corner of the room, invisible to all. Roselys sat across from the old man everyone called Elder. The air inside the house smelled faintly of dried herbs and dust.

The Elder looked fragile. His thin arms rested on a blanket covering his knees. His breath came slow and shallow. Quenya watched him for a few moments and thought he might collapse any second. If the air shifted wrong, he'd crumble.

Roselys placed her bag beside the chair and took out two styluses. One she held ready with her notebook. The other she set to her right, parallel to the table's edge. It seemed normal, but something about it bothered Quenya. There's nothing special about it, yet it feels wrong. She couldn't pinpoint why.

Before she could dwell on it, Roselys spoke.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Elder," she said. Her voice carried polite ease.

The old man inclined his head slightly. "You are welcome, Miss."

Roselys began writing, the first stylus moving quickly across the paper. "I hope your health has been well lately."

The Elder smiled faintly. "It is all by God's blessings."

"You must be a good devotee then," Roselys replied, her tone mild. "To receive so much of His favor."

The Elder nodded, eyes dim with age. "Faith keeps me alive."

"Since we are already speaking of that," Roselys said, "I hope you don't mind if I ask one more thing. Do you follow only the True Light faith, or are there other beliefs passed through your family?"

"Of course, I am a faithful devotee of True Light," the Elder answered without pause.

Roselys made a small mark on the page. "Understandable. It's a strange question to ask."

Quenya shifted slightly above them. She's testing him.

The questioning continued. Roselys's voice stayed calm as she asked about the village's customs, festivals, and rites. Then she shifted the topic. "Elder, you've seen many generations grow in this village. I was curious—if so many here belong to the True Light religion, why isn't there a church yet? Most say they travel to the next village for service. It must be hard for the elderly and children."

The Elder's expression did not change much. "We planned one years ago, but funds ran short. And our roads are rough. Builders from the south refused to come. We send our prayers from home instead. God hears them all the same."

Quenya noted how smooth the answer sounded. Too clean. Too ready.

Roselys nodded as if convinced, though Quenya knew she wasn't. The conversation went on for a while. The questions became more pointed, sometimes circling back to old customs. The Elder kept answering, but his voice grew weaker.

After several more exchanges, he began to cough. It started as a short fit and worsened fast. His nephew, who had been standing near the doorway, rushed forward.

"That will be all for today," the young man said. "My uncle needs rest."

Roselys stood at once, gathering her notes. "Of course. Thank you for your time." She bowed politely and followed the nephew's gesture toward the door.

Quenya stayed where she was, watching. The Elder leaned back with eyes half closed, still coughing lightly as the door shut behind Roselys.

Outside, Quenya drifted after her. Roselys walked toward the road, her posture calm, but her steps slowed near the corner of the fence. Instead of continuing out, she stopped, looked once around, and moved toward the back path.

Quenya tilted her head. Where are you going?

Roselys climbed over the low fence. Her movements were quick and practiced. She crossed into the narrow strip of grass behind the Elder's house. From there, she crouched behind a thick tree trunk that gave a clear view of the rear window.

Quenya floated higher, watching. For a second, confusion brushed through her. Why hide here? Then it clicked.

Roselys wasn't leaving at all. She was observing.

Quenya watched her settle into position. The woman's eyes stayed on the window where the Elder's nephew had closed the curtains halfway.

You're doing the same thing I am, Quenya thought. To see what people show when they think they're unseen.

She drifted closer, silent as air. Whatever Roselys hoped to find, Quenya intended to witness it too.

— — —

Vencian moved through the narrow path between two rows of houses until the road ended near an open slope. Beyond it lay a small graveyard bordered by uneven stones. The air felt heavier there, still and quiet.

He passed through the crooked gate and looked around. The graves were old, some covered in moss. There has to be something here, he thought. This village hides too much for all of it to be chance.

He crouched near one of the older graves, tracing the symbols carved into the stone. The Erythrai clan used their markings during rituals. And rituals always tie back to death. He stood again. If there's any truth buried here, it'll be near where death rests.

He walked deeper between the rows, eyes scanning each headstone. He wasn't worried about how the meeting with the supposed seer would go. Roselys could handle that better than anyone. She'll get what we came for. The question is how much she'll share. That'll determine how much I can trust her.

He stopped as movement caught his eye. Near one of the graves sat a small figure, knees pulled close, head buried in her arms.

Vencian approached slowly. "You okay there?"

The girl lifted her head. Her face was pale, eyes tired. He recognized her at once.

"Neine," he said. "You again."

She rubbed her eyes but didn't smile. "Hi."

He sat beside her. "Isn't today the festival? Why so gloomy? You should be out celebrating."

"I don't like this festival," she said.

He frowned. "I thought you were looking forward to it."

"That was yesterday," she said quietly. "Today's today."

He looked at her, unsure how to respond. Children and their moods. He decided to leave it.

"Do you remember what I asked yesterday?" he said.

She nodded. "You wanted me to tell you if I can tell you about old places, stones, or storie place."

"That's right." He hesitated, realizing how vague it sounded. "Do you any place around here? Somewhere odd, eerie maybe. Or something that looks out of place but still visible."

He rubbed his temple. That sounded stupid out loud.

Neine tilted her head. "You're weird."

"I'll take that as a yes or a no?"

She grinned faintly. "You're lucky. I know exactly the kind of place you mean."

He raised a brow. "Then lead the way."

Neine stood and brushed dirt from her knees. "Follow me."

They left the graveyard through the far side and crossed a narrow trail lined with short grass. The air grew cooler as they approached the back of Dalgough Hill. A shallow lake spread across the base, its surface calm except for the faint ripple of wind.

Vencian followed behind her. She moved with quick, small strides, talking as they walked.

"My gran says people don't go near here anymore," she said.

"Why?"

"She says the forest watches you back."

He gave a short breath of amusement. "Sounds like something an old woman would say."

They continued along the lakeside, stepping carefully over roots and rocks. The trees grew denser as they went. The ground sloped upward, forcing them to slow down.

After a while, Vencian looked around. "Are we close?"

Neine didn't answer.

He looked down beside him, but the space was empty.

"Neine?" He turned once, scanning the trees. "You there?"

Nothing.

He sighed. "Girls and their habit of vanishing."

He called out twice more, but only the rustle of leaves answered. Again? He shook his head and pushed forward.

The forest thickened. Branches hung low, and the ground dipped unevenly. It took effort to move through. After several minutes, he caught the faint sound of water rushing somewhere ahead.

He followed it until he reached a rocky patch behind a curtain of vines. Water spilled from a short drop above, forming a small waterfall that poured into a clear pool.

Behind it, he noticed a dark opening. Part of the rock face had collapsed inward, forming a shallow cave.

He stepped closer, feeling the damp air against his face. The sound of water masked most noise, but as he moved inside, he heard something else.

Muttering.

Low, rhythmic, human.

He froze for a second, straining to listen. The words were faint, too distant to make out. Someone's here.

He moved slowly, adjusting his footing on the slick stones, each sound blending with the waterfall's noise. The cave bent inward, and the muttering grew a little clearer.

He followed it deeper, eyes narrowing. Whatever this place is, it's not empty.

Vencian pressed his back against the damp wall and moved deeper. The air grew colder. The muttering ahead turned into words he could understand. He slowed his breath and tilted his head toward the sound.

A strained voice spoke from the darkness. "The foreigners who came yesterday... it doesn't look like a good sign for the festival. Are they the hurdle the elder warned us about?"

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