I lay on my mat, still wide awake. No solace. No comfort. Nothing.
I stare at the sky as wyverns, owls, and other birds glide overhead. They aren't attacking us. That's strange. But it's probably because of Ryllie.
I sit up, shifting away from her, trying to think. Trying to think. Trying to think about what to do.
It hurts. That part of me that doesn't understand why this person—this faceless creature—means so much. What relationship did we have?
The fire has burned out, leaving us surrounded by a layer of black Var. It is no longer pushed back by the fire's presence.
I know the Var isn't responsible for this feeling. This is a part of me, my soul. And yet, it's lost.
I close my eyes. Nothing comes of it. I count. Nothing comes of it. I try breathing differently. Nothing.
My breathing turns raspy. So shallow that, for a moment, I'm not breathing at all. Short, hollow gasps.
I stand up and walk into the forest.
I don't care about direction. I don't care how far I go. I just want to get away from Ryllie. I need space.
I walk. And I walk.
The trees loom overhead, their twisted bark cracked and ancient, their roots weaving through the earth like grasping fingers. The leaves glow faintly, pulsing with a quiet rhythm, as if breathing with hidden Var.
The ruins stretch before me, silent and hollow. Jagged walls, cracked and broken, lean at unnatural angles, their edges worn smooth by time.
Faint traces of carvings linger on the stone, eroded beyond recognition. The ground is uneven, scattered with fallen debris, the remains of something long forgotten.
Var lingers in the air, thick but aimless. It isn't wild. It isn't aggressive. It just… exists.
That unsettles me more than an attack would.
The wyverns struck the moment they saw us. They were drawn to life, to motion, to the presence of something that didn't belong. But here, nothing moves against me. Nothing reacts.
I shouldn't be safe.
And yet, the ruins do not resist me.
That terrifies me.
I walk. And I walk.
A barrier. I recognize it instantly—not just as an obstacle, but as something constructed, something deliberate.
The way it distorts the air, bending light at the edges, is familiar.
It reminds me of the ones Ryllie made, the ones she wove from raw Var, shaping them like living things rather than mere walls.
This one feels the same. It isn't just a defense—it's a presence. The Var within it pulses, thick and layered, shifting like currents beneath a frozen lake. It isn't inert. It isn't dead. It watches. It waits.
Ryllie's barriers always carried her will, an extension of herself, responding to her intent. But this one… this one lingers without a master.
It stands, silent and unyielding, not to keep something out—but to keep something in.
My fingers brushing against the barrier. It isn't solid. It isn't air. It's something in between, shifting like liquid yet offering no resistance.
The moment my hand touches it, the Var ripples. It clings to my skin. Weightless yet dense, thick enough that I almost expect it to drip like water.
I take a step forward.
The Var doesn't shatter. It doesn't resist. It twists, stretching like pulled thread, curling around me in shifting strands of unseen light.
The air hums, a sound just beyond hearing, pressing in like a hidden tide. It brushes against my skin, and slips through my black hair, streaked with silver.
It's dense, almost visible—like mist caught in moonlight. It coils and shifts, neither formless nor defined, moving in a way that shouldn't be possible.
And yet, it lets me through.
Not as an intruder.
As if I belong.
Beyond the barrier, a village. Small, but unmistakably a village.
That's the first thing that unsettles me—how normal it looks.
Wooden houses, their walls worn but standing. Thatched roofs, worn by time. A well rests in the clearing's center, its stone rim smoothed by countless hands.
Dirt paths weave between the buildings, free of overgrowth. There are no signs of rot, no signs of collapse. No signs of struggle.
But there are no people.
I stop at the edge, staring into the quiet. The air is thick with Var—pure, undisturbed. It feels like Ryllie's, yet off—like a song played just out of tune.
It's everywhere, soaked into the ground, the wood, the very air. I can taste it with every breath.
I step forward.
My footsteps make no sound. The world feels muffled, as if wrapped in layers of something unseen. The village is too still. No wind moves the trees. No animals stir.
And yet—I know I'm not alone.
I can feel them. Their Var lingers, pressed into the very bones of this place. It isn't fading. It isn't weak. It's recent. As if the people were just here. As if they are still here. Watching.
Are they invisible?
The thought coils around me, sinking deep into my gut.
Then—
A sharp stab.