"Will I ever see you again?" the little girl asked, her voice trembling with fear.
Her uncle knelt down, his warm gaze meeting her crystalline eyes. "You won't, my dear. You will never see me again."
Tears welled up as she clung to him tightly, her tiny frame shaking. "I'm scared," she whispered. "I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone."
"Aris Verum Umbra," he said gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, "it's okay to be scared. But remember this—you carry the will of our clan. Loneliness shall never find you in the shadows. Be brave."
His hand lingered on her head for a moment longer, but the light in his eyes began to fade, dimming until it vanished entirely. His body, once so solid and reassuring, melted into his own shadow, which rippled like ink spreading in water. Slowly, it crumbled into dust and drifted away on the wind.
Aris watched in silence, her arms clutching at the empty air where he had been. The shadow's dissolution was eerily beautiful, but it carried the weight of a feeling she had already come to know far too well at her young age: the passing of a life.
"I love you, Uncle Fortis," she murmured, her voice breaking. These were her final words to the only family she had ever truly known.
Grief clawed at her chest, but she stood still, her small fists clenched at her sides. How does one cope with loss? It was a question she couldn't answer. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving the humble home behind her, its walls now little more than a memory of warmth. She would never return.
As she entered the forest, her uncle's words lingered in her mind, mingling with the phrases she had once loved from his books. "A journey that lasts a lifetime begins with but the shortest of steps and the fear of running into the unknown."
The first steps were heavy, her shadow stretching behind her as if it bore the weight of her memories. She had tried to bury them deep within it, hoping to silence the turmoil that threatened to consume her. Only then, with the pain pushed to the edges of her being, could she focus on the one task that remained: moving forward.
The forest enveloped her, its vastness both intimidating and calming. Time blurred as she wandered aimlessly, her shadow trailing her like a silent companion. She walked for what felt like hours, though it could just as easily have been years..., the world around her reduced to muted greens and browns. When she finally stopped, it was by a shimmering lake surrounded by towering mountains—a place so serene it seemed otherworldly.
Her gaze drifted to the water, where colorful fish darted just below the surface. But it wasn't the lake that held her attention. At the very edges of her shadow's perception, she noticed them: horned beetles. They skittered along the ground, their glossy shells catching the sunlight. Though they were far from her, Aris could sense their delicate movements as clearly as if they were in her palm. Something about them mesmerized her, as it always had.
She crouched down by the lake, her focus split between the insects and her reflection in the water. Her uncle had often scolded her for being so easily distracted by creatures like these during his lessons, but to her, they were perfect. Their small, deliberate lives kept her anchored to the present, even if only for a while.
Yet, even with their presence, the ache in her chest lingered—a sickness that gnawed at her resolve. Her shadow rippled slightly, as if it, too, felt her unrest. She closed her eyes and let the forest's rhythm wash over her—the chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of insects. Life went on, indifferent to her pain.
And then, amidst the stillness, her shadow brushed against something new. A presence.
Her eyes snapped open. Far beyond the lake, near the limits of her shadow's ever-growing reach, she sensed movement. A boy, no older than herself, stumbled through the trees. His steps were uneven, and his body seemed frail, as though a single gust of wind might topple him. His torn clothes and scratched skin told the story of a struggle. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as though fleeing something unseen.
Aris froze. In all her life, she had never encountered another human besides her uncle. Her first instinct was to approach him, but her shadow stretched protectively around her, its edges flickering with hesitation, mirroring the uncertainty in her heart. She could approach, but something held her back—a whisper of fear, or perhaps something else entirely. The boy was so far away—invisible to her eyes—but through her shadow, she could sense him. When her shadow approached the boy, it rippled, as if recoiling from the frailty it sensed—fragility so stark it almost felt unnatural—before settling into a quiet, watchful stillness.
Why is he here? she wondered. And why is he alone?
Her uncle's voice echoed in her mind once more, reminding her of the strength she carried. He had always told her to act with purpose, to behave in a manner befitting someone with her power and status. Yet here she was, rooted in place, unsure of what to do.
Her gaze lingered on the boy. His small, unsteady frame reminded her of The Brave Beetle, her favorite story. It told the tale of an orphaned beetle, lost and alone, until a wise sage found him and helped him grow into something greater.
Perhaps this boy needs a sage, she thought, her thoughts settling into quiet determination. But still, she did not move.
Not yet. First, I need to watch.
As the boy clumsily advanced through the forest at a snail's pace—though with none of its grace—Aris felt a flicker of irritation. Her shadow mirrored her mood, tendrils snapping at the air like restless serpents, venting its frustration.
It didn't take long to see why the child moved with such haste. A hulking predator stalked him from the shadows—a Fenar, a creature that usually spent its days gnawing on tree trunks or rolling boulders for idle amusement. Today, however, it seemed to have found a livelier form of entertainment.
Aris rose gracefully, brushing at her dress out of habit rather than necessity. There was no dirt, of course. She advanced through the forest with seamless precision, her figure melting into her shadow. No creature that roamed these lands could sense her presence unless she allowed it. The world blurred around her as she darted past familiar landmarks—ancient roots that writhed like veins in the earth, hollowed trunks that whispered of forgotten stories, and stones etched with time's quiet artistry.
When she emerged, it was directly in the path of the Fenar.
The creature towered over her, easily twice the size of her old home. Its fur bristled with patches of crimson, the remnants of battles fought and survived. Jagged spears and shattered blades were caught in its matted coat, telling stories of defiance against those foolish enough to challenge it. Yet, despite its formidable appearance, the Fenar moved with a peculiar elegance, each step as deliberate as the horned beetles Aris so admired.
At the sight of her, the beast halted abruptly. Its golden eyes flickered with recognition, a primal reverence for the force that stood before it—an ancient, unyielding power that had long watched over its domain. Its massive head tilted, and then, to her delight, it dropped to the ground, rolling onto its back to expose its furred belly in a gesture of submission.
Aris knelt without hesitation, her hands sinking into the thick fur as she patted its stomach. The Fenar's enormous paws twitched as she gave them an appreciative squeeze, and its tongue flicked out to lap at her shadow. The creature's breath was thick with the metallic tang of blood, a faint reminder of its true nature.
"Back now," she murmured, her voice soft but firm. The Fenar's golden eyes blinked at her in understanding. It rose slowly, shaking the earth as it turned and retreated into the depths of the forest.
She stood there for a moment, her gaze lingering on its retreating form. The jagged weapons embedded in its body were a stark reminder of the world's cruelties. Perhaps the boy had lost more than his breath to the beast. Perhaps those weapons were wielded by hands now silenced forever.
Her attention shifted back to the boy. He had paused now, staring in disbelief at where the Fenar had been moments before. His chest heaved, his small hands clutching at the fabric of his tattered shirt as though it might shield him from the memory of what had nearly been.
Aris allowed herself a small smile. He had no idea how close he had come to his end—or how much closer he stood to his beginning.
Aris Verum Umbra straightened her dress and tilted her head. In her mind, the stories she had read of grand battles and legendary quests unfurled like banners in the wind. She could see it clearly now: the boy was a hero in the making. Her making.
Her hero.
For now, she would wait. All things in their time.