Raine moved swiftly, keeping to the shadowed edges of the road, the city of Vaelora shrinking behind him with every hurried step. The night air was crisp, biting through the frayed edges of his cloak, but he pulled it tighter, as if the thin fabric could shield him from more than just the cold.
He didn't look back.
Not at the towering walls, standing like silent sentinels. Not at the distant glow of lanterns, flickering like dying stars against the black sky. Not at the life he had just abandoned.
The stranger—the man who had dragged him into an alley and told him to run—hadn't followed. No name. No explanations. Just a warning, spoken in that calm, knowing voice.
And Raine had listened.
Because there had been truth in that voice. A certainty woven into the words.
If he stayed, he was dead.
The caravan he had bribed his way onto was unremarkable—just a handful of wagons loaded with trade goods, carrying merchants and travelers looking for safer roads. A few coins had secured him a space among them, a nameless figure tucked away in the back of a wagon, hood drawn low. His body swayed with the wagon's motion, eyes closed, feigning sleep, but his mind refused to rest.
Around him, voices murmured—traders exchanging stories of distant markets, weary guards speaking in hushed tones, a mother whispering lullabies to a restless child. The smell of dried hay, oiled leather, and the lingering scent of spice from some merchant's wares filled the air, mixing with the distant smoke of campfires from other travelers.
Raine kept still, listening.
His hands, buried beneath the folds of his cloak, curled into fists. His fingers pressed into his palms, as if trying to grasp something slipping through them.
The memory of the Resonance Stone's crack still echoed in his mind.
The way the air had thickened, pressing against him like an unseen force. The sharp, unnatural chill that had shot through his fingertips. The moment he had touched the stone, it was as if the world itself had recoiled.
That wasn't normal.
That wasn't magic.
And the Arcanum had known it.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to relax. Tension would only draw attention. He needed to keep his head down, remain unnoticed. The road ahead stretched into the unknown, dark and endless. The farther he traveled, the safer he would be.
At least, that's what he told himself.
The caravan stopped by a bend in the river, making camp just off the road. The travelers moved in quiet groups, unpacking supplies, lighting torches that cast long flickering shadows against the trees. The night air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke, the soft murmur of conversation mingling with the crackling of fire.
Raine kept to the outskirts, watching from a distance. His stomach ached with hunger, but food was the least of his concerns. He crouched near the riverbank, scooping cold water into his palms, splashing it against his face. The shock of it grounded him, if only for a moment.
His reflection rippled across the surface, shifting with the current.
Then, for just a breath—it changed.
The water was no longer reflecting the stars above.
It was showing something else.
A hollow space. A void, stretching beyond the riverbed, swallowing the light at its edges.
And deep within it—
A whisper.
Not yet.
The moment passed. The water stilled.
Raine staggered back, his breath sharp, his pulse hammering in his ears. The cold air pressed against his skin, but it felt distant, unreal, as if he had stepped outside of himself. His eyes darted to the camp, scanning the travelers, but no one had noticed.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
This wasn't paranoia.
Something was following him.
And it had been waiting.