The one who watches

The voice echoed through her bones.

Sage… run.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

The cloaked figure stood motionless at the edge of the clearing, a shadow within shadows. It didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched.

Sage’s pulse roared in her ears. Every instinct told her to run—but her feet stayed planted. Her eyes flicked back to the notebook, still open to her grandmother’s message.

“Do not trust the first voice.”

What if the whisper that told her to run was the first voice? What if it wasn’t trying to help—but trying to mislead?

She took a cautious step back from the altar. The figure didn’t move. Not a twitch.

Another step.

Still nothing.

And then—

The air shifted. Not heavy anymore, but sharp. Cool. A breeze curled around her, brushing past her ears with a sound so faint it barely existed.

A song.

A lullaby.

It came and went like a dream. She knew that melody. Her grandmother used to hum it in the garden, hands buried in the earth, soft voice barely above the buzzing of bees.

Follow the wind, not the whispers.

Sage turned toward the breeze. The figure was behind her now. She didn’t look back.

She ran.

Branches clawed at her arms. Twigs snagged her sweater. The forest blurred around her as she followed the song, deeper and deeper, until it was no longer sound but instinct.

Behind her, something moved.

Not footsteps.

Gliding.

Still, she didn’t turn around. Just ran harder.

She burst through a curtain of vines—and into stillness.

A second clearing. This one felt different. It wasn’t wild. It was deliberate. Circular stone walls rose around her, etched with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly like sleeping stars. Ivy crawled up the edges, but the design underneath was clear—old, and powerful.

At the center lay a pool, perfectly still, so clear it reflected the sky.

Only… it wasn’t the sky above her.

It was night. Full stars. Galaxies. A sky she’d never seen before.

And there, standing beside the pool, was a woman.

She looked younger than Sage remembered, but the face was the same. The silver streak in her dark hair. The small scar on her left cheek. The quiet power behind her eyes.

“…Grandma?” Sage whispered.

The woman turned, slowly, a soft smile breaking across her face. It didn’t reach her lips—it started in her eyes.

“You found me, little one.”

Sage stared, rooted to the spot.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

Her grandmother took a slow step toward her, but not threatening—gentle, like approaching a deer in the woods.

“You’ve grown,” she said. Her voice was exactly the same. “You came farther than I ever did.”

Sage’s throat tightened. “What is this place?”

Her grandmother glanced at the pool. “A crossing. Between here… and what waits beyond.”

“Beyond what?”

Another smile. “That’s for you to decide.”

Behind Sage, the air thickened again.