On the edge of the village of Greystone, where the forest grew too thick for most to wander and the wind sang like an old bard, there stood a tree that glowed at night. It wasn’t magic—or so the elders insisted. They said the bark had strange sap, or perhaps it caught the light from the moon in a funny way. But children whispered differently.

  They said if you left a question at the base of the Lantern Tree, tucked under a stone or carved into bark, you’d have a dream with your answer—clear as if someone whispered it right into your ear.

  No one admitted to trying it, of course. Except for Renna.

  She was sixteen, a blacksmith’s daughter with soot-stained hands and a heart too big to stay in one place. Her mother was gone. Disappeared without a trace two winters ago, and everyone had long given up hope. Everyone except Renna.

  One Harvestmoon night, when the air smelled like frost and falling leaves, Renna crept out with a question scrawled on old parchment:

  Where is my mother?

  She placed it beneath the stone and waited, curling up at the tree’s roots, lantern flickering low.

  That night, she dreamed not of words but of fire—a blazing, unnatural fire deep in the forest, guarded by a creature with too many eyes and a voice like cracking ice. It whispered her name.

  When she woke, her boots were wet with dew and her paper was gone. In its place lay a single iron feather, still warm.

  She didn’t tell anyone. She just packed her satchel, stole a hunting knife, and followed the dream into the woods. Because sometimes, the answers we get aren’t meant to comfort. They’re meant to call us forward.

  And some girls?

  They answer.

  Renna didn’t know how far she’d walked, only that the sun had risen and fallen twice, and still the dream tugged her forward. She moved like someone half-awake, each step fueled more by instinct than thought.

  On the third night, as the sky turned silver-blue and owls began calling, she found the burned clearing.

  Nothing in Greystone’s forests should’ve looked like that. The ground was scorched in a perfect circle. Trees were blackened but not toppled, like they’d been flash-fried and left standing in shock. And at the center of it all was a stone altar, cracked down the middle. Iron feathers were scattered like ash around it.

  Renna crouched to pick one up—and the moment her fingers touched it, her ears rang with a voice she knew.

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  “Renna…”

  Her mother’s voice. But hollow. Distant. Caught in wind like a memory.

  She spun, knife in hand—but saw only trees and shadows. Then something stepped into the firelit clearing.

  It was tall. Human-shaped. But no human had antlers growing from its head, or eyes like flickering coals. The creature cocked its head like a curious bird and spoke in that cracking, icy voice from the dream.

  “You came.”

  Renna stood her ground. “Where’s my mother?”

  The creature tilted its head the other way. “With me. She gave herself freely to save your village. Bound in fire. But you can take her place.”

  Of course there had to be a price.

  Renna’s fingers tightened on her knife. “What happens if I refuse?”

  “She remains. You forget. The tree stops glowing. The path closes forever.”

  She looked down at the iron feather in her hand. Still warm. Still waiting.

  Renna didn’t flinch. Not when the creature stepped closer. Not when heat rippled off its skin like a forge’s breath. Fear sat heavy in her gut—but so did resolve. And in her experience, fear could be quenched with a little spark.

  “I’m not trading my life away,” she said coolly. “But I’m not leaving without her either.”

  The creature’s eyes narrowed into glowing slits. “Then you are a fool.”

  “No,” Renna said, flicking the knife in her hand, “I’m a blacksmith’s daughter. I know how to make deals. And I know how to break chains.”

  She lunged—not straight at the creature, but at the altar. The crack down its middle flared with the same unnatural heat she’d felt in her dream. Whatever magic held her mother captive, it was tied to that stone.

  The creature roared, lunging after her. Too slow.

  Renna slammed the iron feather into the crack like a wedge and drove her knife in after it. The altar shuddered, pulsed—then exploded in a flash of blinding light.

  When she came to, the clearing was different.

  No ash. No iron. No creature.

  Just her mother, collapsed on the ground, breathing shallow but real. Alive.

  Renna ran to her, tears stinging her soot-smudged cheeks. Her mother stirred, smiled weakly.

  “You stubborn, brilliant girl,” she whispered.

  Renna helped her up, heart hammering. “Let’s go home before something else shows up.”

  The walk home wasn’t quiet.

  Birdsong returned to the forest, cautious and sweet, like it was testing the air after a long silence. Her mother leaned on her for support, weak but steadying. “I heard you calling,” she murmured once. “Even in the fire.”

  Renna didn’t reply. Not yet. She was too busy feeling the strange heat buzzing beneath her skin.

  It had started the moment the altar cracked—like something had branded itself onto her bones. Her left palm still tingled. When she finally looked, a mark pulsed faintly just below the skin: a feather-shaped scar, dark as iron, glowing ever so slightly when she flexed her fingers.

  She didn’t mention it.

  Yet.

  Back in Greystone, the Lantern Tree no longer glowed at night. Some villagers mourned it like an old friend had passed. Others shrugged and went on with their lives, unaware of how close they’d come to losing far more.

  Renna’s mother stayed inside for weeks, recovering. People asked questions, of course, but Renna just smiled and said she’d found her—barely alive—near the old north trail. The truth was too strange to explain, and too powerful to give away.

  But some nights, Renna stood by the dark tree with her marked hand hidden in her cloak. She didn’t expect answers anymore.

  She was one now.

  And sometimes, deep in the forest, she could feel it—like something ancient and watching had taken notice. Not all chains had been broken. Not all debts paid.

  But she wasn’t afraid.

  She was ready.