The sun had not yet risen when the forest stirred.

  A breeze slipped through the clearing, gentle at first — almost like a sigh — but then colder, sharper, carrying with it a strange sound. Not the rustle of leaves or the call of birds, but a hum. Low. Faint. Almost like a song.

  The girl stirred first. Her eyes opened slowly, emerald-green and alert. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and the sky above was still painted in deep pre-dawn blue.

  Then she heard it again — the sound.

  It came from the stream.

  She stood carefully, lifting her staff. The green stone pulsed softly in her hand as if waking with her. The horse remained asleep, unaffected, and the young man was still lying beside the fire, one hand loosely resting near the suitcase.

  The girl stepped closer to the water, the hem of her cloak brushing against dewy grass. The stream, once clear and quiet, now shimmered strangely — rippling in soft spirals as though something beneath it breathed.

  Kneeling at the edge, she touched the surface gently with her fingertips.

  A flash of light darted beneath the water — green and gold and gone in an instant.

  “Wake up,” she whispered without turning. “There’s something here.”

  The young man was already sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. In one smooth motion, he grabbed his cloak and the suitcase. “What is it?”

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  “I don’t know. But it’s not... normal.”

  He moved beside her, eyes narrowing as he watched the strange glimmer moving beneath the surface.

  Then, a voice.

  Faint. Musical. Not speech, not song — somewhere between both.

  “Return... to the Hollow...”

  The girl froze.

  The young man blinked. “Did you hear that?”

  She nodded slowly. “I did. But not with my ears.”

  A soft swirl of mist began to rise from the stream. The green stone atop her staff flared in response, and the air around them grew thick, not with fear — but with weight, like an old memory pressing gently against the present.

  “What’s the Hollow?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the water. “A place no one speaks of anymore. A place that was... lost.”

  “Lost how?”

  “Like a dream you forget after waking,” she murmured. “You know it mattered, but the pieces are gone.”

  The mist faded as suddenly as it had appeared. The stream was calm again. Still.

  The light was gone.

  And so was the voice.

  The girl stood slowly, her staff still glowing faintly. “Something is calling. Not just to me. To you, too.”

  He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Then I guess we follow it.”

  The horse stirred awake as the first light of morning broke through the canopy. The campfire was now a circle of ash and ember.

  By noon, they were packed and moving again — deeper into the forest. Past streams that whispered secrets, trees that remembered, and paths no longer marked on any map.

  And behind them, the stream ran quietly. As if nothing had ever happened at all.