By midday, the forest changed.

  The light grew dimmer, filtered through a thicker canopy of ancient, twisted trees. Moss clung to bark like old secrets, and the air held a hush, as though even the wind dared not speak too loudly.

  The girl walked ahead, her staff glowing faintly, casting green light that pushed back the growing gloom. The young man followed, suitcase in hand, gaze shifting warily from branch to branch. Even the horse, usually steady, stepped with more caution now.

  Then, in a clearing ringed by stones half-sunken into the earth, they saw him.

  A lone figure sat atop one of the stones — tall, slim, wrapped in dark, woven robes that shimmered subtly in the light like spider silk. His hair was silvery-white, not from age, but as though kissed by frost. His eyes were pale — nearly colorless — and glowed ever so slightly beneath his hood.

  He was barefoot.

  And he was waiting.

  The girl stopped, staff at the ready. “You’re not from any village I know.”

  The stranger’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Few speak to me so directly. I find it refreshing.”

  The young man stepped up beside her, his blue eyes cold. “You’re from the Hollow.”

  The stranger tilted his head. “A long time ago, yes. But now? I’m from between places. From where the trees forget to grow, and the sun forgets to rise.”

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  The girl frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

  “No,” he said, smiling again, “but it is the truth.”

  The horse neighed softly, uneasy.

  “What do you want?” the young man asked flatly.

  The stranger stood slowly, movements fluid as drifting smoke. “To walk with you. For a time. I know where the Hollow lies. I know how to reach it. And you…” — he looked at the girl — “carry something ancient without knowing.”

  Her grip on the staff tightened. “You mean this?”

  “I mean you.”

  The clearing fell into silence.

  Finally, the girl said, “If you know the way, show us. But speak lies, and you’ll walk no further.”

  The stranger gave a low bow. “As you wish, flame-bearer.”

  The three of them moved on, deeper into the forest.

  The young man stayed close to the girl, casting occasional glances at the stranger. He did not trust him — not yet. But something in the man’s words rang with the same note the stream had carried the night before.

  As the sun set once more, they made camp beneath a canopy of blue-leafed trees. The stranger did not sleep. He sat by the fire, eyes half-lidded, humming a melody that did not belong to this world.

  The girl and the young man ate in silence.

  Eventually, she asked quietly, “Do you think we’re getting close?”

  The young man nodded slowly. “Closer than ever.”

  That night, while she slept and he once again took the first watch, the pale stranger turned to him and spoke in a voice like leaves falling.

  “Do you dream of your home still, outsider?”

  The young man said nothing for a long while.

  Then quietly, “Sometimes.”

  And in the wind, laughter — not cruel, but knowing.