Before I can react, the world shifts. Everything blinks—just once, like the earth itself closed its eyes.

  When I open mine again, I’m no longer standing in the yard. I’m somewhere else, somewhere that feels both familiar and wrong. The trees stretch tall and perfect, just like they were a moment ago, but something about them now seems… unreal. Like they’re watching me, waiting.

  And there, in the distance, the figure stands again. Not moving. Just watching.

  I don’t feel fear, not exactly. I feel… still. The air is thick, charged with something I can’t name, like I’m caught in the moment before everything changes. My heartbeat is steady, but my body knows—something’s not right.

  The figure tilts its head, its eyes gleaming in the dim light. They lock onto mine, sharp and knowing, as though it has been waiting for me to see it all along.

  I try to speak, but the words don’t come. I don’t need to speak. It already understands.

  The figure lifts a hand—not in greeting, not in warning—just a silent acknowledgment.

  And then, everything blinks again. The world shifts, but I don’t. I stay rooted where I stand, the ground beneath me soft and strange, like it’s both real and not.

  When I open my eyes again, I’m in bed. The quiet hum of the world outside is different now—brighter, somehow, and more… real. Apolloh’s breathing beside me pulls me back, grounding me in this world, but the feeling of that figure lingers.

  It hasn’t left.

  The remnants of the dream still linger like fog in my mind. Listening to Apolloh’s steady breathing beside me pulls me fully back to the present, and I feel the familiar warmth of his presence.

  But something else lingers, too—the figure. The gleam of its eyes. The feeling of being watched, understood by something I couldn’t explain.

  “Apolloh,” I whisper, careful not to disturb the calm too much. “Did you… did you see it? The figure in the trees?”

  He stirs beside me but doesn’t immediately answer. His gaze meets mine, soft but focused, still carrying that protective edge from earlier.

  “I saw something,” he says, his voice low. “But… it wasn’t like the way you saw it. I felt it. The presence, the tension in the air, but when I looked? There was nothing. No figure. No movement. Just the trees. It was like… it was a shadow in my mind.”

  I let out a slow breath, unsure whether to feel relieved or unsettled. “So you didn’t see it… see it?” I ask, trying to make sense of it.

  He shakes his head, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles. The quiet reassurance is there, even if I’m not sure it’s enough. “I think it was a trick of the light, or the wind. It was late. We were on edge. Whatever it was, it didn’t mean anything.”

  I’m not sure I believe him, but his words settle something in my chest. It’s comforting, in a way, to think it was something explainable, something grounded. But there’s still a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, a thread that won’t let go.

  Later, as the day stretches on, we sit together on the porch, the cool evening air brushing my fur. The dream is still heavy on my mind, the figure’s face lingering just beyond my thoughts, like a puzzle I can’t solve.

  “Apolloh, I had a dream,” I say quietly, the words feeling strange as they leave my mouth. “It felt so real… like the figure was there again. Watching me. But this time, it wasn’t the same. There was no danger. No… no warning. Just… stillness.”

  Apolloh turns to face me, his expression gentle, eyes full of that steady understanding he always has. “What happened in the dream?”

  I look down at my paws for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “It… the figure was standing between the trees. It looked like it did before—tall, dark, predatory. But when it looked at me, I didn’t feel scared. I felt like… it wanted me to understand something. Like I had to be there. It didn’t speak, but I knew it knew something. It didn’t feel like a threat, Apolloh. It felt… almost like it was waiting for me.”

  He listens without interrupting, just watching me with that calm gaze. When I finish, he takes my paw in his gently. “Dreams are… complicated,” he says softly. “Sometimes they’re just our minds trying to make sense of things we can’t understand. But maybe there’s more to it. Maybe the figure does mean something. I can’t say what, but it’s part of you, Laika. And whatever it means, I’ll be right here with you while you figure it out.”

  I lean into the comfort of his words, feeling the warmth of his presence beside me. But the feeling doesn’t quite go away. The figure in the woods, the one in the dream—it’s all still there, like a riddle with no answer.

  But for now, I let myself relax, just a little. For now, I let his words be enough.

  ~~~

  The evening stretches on, the air cooling as the sun dips lower, painting the sky with soft hues of purple and gold. I rest my head against Apolloh’s side, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath me, steady and comforting.

  For a while, we sit in silence, letting the stillness of the night wrap around us like a blanket. It’s strange, this quiet. Like everything outside of us is on pause, waiting for something. I shift, turning just enough to glance up at Apolloh, my heart feeling lighter in his presence, despite everything that’s happened.

  “You know,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips, “I think the baby’s been getting all the attention lately.”

  Apolloh chuckles, shifting so he can wrap an arm around me, pulling me closer. “I think you’re right. They’re going to have a lot to adjust to when they get here.”

  Just as he speaks, a gentle pressure in my belly catches my attention. I freeze for a moment, then a soft flutter follows—almost like a small push, a tiny kick. My eyes widen, and I glance down at my stomach, a wide grin spreading across my face.

  “Apolloh,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “The baby… the baby just kicked.”

  He looks at me, his eyes softening. “Really?”

  I nod, my heart racing a little in excitement. “Yeah. It’s like a little nudge. I think they’re saying hello.”

  His hand moves slowly to my belly, a warm, comforting touch. The baby kicks again, a little stronger this time, and I can’t help but laugh, a soft, joyous sound. Apolloh’s eyes light up, and he places his hand gently where the baby moved, waiting.

  “There it is again,” I say, a mixture of awe and delight in my voice.

  He smiles, his gaze never leaving my stomach as he feels the gentle movements. “That’s amazing. Our little one is growing stronger every day.”

  I can feel the warmth of his hand, the way his touch makes me feel safe, as if the whole world is right here in this moment. It’s a perfect balance to the strange things that have been happening. A quiet reminder that, no matter how mysterious or unsettling the world may seem, there are still things we can hold onto—things like love, and the tiny miracle we’re waiting for.

  For a while, we just sit there, hands pressed against my belly, listening to the soft thumping of the night around us. Everything feels… simple. Peaceful.

  And then, the baby kicks again, more insistently this time, as if eager to be noticed. I let out a soft laugh, and Apolloh’s face breaks into the most tender smile.

  “We’ve got quite the little one on our hands,” he says, his voice filled with warmth and wonder.

  I lean into him, letting the quiet, simple moment settle around us, a deep breath filling my chest. The strange figure, the tension from earlier—they feel far away now, as if they belong to a different world. Right here, right now, it’s just us. Just the two of us—and the little one kicking inside of me.

  After a while, the baby’s movements slow, but the warmth between Apolloh and me lingers, like an unspoken promise. The world outside feels distant, as though we’ve found our own little sanctuary within this space. I press closer to him, letting my body relax into the softness of his embrace. His steady presence is the anchor I didn’t realize I needed.

  “You’re so calm,” I murmur, my voice thick with contentment. “How do you do that?”

  He chuckles, the sound low and comforting. “I don’t know. I think I just focus on what’s right here, right now.” He shifts slightly, adjusting his arm around me so he can brush his thumb over my fur. “You and our little one. Everything else can wait.”

  I close my eyes, savoring the moment. There’s something about Apolloh’s simplicity, the way he doesn’t let the weight of the world pull him under. It makes me feel safe, like everything we’ve faced, everything we will face—it’ll be okay because we’re in this together.

  But then, without warning, the stillness of the night seems to shift again, like something’s tugging at the edges of my awareness. I try to ignore it, push it aside, but the feeling refuses to leave. I shift slightly, just enough to look at Apolloh.

  “Do you ever think about what happened earlier? With the figure, I mean,” I ask, my voice quieter than before, but still steady.

  Apolloh doesn’t immediately answer. His gaze turns distant for a moment, thoughtful. “I think about it. I don’t know what it was, Laika. But I’m not going to let it scare us. Not with everything we have to look forward to.”

  I nod, trying to settle the unease in my chest. He’s right. There’s too much to be excited about—the baby, our future, the life we’ve built together. But I can’t shake the feeling that whatever we felt that night, whatever was watching us, it’s not over.

  The wind rustles outside, stirring the leaves in the trees, but it feels… different tonight. Like it’s carrying something. A warning. Or a promise.

  “Do you think it was trying to tell us something?” I ask softly.

  He takes a moment, looking out over the horizon. “I don’t know. But I think… whatever it was, it’s waiting for us to figure it out. And maybe it’s not something we can do on our own.”

  I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Something’s waiting. Something’s been waiting since that first moment in the woods. I wish I could dismiss it, but I can’t. The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something that’s impossible to ignore.

  “Maybe it’s not just a warning,” I say quietly. “Maybe it’s a reminder… that there’s something bigger than us out there.”

  Apolloh’s hand tightens around mine, his gaze locking with mine. “We’ll figure it out. Together. No matter what it is.”

  And in that moment, I almost believe him. Almost.

  ~~~

  The night settles around us, a blanket of quiet that feels both comforting and unsettling. My thoughts wander back to the figure, to that strange, silent encounter in the woods. I want to push it away, to focus only on the warmth of Apolloh’s touch, but something in me resists. It’s like a thread pulling at me, urging me to look deeper.

  I turn my head to face him again, watching his steady expression as he stares out into the night. For a moment, I wonder if he feels the same unease I do, or if he’s just so grounded in the present that the past can’t touch him.

  “Apolloh…” I start, my voice barely a whisper, as though I’m testing the waters. “Do you ever feel like something’s… just out of reach? Like you’re meant to understand it, but you can’t quite grasp it?”

  He tilts his head slightly, sensing the weight in my words. “I think I know what you mean. Sometimes, it’s like there’s a part of us that’s always looking for something, even when we don’t know what it is.” He pauses, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles again. “But that’s okay. Maybe we’re not supposed to have all the answers yet.”

  I nod, but the words don’t quite bring the comfort I need. There’s still that pull, that feeling that something bigger than us is weaving through our lives, just out of sight. It’s like a shadow that won’t leave.

  Then, as if on cue, the sensation shifts again, and I find myself slipping away into the dream once more.

  ~~~

  The world around me distorts, like the ground beneath me is made of smoke, and I’m floating—no, falling. The feeling is disorienting, a sensation of weightlessness that leaves me dizzy, but then it settles. I’m standing in the woods again, only this time, it’s not the same place. The trees are taller, their branches twisted in unnatural shapes, casting long, grotesque shadows.

  I look around, trying to make sense of where I am, but everything feels off, like I’m standing in a place that’s familiar and alien all at once. My heart begins to race as I hear the soft rustling of leaves in the distance. There’s something—someone—moving, and I feel that cold, unnerving presence again, like eyes are watching me from all sides.

  I start to move, my steps slow, careful, but then I hear it—a voice, a whisper that brushes against my ear like the wind itself.

  “You’re not meant to be here.”

  I freeze, my pulse quickening. The voice doesn’t sound threatening, but it sends a chill through me, and I instinctively glance around, trying to find the source. But there’s nothing. Only the trees. The shadows.

  Then, from the corner of my vision, a figure steps forward—tall, dark, and silent. It’s the same one from before, its eyes gleaming with that strange, unsettling light. The figure doesn’t move toward me, but it doesn’t need to. I can feel it, understand it, even without words.

  “You must go,” the figure whispers again, but this time the words feel heavier, like they carry meaning I can’t quite grasp.

  My feet feel glued to the ground, and I want to speak, to ask what it means, but I can’t form the words. It’s like I’m not supposed to know yet, but I need to. There’s something important about this moment. Something I can’t miss.

  The figure doesn’t stay long. In a blink, it’s gone, leaving nothing behind but the eerie feeling that something is about to change.

  ~~~

  I snap awake, heart pounding, a cold sweat forming on my fur. I sit up abruptly, breathing heavily, my eyes darting around the dark room. Apolloh stirs beside me, his voice groggy but concerned.

  “Laika? What’s wrong?”

  I try to calm my racing heart, but the dream lingers, like a shadow that refuses to leave. I turn to him, eyes wide and unsettled.

  “The figure,” I say, my voice trembling. “It was there again. But this time… this time it spoke to me. It told me I wasn’t meant to be there… and that I had to go.”

  Apolloh’s expression hardens, concern crossing his features. “What do you think it meant?”

  I swallow hard, my throat dry. “I don’t know. But it’s like it’s trying to tell me something. I think I’m supposed to understand something, but… I don’t know what it is yet.”

  He reaches for me, pulling me close again, his warmth a comfort in the wake of the unsettling dream. “We’ll figure it out. But whatever it is, we’re in it together. Don’t forget that.”

  I nod, trying to convince myself that it’ll be okay. But the dream has left its mark. It’s no longer just a strange encounter—it’s a warning. And I’m not sure what it’s warning me about yet.

  ~~~

  The days blur together in a haze of quiet anticipation. The baby grows stronger, its movements more pronounced, and with each passing day, I find myself feeling a little more connected to the little life growing inside of me. Apolloh is as supportive as ever, his hand always finding its way to my belly, his touch gentle and constant. He watches me with a soft smile every time the baby kicks, his eyes full of that same wonder and love that’s become so familiar to me.

  But even as we settle into these moments of peace, I can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. The figure in the woods still lingers in my thoughts, like an unfinished story that refuses to leave my mind. And the dreams… they continue, though not always the same. Sometimes it’s the figure again, lurking in the shadows, and other times, it’s something else—a sense of urgency, as if I’m being called to do something, but I never know what it is.

  One evening, just as the sun is setting, Apolloh and I sit outside, the air thick with the promise of rain. The sky is a deep, bruised purple, and the first stars are beginning to twinkle above us. It’s the kind of night that makes everything feel a little more… charged. As though something is about to happen, but we don’t know what.

  “Do you ever wonder if we’ll be ready for this?” I ask, my voice soft as I lean into him, feeling the weight of his arm around me.

  He doesn’t hesitate. “We’ve already started this journey, Laika. We’re more ready than we think.”

  I nod, but something about the weight in his words makes me pause. I look out over the land before us, the dark silhouette of the trees against the darkening sky, and I wonder if he truly believes what he’s saying. Or if he’s just trying to reassure me. The unknown is a strange thing, something that can’t be solved with a few comforting words. But still, it helps.

  “What if… what if the figure comes back?” I ask quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

  Apolloh shifts, his gaze thoughtful as he looks at me. “Then we’ll face it. We’ll protect each other, and we won’t let it harm us.”

  I’m not sure if that’s enough to quiet the storm brewing in my mind, but I don’t press the issue further. For now, I just sit beside him, allowing myself to be comforted by the closeness of his presence.

  That night, the dream comes again, but it’s different this time. The figure is still there, standing at the edge of the trees, but this time, it’s holding something. A small, dark object, wrapped in something that looks like cloth. The figure doesn’t move, just watches me from the shadows, its eyes gleaming in the dim light. The voice comes again, softer this time, as if it’s trying to tell me something important, something I need to hear.

  “It’s not the time yet, Laika. But it will be soon.”

  And then, just like that, it’s gone.

  I wake up with a start, my heart pounding in my chest, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cloud over my thoughts. Apolloh is still beside me, his steady breathing the only sound in the room. I turn to face him, trying to steady my breath, but the weight of the dream presses down on me, heavy and suffocating.

  “Apolloh…” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “It was there again. It said… ‘It’s not the time yet. But it will be soon.’”

  He stirs, his brow furrowing in concern as he looks at me. “Laika, what does it mean?”

  I shake my head, the words stuck in my throat. “I don’t know. But it feels… important. Like it’s telling me that whatever’s coming, we’re not ready for it yet. But we will be soon.”

  Apolloh’s hand moves to my stomach, resting gently there as though offering a silent promise. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, Laika. We always have, and we always will.”

  But even as he says the words, I can’t shake the feeling that something is coming—something bigger than the both of us. And this time, I’m not sure we’ll be able to face it alone.

  The morning sun cuts through the curtains in warm streaks, painting golden light across the floorboards. I haven’t been able to fall back asleep since the dream, but I don’t wake Apolloh. He’s still beside me, his breathing calm, his arm draped protectively around my waist.

  I stare at the ceiling, one hand resting on my belly, feeling the soft rise and fall as I breathe. The dream still lingers at the edges of my mind, like smoke from a fire long extinguished. Not the time yet… but it will be soon. I don’t know what the figure meant, but something about it felt… inevitable.

  A few moments pass in quiet stillness. And then—there it is. A sharp, distinct kick.

  I freeze.

  Another one—stronger this time, pressing against my palm with startling clarity.

  My mouth falls open, and without thinking, I place my hand over Apolloh’s. “Apolloh,” I whisper urgently, “wake up.”

  He stirs, his eyes blinking open groggily, but the tension in my voice pulls him into alertness faster than usual. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  I grab his hand and press it to my belly, my heart pounding—not from fear, but something close to awe. “Feel that.”

  He furrows his brow, confused for a second—until it happens again. A firm kick, right beneath his palm.

  His eyes go wide. “Was that—?”

  I nod, a breathless laugh catching in my throat. “Yes. That was the baby.”

  His face breaks into the softest smile, one that reaches all the way into his eyes. “Laika…” His hand stays perfectly still, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “That’s amazing.”

  “I know,” I whisper, overwhelmed with emotion. “It’s so real now.”

  We both fall into silence, our hands still pressed to the spot where the baby moved. The room feels different now—brighter, despite the heavy thoughts of the night before. The dream may still haunt me, the figure may still linger in the shadows of my mind, but this—this little life—grounds me more than anything else could.

  Apolloh shifts closer, resting his forehead gently against mine. “I needed this,” he says quietly. “After everything… it’s good to have something to hold on to. Something we’re fighting for.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  I close my eyes, letting my head rest against his. “Me too.”

  We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, listening to the world begin to stir outside the window. The fear is still there, tucked away behind the sweetness of the moment—but for now, I let myself have this. Just this. A heartbeat. A kick. A promise of what’s to come.

  Eventually, the hunger gets the better of us—or maybe it’s just the excuse to move, to stretch, to keep the rhythm of the morning going. Apolloh helps me up with more care than necessary, his hand lingering at the small of my back as we walk toward the kitchen. He’s been like that lately—more attentive, more cautious—ever since I started showing.

  “I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” I tease, glancing over my shoulder.

  He smirks. “Glass doesn’t kick like that.” He rubs his hand over my belly again, clearly still reeling from the moment earlier. “Besides, you’ve got precious cargo. No risks.”

  I roll my eyes, but I don’t stop him. I like the way he touches me now—gentle, reverent, like he’s always aware of the life growing inside me.

  The kitchen is quiet, sun filtering in through the slatted windows, catching little dust motes in the light. I lean against the counter as Apolloh starts gathering things to make breakfast. He moves without thinking now—eggs, bread, something left over from last night—while I just watch him, letting the warmth of the room and the smell of morning settle around us.

  “Do you think it’ll be a girl?” I ask suddenly, surprising even myself.

  He pauses mid-reach, then glances back at me with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to guess.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs, turning back to the food. “Because it doesn’t matter to me. Girl or boy… it’s ours. That’s all I care about.”

  The simplicity of his answer softens something in me. I walk over and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. “I hope they have your calm. Your steadiness.”

  He snorts. “You mean boring?”

  “No,” I murmur. “I mean safe. Like home.”

  He turns in my arms, his expression gentling. His hands slide down to cradle my belly again, and we just stand like that for a moment—wrapped in warmth and soft breath and the quiet hum of something that feels like peace.

  But peace, I’ve learned, doesn’t stay long. Not lately.

  A knock at the door breaks the stillness, sharp and unexpected.

  We both freeze.

  Apolloh’s eyes flick to the door, then back to me. He moves first, gently guiding me to sit down. “Stay here,” he says quietly.

  The tension in his shoulders returns instantly, the same way it did in the woods when we first heard that growl. My heart stutters in my chest, unsure whether this is something simple—or the start of something else.

  I nod, wordless, my hand drifting back to where I felt the kick.

  The knock doesn’t come again.

  Apolloh walks to the door, his steps measured, careful, then slowly pulls it open.

  There’s no one there.

  Just wind.

  Just morning.

  But something small sits on the doorstep.

  Wrapped in cloth.

  Apolloh stands motionless in the doorway for a long moment. I can’t see his face from where I’m sitting, but I can see the way his body tenses, how his hand hovers slightly in the air, unsure whether to reach for the thing or close the door on it entirely.

  “Apolloh?” I call softly. My voice barely makes it past the knot tightening in my throat. “What is it?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he crouches down and lifts the small bundle into his hands. It’s wrapped in a dark, weather-worn cloth—old but clean, carefully tied.

  He turns, eyes meeting mine across the room. There’s no fear in his expression, not exactly, but something close to it. A guarded kind of focus. Alert.

  He walks it over slowly and places it on the table between us.

  We both just stare at it.

  It’s small. The size of a book. No note, no markings.

  I glance up at him. “Is it… from someone?”

  “I didn’t see anyone,” he says. “And I didn’t hear anyone approach.”

  A pause. The silence stretches too long.

  I reach out, fingers hesitating over the knot before unwrapping it.

  Inside, nestled in folds of faded fabric, is a smooth stone—black, polished, and cool to the touch. It’s engraved with a symbol I don’t recognize. Something old, looping and strange. Beneath it, a feather. Grey, almost silver in the light. Too clean, too perfect to have been found by accident.

  My pulse stutters. My dream.

  The cloth. The figure.

  It was holding something.

  My breath catches in my throat. “It was in my dream. The figure was holding something—wrapped in cloth just like this.”

  Apolloh doesn’t speak right away, but I can see the storm gathering behind his eyes.

  “What does it mean?” he finally asks, his voice low.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But it’s a message.”

  He looks from the stone to me. “Do you think it’s meant for you?”

  I nod, even as fear curls low in my gut. “Yes. And I think it’s just the beginning.”

  Zia lets us keep the stone and feather for the night, though she insists she’ll be digging through the archives first thing in the morning. “There’s a book,” she’d said, frowning in thought. “I don’t know if it’s still intact, but I swear I saw something like that symbol before. Give me until tomorrow.”

  So we return to our room with the bundle once again tucked safely away. The rest of the evening unfolds quietly, though not without a sense of waiting—like something is coming, and the night is just the pause before it arrives.

  Apolloh sets the stone on the small table near the window. It catches the last light of dusk and seems to darken as the shadows stretch across the room. I watch it from bed, unable to stop glancing over.

  It’s just a stone.

  But it isn’t.

  Apolloh notices. “You keep staring at it.”

  “I can’t help it,” I say. “It feels like it’s watching us back.”

  He comes to sit beside me, pulling the blanket over both of us. “I don’t like it being here. It doesn’t feel wrong, exactly… but I don’t trust it.”

  I nod. I know what he means. It’s not evil—it’s other. Outside of what we know.

  Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. I dream, but nothing as vivid or strange as before—just flickers of trees, the wind stirring ash, and the faint sound of something calling my name.

  When morning comes, we find the stone exactly where we left it—but different.

  It’s warm.

  Not hot. Not glowing. But warm to the touch, like it’s been sitting in the sun, though the window has been shut all night. Apolloh runs his fingers across it, exchanging a look with me.

  “That wasn’t like that before.”

  “No,” I whisper, “it wasn’t.”

  ~~~

  Later that day, Zia finds us again—this time with a book cradled in her arms like it might crumble if she breathed wrong. It’s thick, bound in cracked leather, and smells like dust and time.

  “I found it,” she says without preamble. “Or part of it, anyway.”

  She sets it down on the table and opens carefully to a page marked with a faded scrap of ribbon. There, drawn in ink that’s barely visible now, is the same looping symbol etched into the stone.

  A rush of recognition surges through me.

  “I knew it,” I breathe.

  Zia traces the text beside it. “Most of this is written in an older dialect… but I got pieces. It talks about ‘messengers,’ or maybe ‘guardians.’ Something like that. They’re not… human. Or even wolf.”

  “Then what are they?” Apolloh asks.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s unclear. Something about balance. Cycles. They appear before great change or loss. Or birth.”

  That last word lands heavily between us.

  “Birth,” I repeat softly.

  Zia looks between us. “I don’t think it’s a threat. But whatever this is, it’s tied to you now. You and the baby.”

  The room goes quiet.

  Outside, the wind shifts, brushing against the window like a whisper.

  ~~~

  That night, I sleep—but it’s not restful.

  At first, everything is familiar. The warmth of the bed, the quiet hush of our room. But slowly, the air thickens. The light shifts. And suddenly, I’m somewhere else.

  The room is the same, but wrong. The corners stretch too far, the shadows flicker as though lit by a fire I can’t see. The air buzzes with silence—too quiet, like everything is holding its breath.

  The stone is there on the table, exactly where Apolloh placed it. Only now it hums faintly, a low vibration I can feel in my bones. The symbol on its surface pulses with soft light—slow and steady, like a heartbeat.

  I move toward it, drawn in without meaning to. My feet make no sound on the floor.

  Then the light shifts again, and the figure is there.

  Not close. Not threatening. Just watching from the far side of the room—half-shadow, half-silver, like it’s made of smoke and memory. No eyes. No voice. But I feel it.

  It nods toward the stone.

  The cloth unfurls on its own, as if stirred by wind. The feather lifts, floats midair for a moment—then bursts into soft, white ash that scatters across the floor. The stone cracks—just once—right down the center, but instead of breaking, light pours from the fracture. Not bright. Gentle. Pale. The hum turns into something like a whisper, but I can’t make out the words.

  My heart pounds.

  And then—just as suddenly—I’m awake.

  A sharp intake of breath, the room dark and still. Apolloh stirs beside me. “Laika?” he murmurs.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper. “Just… a dream.”

  I sit up slowly, my eyes adjusting.

  The stone sits on the table, untouched.

  But as I watch—it hums.

  Just once. A soft vibration through the wood. Not loud enough to wake him. Not loud enough to be imagined.

  I move carefully out of bed, my hands instinctively guarding my belly as I walk to it. It’s exactly the same as before.

  But when I press my fingertips to the symbol, it’s warm again. Warmer.

  I glance at the cloth. The feather is still there.

  For now.

  I don’t sleep again.

  Not for the rest of the night.

  ~~~

  The morning is grey. Overcast. The kind of sky that feels too quiet, like it’s hiding something.

  I find Zia in one of the reading rooms at the far end of the orphanage, where the oldest records are kept. The door is cracked, warm light spilling out over the floor, and I almost don’t recognize her at first.

  She’s surrounded by books.

  Piles of them. Open, stacked, scribbled with notes. Her hair’s a mess, pulled back in a lopsided tie. There’s a half-empty cup of tea on the windowsill that’s long since gone cold. She doesn’t look up when I step in. She just keeps flipping through a yellowed page, eyes darting, fingers stained faintly with ink.

  “Zia?” I say softly.

  She startles, blinking fast like she’s waking from a trance. “Oh—Laika.” Her voice is hoarse. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You’ve been up all night?”

  “I couldn’t stop,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “That symbol… it’s like it’s haunting me. I found a reference in another book—an old field record, from a traveler who thought he saw it carved into a cave wall in the Northwood ruins. But it wasn’t helpful. Just a sketch and a note that it gave him nightmares for a week.”

  She pushes aside a few volumes and reaches for the cracked leather book from the day before. “I kept trying to find other sources, anything to connect it to a tribe, a ritual, something—but I kept coming back to this.”

  Zia opens it to a page deeper in than before—tucked between brittle layers of handwritten passages in that older dialect.

  “This part,” she says, tapping a block of faded text, “was almost unreadable. But with some light and… okay, maybe a little guesswork, I pieced together something.”

  She clears her throat. “It mentions the stone. Not by that word, but by description. Smooth, black, engraved. It was called a vessel of watching. Or a vessel of return. The phrasing is strange.”

  I feel a chill crawl up my spine.

  Zia keeps going, speaking quickly now, like she’s finally caught the thread. “It says something about them being left for certain people—those on the edge of ‘transition.’ That can mean death, or change, or…” Her eyes flick to my stomach. “Birth.”

  I swallow. “So it’s not a warning.”

  “No,” she says. “Or maybe not exactly. It’s more like… a signal. A marker that something important is beginning. Something you’re a part of, even if you don’t know why yet.”

  I glance down at the stone, still wrapped in its cloth in my arms. “It hummed last night. Just once. After the dream.”

  Zia stares. “So it’s active.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know what it wants. I just know it’s… aware of me.”

  Zia looks at the book again. “We need to keep going. There’s more in here, I think—more about what happens after the vessel is found.”

  I nod, even though my stomach tightens.

  Something is beginning.

  And I’m no longer sure we’re ready for it.

  Zia disappears back into the pages.

  She reads aloud in pieces—stopping and scribbling notes in the margins, murmuring translations under her breath. I sit across from her, cradling the stone in my hands, feeling the soft weight of the moment stretch around us.

  “There’s a passage here,” she says suddenly, “hidden in the fold between these two pages. It looks like it was added later. Different ink. Maybe a correction or a warning.”

  She leans in closer, squinting at the narrow, looping script.

  If the vessel breathes, she reads, its path has begun. Do not attempt to bury it. It will not rest. It does not belong to the world, but to the space between.

  A breath catches in my throat.

  Zia glances up. “Breathes. Like the hum you felt?”

  I nod slowly.

  She flips the page and gasps. “Laika—look at this.”

  She turns the book to face me. There, drawn beneath the passage, is a familiar symbol—but more intricate now. Around the original shape are smaller marks, lines like branches or cracks. Almost like veins. Or roots.

  “It’s evolving,” I whisper. “Just like in the dream. It cracked. Light came through.”

  Zia taps the book. “That’s what this next part might be describing. It talks about emergence. Something within the vessel that doesn’t reveal itself all at once. It shows itself in stages—when the bearer is ready.”

  Bearer.

  I glance down at my stomach.

  ~~~

  That afternoon, I sit by the window with the stone and the cloth laid out again. The feather rests atop it all—still untouched. But the light hits it differently now. The strands of white glint faintly gold.

  I lean closer.

  There’s something caught in the barbs—barely visible. A thread, almost translucent, wound tight at the base of the quill. I ease it loose with the edge of my fingernail.

  It’s not thread.

  It’s hair.

  My hair.

  I pull back, heart thudding.

  It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never handled the feather that closely. Not enough for something of mine to be bound to it. And yet—there it is. A perfect strand, pale and curled.

  I wrap it again. Carefully. But the unease lingers.

  ~~~

  That evening, Apolloh returns from training the older pups. He finds me sitting quietly, staring at the bundle on the table.

  He crouches beside me, brushing a hand gently over my back. “You’ve been here all afternoon.”

  “There’s something in the feather now,” I say. “It’s mine.”

  He doesn’t ask how.

  He just sits beside me. Silent. Watchful.

  After a moment, he reaches for the stone—but stops short. His expression shifts.

  “What?”

  “It’s warm,” he murmurs. “Again.”

  And then he frowns.

  “I think it’s warmer than it was before.”

  We both stare at it.

  Neither of us speaks the thought aloud—but it sits between us like weight:

  It’s waking up.

  ~~~

  Later that night, someone knocks.

  It’s Jaxe.

  He shifts in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck like he doesn’t want to be there. “I didn’t know who else to tell,” he says. “But something’s… weird.”

  He pauses, eyes flicking to the wrapped bundle.

  “I think I saw that thing. The figure. Outside the edge of the clearing. Just for a second. But it was watching.”

  I stiffen. My fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over my legs. I hadn’t said anything to Jaxe—or anyone—about the figure. Not yet.

  “You’re sure?” Apolloh asks, standing now. Calm, but alert. That edge in his voice that only comes out when he’s already halfway preparing for the worst.

  Jaxe nods. “I thought it was a shadow at first. But it wasn’t. It was tall. Still. I only saw it for a second, but… it looked right at me.”

  “Where?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “Past the outer fence,” he says. “Between the trees. I’d gone to check the traps before sundown. It didn’t move, it didn’t speak—it was just… there. Like it was waiting.”

  My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.

  Apolloh looks at me, then back at Jaxe. “Did anyone else see it?”

  “No,” Jaxe mutters. “Just me.”

  A long silence stretches out.

  Then Apolloh exhales slowly and rubs a hand over his face. “Alright. We’re going to keep this between us. For now. No need to spook the others unless it shows up again.”

  Jaxe nods, but he’s still tense. “Do you think it’s after us?”

  “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But it’s not a coincidence.”

  Jaxe’s eyes drift toward the stone, still resting wrapped in cloth on the table. “That thing… it gives me a weird feeling. Like it’s watching too.”

  “We’ve been getting the same feeling,” Apolloh says. “It’s not just you.”

  There’s something grounding in his voice, the way he says it. He’s scared—he has to be—but he’s steady. Solid. Like he always is when things start to fray.

  He turns to Jaxe. “Thank you for telling us.”

  Jaxe hesitates. “Should I… tell Zia?”

  “Not yet,” I say. “She’s already buried in the book. Let’s wait to see if anything else happens.”

  He nods once, then slips back into the hallway, leaving us alone in the quiet again.

  Apolloh locks the door.

  ~~~

  The silence afterward is heavier than before. And though the figure hasn’t stepped into the light yet… it’s circling closer. Watching.

  Waiting.

  ~~~

  The night is quiet. Unusually quiet. No distant growls, no unease creeping in from the edges of the clearing. The wind is still, the moon a pale disk high in the sky, casting soft shadows through the window. It’s almost peaceful.

  I sit with Apolloh by the window, our shoulders touching as we stare out at the dark horizon. We don’t speak at first, just feeling the weight of the silence, as though the world has paused for a moment.

  “You know,” Apolloh says softly, his voice breaking the stillness, “we’ve been through a lot. Maybe we should take a minute to breathe.”

  I glance at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Breathe? After everything?”

  “Exactly.” His smile is gentle. “It’s okay to have quiet for a while. Even when we know more is coming.”

  I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. The warmth of his body is grounding, reassuring. I close my eyes, letting the calm wrap around me for a moment.

  “I think I needed this,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “To just… be with you. To not have to think about what’s next. Or what might happen.”

  He squeezes my hand, his thumb tracing small circles over my knuckles. “I’m here, Laika. Whatever comes. We’ll face it together.”

  And for that moment, everything feels a little lighter. A brief reprieve before the storm.

  ~~~

  LATER THAT NIGHT

  But the stone… the stone doesn’t care about the calm.

  I wake in the dark. The room is quiet, but something is off. The air feels thick, almost too warm.

  I turn to Apolloh, but he’s still deep in sleep, his breathing steady. I glance toward the table, where the stone rests.

  It’s glowing again.

  Not brightly. But the faintest shimmer, pulsing just under the surface of the cloth, as though something is stirring within.

  I slide out of bed quietly, my feet hitting the cold floor. I cross the room and reach for it. The warmth is immediate, almost shocking against my fingertips. It hums again—softly, like a whisper, but this time, the hum feels more insistent. More alive.

  My breath catches.

  I unwrap the cloth slowly, watching as the stone’s surface seems to shift beneath my touch. It’s as if the markings on its surface are stretching, reshaping, flowing into new patterns, new lines. The edges crack again, but this time, the fracture doesn’t just glow. It pulses with a rhythmic beat, like it’s alive—and it feels familiar.

  Then, just as suddenly, a sharp sound breaks through the silence. A distant growl, not from the woods, but from beyond the clearing—closer this time. More deliberate.

  I freeze.

  Something shifts in the shadows outside the window. Just beyond the edge of the moonlight, a figure. Tall, indistinct, moving too slowly to be any animal I know.

  It’s there. Watching.

  My heart races.

  ~~~

  The stillness breaks, and I quickly wrap the stone back up, the cloth feeling almost too tight around it. Apolloh stirs beside me, groaning softly in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. I stand by the window for a moment longer, staring at the darkness.

  I can feel it again. That same presence.

  The same figure.

  Waiting.

  I don’t move, not yet.

  ~~~

  I’m lying still, the stone’s hum still faint but present beneath my fingertips, when I hear the rustle of sheets beside me. Apolloh shifts in his sleep, his body moving closer to mine. His hand finds mine almost instinctively, the warmth of his skin grounding me as I try to steady my breath.

  He stirs again, this time more fully awake, blinking slowly as his eyes meet mine. He’s groggy, his voice low. “Laika?”

  I don’t answer immediately. I’m still watching. The figure is out there, beyond the window, just at the edge of the shadows. I’m not sure when it got closer, but it’s definitely closer now.

  Apolloh shifts again, rubbing his eyes. “You alright?” he asks, still half-asleep, his tone filled with that same steadiness that always keeps me anchored.

  I nod, but I don’t speak. I’m not sure what to say. My body feels cold, but not from fear—more like something is pressing into the space between us. The air feels tight, like the room is smaller somehow.

  I look back at the window, my eyes narrowing. The figure is almost visible now. Not quite, but I feel its presence more than I see it. The silhouette is still there, lingering just beyond the moonlight. But now, it’s… closer.

  Just closer.

  It’s not a movement I can directly see, but it’s the kind of thing you can feel when something shifts in the space around you. It’s a presence filling the space, stepping closer without actually stepping. The shadows themselves seem to bend toward it.

  I can’t look away. I don’t even want to blink, afraid that when I open my eyes, it might be standing at the window, staring in.

  The pressure in the room thickens, like the air is holding its breath.

  Apolloh shifts again, his attention now fully on me, his voice quieter, more alert. “What’s wrong, Laika? You’re acting strange…”

  But I can’t speak. Not yet. I’m too focused on the figure that isn’t quite there, but is definitely closer. And then I feel it—the sensation of eyes on me, as if it’s watching me now, more aware than before, but still just out of reach.

  The figure doesn’t move. It just becomes more present. More real. Like it’s testing the air between us.

  The quiet grows unbearable.

  And then, just as I think I can’t take the tension anymore, the figure retreats. Slowly, but still, it pulls back into the darkness from where it came. The oppressive weight in the air lifts, leaving a strange, lingering emptiness in its wake.

  Apolloh sits up, now fully awake. His eyes are on me, his brow furrowed with concern. “Laika…”

  But the words hang there, unsaid. The figure is gone, but I know it’s still out there, watching.

  And I don’t know what it wants.

  ~~~

  The sun’s barely up, casting long shadows through the windows as I sit up in bed, trying to shake off the feeling that’s still hanging over me from the night. I can’t stay still, not with everything swirling in my mind—the figure, the stone, the feeling that something is waiting for me, just out of reach.

  I quietly slide out of bed, careful not to disturb Apolloh. He’s still sound asleep in the other part of the room. His breathing is steady, calm, while I’m left with nothing but restlessness.

  I slip on my shoes and leave the room, making my way down the hall toward the library. The fortress feels still this early in the morning, the echoes of my footsteps the only sound breaking the silence.

  When I reach the library, I find Zia exactly where I expected her: hunched over a stack of books, the dim light from a lantern casting shadows on her face. Her eyes are red, and her hair is a mess, but she’s clearly been at this all night. She doesn’t look up when I enter, too focused on the pages in front of her.

  “I’ve been at this all night,” she mutters, her voice hoarse. “There’s more to that stone than I first thought.”

  I stand beside her, watching her flick through the pages. Her hand moves quickly, flipping to a section of the book with what looks like a detailed illustration of the stone. She doesn’t say anything at first, just continues to search, her finger tracing the lines as though looking for something more.

  “I found it,” she says suddenly, her voice sharp with triumph. “There’s a section in this book that mentions the stone.” She flips the page, revealing the image of the exact stone I’ve been carrying.

  I lean in, my heart racing as I look at the illustration, then glance at the words beside it. “What does it say?”

  Zia doesn’t look up at me, her eyes locked on the book. “It’s part of an ancient set, linked to a prophecy. The stone has the power to awaken something. Something that’s been waiting for a long time.”

  I feel a chill run through me at her words. “Awaken… what?”

  She shakes her head, her brow furrowing as she reads further. “It doesn’t say exactly. But there’s mention of a figure, a watcher, bound to the stone. Someone—or something—that’s been waiting for the stone to call them back.”

  I take a step back, my heart hammering in my chest. “That’s what’s been out there.”

  Zia finally looks up at me, her eyes wide. “I think so. I don’t know exactly what it means yet, but I’ll keep looking. There’s more to this prophecy. More we don’t understand.”

  My stomach tightens as I remember last night. The figure. The way it felt like it was watching us, testing the limits of the space between us.

  I glance out the window, half-expecting to see the figure lurking in the shadows, but there’s nothing—just the soft light of morning filtering through the trees.

  I turn back to Zia, my voice quiet but urgent. “Keep looking. We need to know more.”

  Zia nods, her focus already back on the book as she continues to pour over the pages. I stay with her for a moment longer, the tension building in my chest, then head back toward the hall. There’s no sense in staying here, not when the answers are just out of reach, still hidden in these books.

  The stone, the figure… whatever’s coming, it’s getting closer.

  ~~~

  The weight of everything that’s happened hangs heavy in the air, so I decide to step outside for a while, away from the fortress, away from the feeling of eyes watching me. I need to clear my head.

  The morning air is crisp, fresh, a contrast to the heaviness in my chest. I walk slowly, letting the quiet of the open space calm me. My footsteps crunch softly against the gravel path, the sounds of birds and rustling leaves filling the silence. It’s peaceful here, but something about it doesn’t feel entirely right—not with the stone, the figure, and the strange sense of waiting hanging over everything.

  I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts, but then I hear it—a soft thud of paws behind me. I glance over my shoulder and find Jaxe trotting along, his tail wagging with an innocent curiosity.

  “Hey, you,” I murmur, offering him a small smile. “I guess I’m not alone after all.”

  Without warning, Jaxe shifts in an instant, his form rippling and stretching as he transforms back into his human shape, his feet landing on the ground lightly. His expression is calm but curious as he walks up beside me.

  “Couldn’t let you go off alone,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, you look like you need some company.”

  I nod, appreciative, though there’s an edge of restlessness I can’t quite shake. “Yeah. Thanks, Jaxe.”

  We continue walking together, the sound of our footsteps blending with the quiet hum of the morning. It’s strange, how calming it is to have him here, even without saying much. I can feel the tension still coiled tight in my chest, but at least, for now, I’m not alone in it.

  We reach the edge of the forest, the towering trees casting long shadows as the light shifts. I stop, taking in the view, but the quiet doesn’t settle the storm inside me. I can’t stop thinking about what happened last night, about the figure, the stone. Everything that’s still unanswered.

  Jaxe walks alongside me, his gaze shifting from the forest to me. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to. But his presence, solid and steady, makes it easier to breathe.

  “You know,” I say, breaking the silence, “I don’t know what’s happening. But I know something’s coming. I just don’t know what it wants from us.”

  He looks at me, his expression softening. “You don’t have to know everything right now, Laika. You’ve been through a lot already. We’ll figure it out.”

  I glance at him, meeting his eyes, grateful for the reassurance. “Thanks, Jaxe. It’s just hard, you know? Trying to make sense of it all.”

  He nudges my shoulder lightly with his own. “We’ll get there. Together.”

  I exhale, nodding, and we stand there for a moment longer, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves filling the quiet between us. Even in the midst of everything swirling around us, it feels like a small piece of calm, a brief respite. But I know it won’t last forever.

  Whatever’s coming, it’s getting closer.

  ~~~

  The warmth of Apolloh’s presence beside me is a comfort I don’t take for granted. The evening has drawn in, the fortress quieter now, with only the soft murmurs of distant voices and the occasional creak of the building settling. But it’s just us in this moment—Apolloh and me.

  He’s lying beside me, the soft rise and fall of his chest steady against my back, his hand gently resting on my rounded belly. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the quiet peace between us, the world outside forgotten for now. The baby stirs lightly inside me, and Apolloh’s hand shifts, gently caressing my stomach as if he can feel it too.

  “You feel that?” he murmurs, his voice low and tender.

  I nod, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, it’s like they’re letting us know they’re here.”

  A soft laugh escapes him, and he presses a kiss to the back of my head, his warmth surrounding me. “Our little one is going to keep us on our toes, huh?”

  I turn slightly, facing him now, our eyes meeting in the soft glow of the lantern light. There’s a quiet understanding between us, a shared feeling of anticipation and love that fills the space around us. I slide my hand to his cheek, tracing the familiar curve of his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding me.

  “We’ll be okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure if I believe it. “I know we’ll be okay.”

  He leans in, pressing his forehead gently against mine. “Together,” he murmurs, his voice full of certainty.

  The baby moves again, this time a more pronounced kick. I laugh softly, feeling it through the both of us, and Apolloh chuckles, his hand finding its way back to my belly.

  “I think they’re ready to join the conversation,” I tease, my voice light despite the heaviness of everything else.

  Apolloh smiles, his gaze softening as he looks at me, then down to my stomach. “Already making themselves known.”

  In that moment, the world outside feels distant. The weight of everything—the stone, the figure, the uncertainty—seems to fade, leaving just us and the quiet promise of a future we’re building together. It’s a rare moment of peace, the calm before whatever storm is coming. But for now, it’s enough.

  Just as I feel the last traces of tension begin to leave my body, the door to the room bursts open.

  Zia stands in the doorway, eyes wide, her breath quick and frantic. She doesn’t even wait for a greeting before speaking.

  “I found something—about the stone. And the figure. We need to talk. Now.”