Chapter 3

  The enforcers arrived with the morning fog.

  Lem had gone out early, restless. He hadn’t slept—not well, not since Kyle’s words the night before. The forest hadn’t helped. Every creak of branch and rustle of underbrush had curled too close. So he'd walked. No plan, just motion. Just a need to get away from the stump, from Kyle.

  He was near the chapel when he saw them—three figures on the eastern road, emerging from the mist like carved shadows. They didn’t wear village cloaks. Their armor was dark and faceted, angular plates catching what little light pierced the fog. Where Dust gathered at the seams, it pulsed faintly, like breath beneath stone. At their breastplates gleamed the sigil of Aurora’s Enforcers: a flaming eye split by a jagged crack. Not a symbol of mercy. A warning.

  Each carried a short, black lance strapped across their backs, the shafts etched with lines that shimmered when the mist curled too close.

  The tallest stepped forward. He wore no helm. One would have hidden the puckered scar that split his scalp clean down the middle like a wound that never healed. A helm would have been less intimidating. His face was massive and angular, a slab of pale flesh over bone, and he moved with the confidence of someone who had never needed to explain himself.

  "We’re looking for someone," he said, voice flat as riverstone.

  Villagers had begun to gather, festival wear still clinging to them in frayed ribbons and rumpled linens, morning frost catching on dyed threads. Harret pushed his way forward, wiping flour from his fingers onto a cloth tucked at his belt.

  "This is a peaceful village," he said, voice level. "What business do you bring?"

  The enforcer didn’t blink. "A relic has gone missing. Holy property. A pendant—dull silver, a circle within a circle, split in twelve. It does not belong here."

  Harret’s brow furrowed. "And you believe it’s here?"

  The enforcer’s voice dropped a note. "We have reason to believe it passed through this region. You will cooperate."

  Lem tried to step back into the crowd, but one of the other enforcers—a tall, rail-thin figure whose short black hair clung damply to his temples—moved with a liquid, animal grace and locked onto him with a tilt of the head that suggested he had already weighed and dismissed Lem’s value. His voice was a whisper dragged across steel.

  "You," he said. "Boy."

  He froze. "I—I live here. That’s all."

  The shorter of the three stepped forward, voice cool and clipped. "Seen anything strange? Anyone acting odd?" Her straight brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her face unreadable. But her eyes—cold, clear, and carved of something that didn’t flinch—fixed on Lem like a trap snapping shut.

  "The pendant awakens things. Dust starts to behave… improperly."

  "I don’t know anything about a pendant," Lem said, too quickly.

  The third enforcer—the rail-thin one—stepped forward, his expression unchanged. He moved with a kind of liquid precision, every shift of weight considered. "We don’t need lies," he said, lifting a hand that shimmered faintly with Dust lines. "Only answers."

  "No lies!" Lem blurted. "I… maybe, I saw something, okay? A shape. Shiny. Around someone’s neck. But I didn’t see it well."

  The scarred enforcer’s gaze sharpened. "Who?"

  "I didn’t see! Not clearly."

  Behind the chapel wall, Kyle crouched low beneath the crumbling edge of a long-dry drainage path. He hadn’t meant to be there. He’d come to see Tina, to see if she would come with him one last time. But then he saw the armor. Heard the words. And heard Lem.

  He felt the pendant, cold against his skin.

  The Dust in the air shimmered.

  A breeze moved, not through the trees, but between the stones and shadows. A folding of silence that passed over him like a breath held tight. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Something wasn’t right.

  The enforcer’s head tilted, like he felt it too. But his eyes slid past the chapel wall.

  “You’ll tell us if you see it again,” he said to Lem.

  Lem nodded mutely.

  The enforcers turned, their armor barely whispering as they moved. The villagers backed away like wheat before a fire.

  Kyle waited until they were gone.

  He didn’t understand what had happened. Only that, somehow, he hadn’t been seen. Not really. Not fully.

  --

  The shaded cut between the mill and the stream was quieter than it should have been. Festival detritus clung to the fence posts—streamers half-torn, a ribbon snagged in the bramble, the faint sour smell of spilled cider lingering in the air.

  Kyle waited in the lean-to, the one they’d used so many times before. It didn’t feel secret anymore. Not with the village holding its breath and strangers walking the paths. But he waited anyway.

  Tina came.

  She didn’t speak. Just slipped between the slats like she had a hundred times before and closed the space between them with a slow, deliberate calm that unsettled him more than if she’d been angry. Her auburn hair was tied back, but tendrils had escaped to frame her face. Her eyes were sharp, but the softness around them was already fading. Her shoulders were set tighter than usual. She wasn’t wearing her ribbon.

  “I knew you’d come here,” she said.

  Kyle’s voice was rough. “I needed to see you.”

  Her gaze flicked toward the edges of the mill yard, then back to him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Neither should you.”

  “That seems to be our habit.”

  Silence settled between them—comfortable for a breath, then brittle.

  “They’re looking for something,” he said. “A pendant. Something they think belongs to them.”

  Her arms folded, not protectively—just something to do with her hands. “I heard.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “I have it.” The words came before he’d meant them to.

  Tina stiffened. “Why?”

  “I didn’t steal it.” He reached beneath his shirt, hesitated, then let it fall again. “It was my father’s. My mother gave it to me. She said to keep it hidden.”

  “Then why are they here?”

  “I don’t know. But it has something to do with this.” He looked at her, and there was no guard in his eyes. “They’re not here for cider. Or Dust. Or old wounds.”

  “You need to go,” she said quietly. “Now. Before someone else sees it. Before Lem—”

  He flinched. “Lem didn’t mean to.”

  “No. But he did.” She stepped closer. “And Harret—my father—he’s been with them. He’s not asking questions. Just watching. Listening.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  It hung between them, heavier than the pendant ever could be.

  Tina’s breath caught. “If I say yes, what happens to your mother? To Mara? To everyone else?”

  Kyle’s jaw clenched. “I’m not a hero.”

  “I know,” she said, almost tenderly. “That’s why I believed you when you said you loved me.”

  “I still do.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then don’t ask me to choose between love and everything I’ve ever known.”

  “I’m not asking you to choose,” he said. “I’m asking you to believe we’ll find something better.”

  She shook her head, and he could see the tears she wasn’t letting fall.

  “If I go with you, I’ll be hunted. If I stay, I’ll be watched. And if they find out what I think I’m carrying…” She pressed her hand lightly to her stomach. “I don’t know what they’d do.”

  Kyle closed the gap between them. Not touching. Just standing close enough to feel the shiver in her breath.

  “I’d never let them hurt you.”

  “You can’t stop them,” she said. “Not yet.”

  She looked away first.

  “I have to go,” she whispered. “Before he notices I’m gone.”

  Kyle gave a single nod.

  “I’ll leave tonight,” he said.

  “I know.”

  She turned, but hesitated.

  “If you make it out,” she said, not turning back, “don’t come back unless you mean to stay.”

  Then she was gone.

  And for the first time, Kyle understood what it felt like to carry something too heavy to name.

  --

  The hut smelled of ash and sage when Kyle stepped in. His mother didn’t turn from the hearth right away—her hands were busy stripping stems from a bundle of bitterroot, the same way she had on every long, quiet evening.

  Kyle shut the door behind him. “They’re still looking.”

  Her hands paused for just a moment. “The enforcers.”

  He nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “They’ve been asking about a pendant. Silver. A circle within a circle, split in twelve.”

  Now she turned. Slowly. Her eyes met his, calm and searching.

  “I figured as much,” she said. “They wouldn’t come here for cider.”

  “I overheard them near the chapel,” Kyle said. “Lem was with them.”

  Her brow lifted, but she didn’t speak.

  “He saw it,” Kyle added, quieter now. “Last night. I tried to hide it, but he must have caught a glimpse.”

  This time she closed the distance between them. Not hurried—measured. Grounded. She looked up at him and then past him, as if weighing something invisible.

  “Did he know what he saw?”

  “No,” Kyle said. “But they asked him about strange behavior. Dust moving wrong. And he told them someone might have something.” A breath. “He didn’t say my name.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’ll search everything. Everyone. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Kyle’s throat felt tight. “You said you didn’t know what it was.”

  “I don’t.” She touched his collar, just briefly. “But I know enough. They’ve been hunting it for years—longer, maybe. It’s not just sacred to them. It’s dangerous.”

  “I haven’t done anything with it.”

  “You don’t need to. Its danger is in what it represents. And that’s something they can’t afford to lose.”

  Kyle looked toward the shuttered window. The sounds of the festival had faded into tense silence—the kind that hummed at the edge of something breaking.

  “I was going to leave tonight,” he said.

  “You still should.”

  “They’ll watch the roads. The trail through the high ridge, too.”

  “Then don’t use the trails,” she said. “Use the places they don’t know. You were born under trees. You know how to vanish.”

  He hesitated. “And you?”

  She gave a small smile, the kind that hurt more than comforted. “I’ll be fine.”

  “They might think you have it.”

  “They already suspect everyone. Let them. If I speak half-truths and offer a few dried roots and prayers, they’ll pass me by.”

  Kyle stepped forward, lowered his voice. “If they start rounding people up—”

  “Then you run faster,” she said, firm now. “And don’t stop until the stars shift behind you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “You don’t even know what this thing does.”

  “I know what it means to them.” Her eyes hardened. “And that’s enough.”

  Kyle touched the pendant beneath his shirt, cold and solid against his chest.

  “Lem doesn’t understand what he’s done,” he said. “Not really.”

  She nodded. “Maybe. But it won’t change what happens next.”

  He opened his mouth like he might argue, but nothing came out. Just silence.

  His mother watched him a moment longer, then reached out and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.

  “You’re still just a boy,” she said, not unkindly. “But they won’t see that. They’ll see the threat. So you need to move like someone older than you feel. Can you do that?”

  Kyle swallowed hard and gave the barest nod.

  “I thought I had a plan,” he admitted.

  “I know,” she said gently. “You’ll figure it out. Just keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t look back unless you mean to fight.”

  He blinked hard, then looked away. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  “No one ever does.”

  She pulled him into a brief, fierce hug.

  When they broke apart, she was already turning back to the fire.

  “Go,” she said. “Before you think too long and do something foolish.”

  Kyle hesitated in the doorway.

  “Will I see you again?”

  She didn’t turn. “If you do, don’t let it be because you got caught.”

  He stood there for another heartbeat, uncertain and afraid in a way he hadn’t let himself feel until now.

  --

  Evening settled over the village like a slow breath held too long. The festival’s remnants were trampled now—streamers sagging from poles, plates overturned, music long gone. What replaced it was silence, and the silence was breaking.

  The enforcers had stopped asking. They were demanding.

  At the green’s edge, near the well, Lem stood stiff-backed in the center of a half-circle. Villagers pressed behind him, too close, too quiet. The three enforcers flanked him—scarred leader in front, the cold-eyed woman beside him, the rail-thin one a step behind, always watching, always weighing.

  “He’s just a boy,” someone murmured.

  Lem ignored it. His voice wavered, but didn’t crack. “There’s a place. North of the village. Just a stump. Kyle sometimes keeps things there. It’s nothing—just old junk. Stuff he swipes from sheds.”

  The lead enforcer didn’t blink. “Show us.”

  Lem hesitated. “It’s not important.”

  “Show us.”

  --

  They reached the stump just as the last of the sun brushed the treetops with gold. The forest pressed in tighter here, as if listening. Lem stepped aside, motioning toward the hidden hollow.

  The scarred enforcer crouched. He pulled free the bundles, one by one—tied pouches, cider bottles, a rusted tool blade, a length of rope knotted at both ends.

  The woman reached into a pouch and drew out a piece of copper. Her fingers glowed faintly.

  “Residual,” she said. “Faint, but not old.”

  The leader stood. “He’s touched something.”

  “But the pendant’s not here,” the third said. “This isn’t proof.”

  “It’s enough,” the scarred one said. “He knows where it is.”

  --

  High above, tucked between the roots of a leaning cedar, Kyle watched.

  He’d intended to grab what he could from the stash. But he’d seen Lem. Seen the armor. Seen the way the villagers kept their distance.

  He didn’t blame Lem.

  Not yet.

  But when he saw the enforcers kneel at the stump, drawing breath in through his nose like he was looking for a scent, his throat tightened. He pressed flatter against the earth, breath shallow.

  They weren’t leaving. Not without blood or answers.

  --

  The sun dropped. The air turned heavy.

  Back at the green, braziers were being relit. But the warmth they cast felt wrong.

  Kyle moved with the shadows, circling back through the underbrush, down the ridge. When he reached the edge of the village, the sight stopped him cold.

  The enforcers were no longer searching quietly. Their presence had turned sharp—clipped commands, glances that cut. People were being pulled aside. Not detained, not yet. But questioned. Harret. Mara. Two farmhands from the eastern field. A boy who’d once helped Kyle rig a snare. Tina stood near the inn, eyes forward, her hands clenched.

  And his mother—still at the edge of the green, speaking to no one, but watched.

  They stood apart, but the pattern was clear.

  Not prisoners. Not yet. But marked.

  One of the enforcers—the rail-thin one—paced behind them, slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the quiet before the chase.

  The scarred leader lifted a hand.

  “We are missing something sacred,” he said. His voice carried, low and steady. “Until it is returned, no one leaves.”

  Kyle didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Something wasn’t right.

  The pendant flared—a whisper of heat and cold in his bones. A pressure moved with it, not his own. Not the enforcers’. Something older. Watching.

  Need... you...

  It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t even a thought. A memory he never had.

  He ducked lower behind the split trunk of an old ash tree, the pendant cold against his chest. It pulsed, once more—subtle, like a second heartbeat.

  He wasn’t ready for this. Not for them. Not for war.

  But now it didn’t matter.

  They were closing in on the people he loved.

  And whatever came next—he couldn’t run from it.