The water lay perfectly still, like a vast mirror reflecting the moon and stars with such precision that it felt unnatural, almost unsettling. Its surface was so smooth, so flawless, it seemed wrong—as if nature itself had abandoned this place, leaving something else in charge. The silence wasn’t peaceful, though; it was heavy, oppressive, as though something ancient and unseen lurked just beneath, watching, waiting. The vastness of the lake stretched endlessly before us, blurring into the dark horizon until water and sky became one seamless void. I shivered—not from the cold, but from the growing sense that this lake was far from calm.

Trying to shake off the unease creeping up my spine, I turned back to Elbar. “Why a bridge, Elbar? Why not just row across? The moon’s out, the night’s quiet... it could’ve been pleasant.”

Elbar’s gaze stayed locked on the water, his expression hardening as though he were seeing something far deeper than the glassy surface. A moment ago, he’d been warm and talkative, but now his face was drawn tight, his voice dropping into something sharp and unsettling. “Disturbing the forgotten is the last thing you want to do,” he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that made me straighten instinctively. “These waters... they’re the dreams that even time has forgotten, old and timeless.”

I frowned, not understanding. “The forgotten? What do you mean? Is it so bad to be remembered?”

He turned to me, his face half-obscured by shadow, his eyes distant, haunted by something too terrible to put into words. “The forgotten... They’re more than just memories. Imagine the worst moment of your life—the deepest pain, the most crushing despair. Now imagine that moment, buried in darkness for centuries, suddenly stirring, waking. It’s not just you remembering it... it’s the memory itself, alive, craving to be felt again. It feeds on fear, on agony, and it spreads like a disease.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine, deeper this time. “So... it’s alive?”

Elbar nodded grimly, his eyes flicking back to the water. “In a way. It’s pure fear, pure torment, and it will do anything to be felt again. When someone touches that fear—when they feel it—it grows stronger. It consumes everything until all that’s left is the hunger to be remembered.”

I swallowed hard, glancing uneasily at the still, mirrored lake. “But... what about good memories? Love? Joy? Wouldn’t something like that want to spread too?”

Elbar sighed, his wings drooping slightly as though weighed down by the truth of what he was about to say. “Maybe. But these aren’t just any memories. They’re the forgotten ones. The ones that linger—those are often born from pain. And once they awaken, they don’t let go. Are you willing to risk unleashing something that could destroy everything just for a glimpse of happiness? Some memories are meant to stay buried. The risk... it’s too great.”

His words sank into me like stones plunging into the dark depths of the lake, each one heavier than the last. I stared at the water, trying to imagine what lay beneath—forgotten dreams swirling just below the surface, waiting, hungry. "And if someone touches the water?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, afraid of the answer.

Elbar’s eyes darkened, hardening with a gravity that made my breath catch. "They forget everything," he said, each word sharp as glass. "Their memories fade, bit by bit, until they’re nothing but an empty shell. And those memories—good or bad—become part of the forgotten. Lost forever."

The weight of his words pressed against my chest, a cold lump forming in my throat. The thought of losing everything—of becoming no one, nothing—was terrifying. I swallowed, but my mind drifted to a memory that flickered at the edges of my thoughts: a yellow flower, vivid and painful, yet impossible to ignore.

I glanced at Elbar, his form blurred in the moonlight. “Some people might choose that, you know. Some.”

He didn’t respond, but something in his expression shifted—perhaps a flicker of understanding or sorrow. We walked in silence for a long while, the quiet thick with unspoken fears. The water's stillness loomed beside us, a reminder of what could be lost. Finally, I broke the silence. "Has anyone touched the water before, Elbar?"

He stiffened, his wings twitching slightly. For a moment, I thought he might answer, but then he flew ahead, putting distance between us. His voice was soft when it came, barely carried on the wind. "Let’s head back. You still want to learn more about light weaving, don’t you? We can create something new, something I’ve never seen before."

He didn’t look back, his wings beating steadily as he made his way toward the distant forest. I jogged to catch up, but my mind stayed with the lake, thoughts swirling like the forgotten dreams that waited beneath its surface. The idea of creating something new with light weaving sounded like a welcome distraction, but I couldn’t shake the lingering sense that darker forces were at play—things far older, far more dangerous than I was ready to confront.

As we crossed the bridge and stepped into the forest, the world around me seemed to shimmer, bathed in the silver light of the moon. Soft blue hues illuminated the trees, turning the leaves a deep, otherworldly emerald. Their veins pulsed faintly with shades of purple, as though the forest itself was alive, breathing softly in the moonlit stillness. A light mist curled around my ankles, swirling like a ghostly exhale from the earth. Despite the dampness in the air, the ground beneath my boots was dry, curiously untouched by the moisture that clung to everything else.

Elbar flew beside me, his narrow, elegant wings flaring slightly as he kept pace, unlike Anna and Marie, who had darted ahead earlier. He moved gracefully through the air, his wings shimmering faintly in the moonlight, casting reflections off the leaves as he flew.

"Elbar," I broke the silence, my voice softer now, "tell me more about your race. And what was this Celestial War?"

He glanced over at me, his wings catching the light in a way that made them appear almost translucent. The moon reflected off them, tiny fragments of light dancing between the trees as he moved. "What do you want to know?" His tone was lighter now, though the weight of our earlier conversation still lingered. "We have plenty of books you could read while you’re here. The library holds a complete record of our history, every detail meticulously preserved. Some of the more... delicate information, though, is kept at Belshaven under the watchful eye of High Priestess Selendra. She’s refused my requests for access to those records for over 200 years." He laughed, but it was short, the smile quickly fading from his lips.

Stolen novel; please report.

“There’s an account of the Celestial War too,” Elbar continued, his voice low. “But you don’t want to hear about that. It was long ago—the day the gods left, and the world stood on the brink of destruction. Men claim they saved it, but we know better.” He paused, and for a moment, his eyes darkened, as though the weight of the past was pressing down on him. "Villas gave everything to save his children, and now his name is blasphemy in his own world."

The mention of Villas stirred something in me, a weight I wasn’t prepared to carry just yet. Questions burned in my mind, but before I could follow that line of thought, Elbar’s gaze turned sharp again.

"Who is Myia? From the dream you saw... I can’t understand how you knew someone in a forgotten dream. The odds of that are... well, they’re greater than all the stars in the heavens and every grain of sand in the desert combined."

I felt a pang deep in my chest. The ache had become familiar by now, a dull, constant presence. If I wanted to unlock the secrets of this place—of the Faye—I had to give something in return, no matter how painful it was to speak of.

"She was my wife," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "We were together for fifteen winters. She died during an attack on our home while I was away, fighting to protect it. When I returned, I found her..." My voice wavered, but I forced myself to continue. "I found her in the kitchen. Her body broken, pierced through the back with a sword still embedded in the stone floor. She was probably just baking, minding her own business."

The words left me feeling hollow, but I couldn’t stop now. I had to keep going, even if it tore at something raw inside me. Elbar hovered nearby, his wings barely moving, his disbelief clear in the way he stared at me. His face softened, sorrow etched into his features. His arms slumped, hands clasped together as if in silent reverie. It was as though my pain had reached out to him, a shared weight pressing down on his shoulders. My memories—each one laced with anguish—seemed to have seeped into him, making my grief his own. For a moment, he didn’t speak, lost in the storm of emotions I had unwittingly unleashed. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he blinked, as if pulling himself free from the depths of my story. His eyes widened, and I saw the shift—understanding settling into place, though disbelief still lingered on the edges of his expression.

"Come now, Ragson," Elbar said, his tone still tinged with scepticism. "I know Elbis thought me daft for calling you a young one, but there’s no way your parents died that long ago. You don’t even look fifteen winters old, let alone old enough to have been married for that long."

I sighed, shaking my head slowly. A part of me—perhaps a small, desperate part—almost wished he was right. If Elbar didn’t believe me, maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe Myia wasn’t really gone, and this pain was just a figment of my imagination. But the truth was far crueller. The memories were real, and the weight of her loss would always be mine to bear. Even if I lived another lifetime, I’d carry that grief with me, unchanged, unrelenting.

"I’ve lived seventy winters, Elbar. This appearance—it’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I believe it was a gift from Villas. His last words before I was swept away by the river... he mentioned moving a rock or a boulder that was blocking me, but he never got the chance. The current slammed me into it, and when I woke... I was in the forest outside, sixty winters younger, with all my memories intact."

Elbar's wings fluttered slightly, as if caught off guard by the weight of my words. His expression softened into awe, his eyes wide as he whispered, "You really met Villas? The god of life?"

I nodded, feeling the enormity of the truth settle between us. "Yes. But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Villas... he’s been gone for at least a thousand winters, hasn’t he?"

Elbar shook his head slowly, still in disbelief. "The High Priestess will want to speak with you now, more than ever," he said, his voice hushed. "That’s what Belis is doing right now—talking about you."

I couldn’t help but wonder if Villas’ plan had failed. Had Vermulia fallen? He hadn’t removed the boulder—perhaps I had been knocked upstream, thrown off course. A part of me felt the weight of the unanswered questions, but for now, I pushed those thoughts aside. The High Priestess might hold the answers, but that would come later.

"So, what’s your role here, Elbar?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"My role?" He seemed taken aback by the question, his wings giving a subtle twitch.

"Yeah, what do you actually do? What gets you up in the morning? What drives a Faye like you?"

We continued deeper into the forest, the soft moonlight filtering through the trees. The light shimmered on the leaves, making them look almost alive, as if they whispered to each other. A faint mist clung to the ground, swirling gently around our feet, glowing with an ethereal light that felt more like magic than anything natural. The air itself seemed to hum with energy, as though the forest was holding its breath, waiting.

Elbar glanced up at the trees, his expression distant. "Well, I do what others tell me to do," he admitted after a pause. "I help where help is needed."

I chuckled, though I was only half-serious. "Alright, but what do you want to do? If you could do anything right now, what would it be?"

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. His wings fluttered slightly, their movement betraying his uncertainty. "I... I don’t know," he said, his voice softer. "I’ve never really thought about it like that."

Just then, the trees parted, revealing something unexpected—a towering cliff face that rose up out of nowhere. A circular doorway was carved into the rock, its surface adorned with intricate symbols that shimmered as they shifted between shades of orange and purple, bleeding into the stone like liquid light. The air around it thrummed, charged with a strange energy, as though the cliff itself was alive, breathing softly in the cool night.

"You can tell me later," I said with a grin, still trying to process how we had arrived here. "But... how did we get here? I could’ve sworn we took the same path back. I would have bet a week’s wages on it. Where did this cliff come from? It was just... there, all of a sudden."

Elbar blinked, glancing between me and the door, his brow furrowing in confusion. He looked back at the forest, his eyes widening slightly as if realizing something he had forgotten. "The Veilwood," he muttered, almost apologetically. "I forgot... we use it all the time. I just assumed you knew. We’ve left the Veilwood."

"The what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The Veilwood," Elbar repeated. "It’s an ancient forest that warps reality. Time and space bend inside it. To the uninitiated, it feels like walking in circles, but each loop brings you somewhere new. The trees guide the way—if you know how to read them."

I stared at him, equal parts fascinated and unnerved by the idea. "And how long would it take to learn to... 'read the trees'?"

He grinned, his wings fluttering lightly. "Not too long. I could teach you on the way back if you'd like." Then, with a flick of his wrist, he gestured toward the door in the cliff face. "But for now... let’s make something. I bet you’ve seen things I’ve never even imagined. It would be a thrill to create something new for once."

I chuckled, though a strange excitement had begun to stir in my chest. "Magical forest. Got it."

I followed Elbar through the circular doorway, the stone cool under my fingertips as I passed through. The door closed softly behind us, sealing us inside a space that felt entirely separate from the world we’d just left. The air buzzed with the promise of creation, thick with the potential of what we were about to do.