It happened just after sunrise.

  Caleb was gathering his things — folding the parchment map, securing the second knife in a loop of his belt, tightening the satchel across his shoulder. Rael hadn’t spoken, but she didn’t need to. She stood near the doorway of the hall, watching him in silence.

  Then, a sound.

  Not footsteps. Not a voice.

  A pulse.

  Soft. Low. A hum that vibrated the air, barely audible, like a breath from the stone itself.

  Caleb froze.

  Rael noticed it too. Her posture shifted — alert, uncertain.

  The sound came again. Not loud. But present. Almost... aware.

  Then a light flickered behind the hearth — just for an instant. A soft, cyan glow, like distant lightning under water.

  It vanished before either of them could react.

  Caleb stepped closer, eyes scanning the cracks between the stones. Nothing moved.

  No heat. No glow. No hum.

  Just stillness.

  He looked at Rael. She said nothing — but her hand hovered near her weapon now.

  She didn’t recognize it either.

  Caleb knelt, touched the stone floor. Cool. Solid.

  But something had been there.

  Something… old. Buried.Not asleep anymore.

  And it had noticed him.

  He moved slowly along the base of the hearth, running his fingers along the stone — as if it might breathe again.

  Nothing.

  The glow had vanished. The hum too.

  But it hadn’t been imagined. He was sure of that.

  Rael crouched beside him. She touched the stone as well, pressing her palm against it for a moment. Then she looked at him and spoke a short phrase — three words, quiet, clipped.

  He didn’t understand.

  But her expression said enough.

  This wasn’t normal.

  She stood and scanned the hall. Her eyes didn’t land on the hearth again. Instead, she looked toward the far wall — the old beams, the section of floor that hadn’t been swept in weeks. Then she said something else — shorter, firmer.

  A command?

  Or a warning?

  Caleb stood up, dusted off his hands, and took one last look at the stones.

  If something had stirred beneath them…It was watching now.Waiting.

  Rael didn’t delay. She stepped outside, and Caleb followed.

  The village was already beginning to move — carts rolling toward the main road, supplies being loaded onto a pack animal, quiet conversations interrupted by glances in their direction.

  Whatever message the armored men had brought, it had taken root.

  People were preparing for something.

  Caleb adjusted the strap on his satchel. The knife rested cold at his hip. He felt the weight of the map, the crude chess pawn still in his pocket, the folded parchment board tucked between his clothes.

  And behind all of it — the echo of that hum.

  Buried.Forgotten.

  And suddenly, awake.

  He glanced one last time over his shoulder, toward the long hall.

  He’d thought he was alone here.

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  But maybe something else had been asleep with him.

  And maybe… it no longer was.

  The village gate wasn’t really a gate.

  Just two tall wooden posts on either side of the main path, weathered and cracked. No guards. No walls. No checkpoints. Just a place where the homes stopped and the forest began again.

  Caleb stood there with Rael beside him.

  She held a small pack in one hand — tightly wrapped and bound in thick cloth. She pressed it into his arms and tapped it once. Heavy. Food, maybe. Or supplies. He didn’t check.

  They stood there a moment longer.

  No ceremony. No goodbyes.

  Just two people — one departing, one staying.Maybe.

  He wanted to say something. To thank her again. To ask her to come. To tell her he was afraid.

  But none of those words existed between them.

  Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the first pawn he’d ever carved — the one with the chipped base and uneven top.

  He handed it to her.

  Rael looked at it. Her fingers closed around it slowly. Then she nodded.

  And that was it.

  Caleb turned toward the road and began to walk.

  Each step felt heavier than the last.

  Not because of the pack.Not because of fear.But because for the first time since he’d arrived, he was truly leaving something behind.

  The road bent and shifted under his boots, sometimes widening into grassy lanes, sometimes narrowing to muddy slivers flanked by trees.

  Birds called in the canopy. Insects buzzed low over the undergrowth. The world was alive — more alive than the stone and silence of the village. But it didn’t feel friendly.

  It felt ancient.

  Like the trees had seen more than they let on.

  Caleb adjusted the strap of his satchel and kept walking. The pack Rael had given him was heavier than he expected, but manageable. He hadn’t opened it yet. There was comfort in not knowing. In pretending, for now, that everything inside was useful.

  The sun climbed.

  His legs ached.

  His throat dried.

  But he didn’t stop.

  Every now and then, he looked back over his shoulder. Not because he thought someone might follow.

  But because he still felt it.

  That presence.Like the stones in the hall had pressed something into his skin. Like a memory not his own had been left behind, pulsing just beneath his ribs.

  It hadn’t spoken. It hadn’t moved.But it had seen him.

  And he couldn’t un-feel that.

  By noon, he found a flat patch near a stream and sat to rest.

  He unwrapped part of the bundle. Inside were hard bread, dried strips of meat, and a sealed jar filled with something thick and sweet — fruit paste, maybe. Enough for two or three days if rationed.

  He ate slowly. Thoughtfully.

  Listened to the water.Watched the shadows shift.Tried to ignore how quiet the world became when he stopped walking.

  He wasn’t afraid of the forest.

  Not really.

  But something about it made him feel like the road was watching him back.

  He saw it in the late afternoon.

  Just off the path — maybe ten paces into the trees — something caught the light.

  Not bark. Not stone.

  Something smoother.

  Caleb hesitated, then stepped off the road and approached.

  At first, he thought it was a standing stone — tall and narrow, half-swallowed by moss. But as he got closer, he saw straight lines. Clean edges. Too precise for nature.

  It was metal.

  Old. Scarred. Half-buried in roots. But unmistakably forged.

  He knelt, brushing away dirt. His fingers ran across a recessed pattern — a circle surrounded by five angular markings. Some kind of seal or logo. He didn’t recognize it.

  But he knew what it felt like.

  Not medieval.

  Not crafted by hand.

  This was manufactured.

  From his world?From before?

  He stood, heart pounding.

  Someone had built this.

  Someone had left it.

  And someone had tried to forget it.

  He looked around. No other signs. No sound except the trees and wind.

  The object didn’t hum. It didn’t glow. It didn’t do anything.

  But its presence was enough.

  A reminder.

  That he wasn’t the first to walk this path.

  And maybe not the first to wake something sleeping.

  He left the object behind.

  Not because he wanted to — but because he didn’t know what to do with it. It was too heavy to carry, too silent to explain, too old to break.

  So he kept walking.

  The road narrowed again as the trees thickened, and the light grew thin. The last rays of sun filtered through twisted branches, painting gold across the dirt.

  His feet dragged now. His shoulders ached.

  The day had stretched too long.

  He picked a spot close to the base of a thick tree — roots rising like ribs from the ground, offering a shallow shelter from the wind. It wouldn’t be comfortable. But it would be safe enough for the night.

  He gathered dry twigs and leaves, stacking them with care. The forest floor had been kind to him — dry, no recent rains. With patience and the sharp-edged flint he’d found earlier that day, he struck sparks against a curved bit of stone.

  The fire took after three attempts.

  He exhaled slowly as the first thin tendrils of smoke curled upward. The flame grew, weak but steady, licking at the kindling like it remembered what warmth was.

  The crackling sound filled the clearing. Not loud — but alive.

  Caleb crouched near it and unwrapped a strip of dried meat from the bundle Rael had given him. It was tough, but enough to silence the worst of his hunger. He ate without ceremony, eyes darting to the darkening tree line every few minutes.

  Nothing moved.

  Still, he kept the knife at his hip. The new one. Sharper. Balanced.

  He reached into his satchel and felt for the map. Unfolded it once more.

  The village was far behind now. The city — if that’s what the symbol meant — was still days away. Maybe more.

  And in between, this stretch of wild.

  He pulled the folded parchment with the chess grid from between his clothes. It was crumpled, but intact. The edges were smudged. He flattened it beside the fire and took out one of the carved pieces — the rook Rael had moved the day before.

  He placed it in the center of the board.

  One square. One line of defense.

  He didn’t know what waited beyond this forest.

  But tonight, this would be his wall.

  And tomorrow… he would keep moving forward.