Sylvae

ᚠ Prologue

Outside, snow fell over Eldermere with the weight of the harshest winter in years, but inside the farmhouse, the fire was a refuge against oblivion.

Rufus was six years old then, a boy who had never learnt to keep still. He watched his mother, Elsha, as she stitched a piece of grey linen with silver thread that seemed to shine with a light of its own.

“Tell me the story of the lake, Mama,” the boy whispered, curling up beside the hearth.

Elsha paused. She gazed into the glowing embers and, in a voice gentle and warm—a voice made to carry through long winters—began her tale.

“Long ago, when the world was young and heaven and earth were still bound together by ancient oaths, there lived a warrior prince named Edrion. He was a strong and just man. They said the blood of the Ancient Men still flowed through his veins, untouched by the corruption that would later claim their descendants. One day, while hunting along the shore of a great lake, he saw a magnificent stag drinking beside its fawn. Edrion, whose heart was pure, lowered his bow and spared the creature, for he was not hungry.”

Rufus’s eyes widened as he imagined the arrow resting quietly in its quiver.

“That was when the waters parted,” Elsha continued, tracing a circle in the air with her needle. “From the crystal mirror of the lake emerged the Lady of the Lake, also known as the Queen of the Forest. She was beautiful and terrible, with eyes the colour of ancient ice, golden hair and skin as pale as the moon. She was a Warden of the Borders, daughter of water and root, and on that day she chose to love a human prince, defying every law.”

“Was it forbidden?” little Rufus asked.

“It was, my son. No fae should ever entrust their true name to a mortal. But there are names born to be kept safe within another heart. They loved each other in secret while the world conspired against them. And the ambition of men is a hunger that can never be satisfied. The kings of the land and the Council of Root united in their fear to destroy that bond.”

Elsha sighed, and for a moment the shadows around the room seemed to lengthen.

“They sent mercenaries under cover of darkness to kill him, but they failed. The second time, however, they laid an ambush from which he could not escape.”

The prince’s blood stained the very shore she had sworn to protect, and Edrion fell into the mud beside the lake, reaching for the hand of the Queen of the Forest.

Then came the Sundering.

In her grief, the Lady ceased to be merely a guardian and became judgement as well. The forest turned hostile. Its roots rose like claws against both realms, fae and human alike. From that night on, the forest’s ancient name, Eluneth, was erased from every map, and the lake learnt to keep secrets better than the earth itself.

Elsha gently brushed a hand through Rufus’s blond hair and looked at him with an intensity the boy would not understand until many years later.

“Remember this, Rufus: that which sleeps, remembers. Some promises never die; they merely wait for someone to speak their name again upon the right shore.”

Rufus drifted to sleep to the crackle of the fire, dreaming of a prince lowering his bow and a queen waiting for him beneath the ice.

And while the snow continued to fall over Eldermere, the lake, beyond the sleeping fields, remained silent.

Sylvae:

ᚢ– The Fair

There were two of them, always two. The smaller one was Peter; he was the one who always lost their footraces. The other was Rufus, the boy who had never learnt to keep still. His tousled blond hair seemed to catch the sunlight even on cloudy days.

They knew each other so well they could speak without words. They had been together for as long as either of them could remember. In the summers, they played at being heroes, wielding branches as swords and wooden boards as shields.

That day they were on their way to the village’s annual fair. Rufus was accompanied by his older brother, Galen.

Galen was five years older than Rufus—enough that, growing up, he had always been stronger, faster and cleverer in nearly every way. Though Rufus sometimes found him unbearable, he had never seen him as an enemy, only as someone to catch up with.

He was practical, hardworking and naturally charismatic, the sort of person who always found a way out of trouble—or managed to persuade someone else to get him out of it. While Rufus was thoughtful and dreamy, Galen instinctively knew when to speak, when to throw a punch and when a smile would get him exactly what he wanted.

Their father, Edric, often joked,

“One of my sons will grow into an honourable man. The other... a walking disaster. I just haven’t figured out which is which.”

Unlike Rufus, who spent most of his time wandering the woods and the lakeshore, Galen had always felt more at home on the farm and in the village. He had none of his brother’s longing for adventure.

“What matters isn’t how far you can go, Rufus. It’s how much you can hold in your hands without letting it slip away.”

The nearest village to their farm was called Eldermere.

It was an ancient name, carrying the echo of something long forgotten. Elder, for the old, gnarled trees lining the roads. Mere, because, according to the village elders, before there had been houses or roads, the land had been covered by a vast lake—one that had vanished over the centuries, leaving behind only the smaller lake where Rufus and Peter played.

Eldermere was neither large nor bustling. It was not a place where extraordinary things happened.

It was a village of hardworking people, their hands weathered by cold and soil alike. The houses were built of stone and timber, their steep roofs designed to bear the weight of heavy winter snows. At its centre lay a small square where the weekly market was held. Bakers, tanners, woodcutters and farmers sold whatever little they could spare. It was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else, and where rumours travelled faster than the mountain winds.

There was an inn called The Crooked Oak, named after the twisted tree growing beside its entrance. Its owner, Harlan, was a broad, good-natured man who always had a story about better days and a watchful eye for drunken brawls.

The Church of Saint Aurelian was the oldest building in the village. Its bell rang three times each day, and its ageing priest, Father Tobias, always had either advice or a warning to offer about the forest and its mysteries.

The children grew up listening to stories about what lurked among the trees, about the spirits of the water and the strange lights that sometimes appeared over the lake. Adults, however, spoke of such things only in hushed voices, as though naming them might grant them power.

Eldermere meant home.

Safety.

Routine.

And that was precisely why, with every passing year, Rufus felt he belonged there a little less.

Every year, at the same time, the village held its fair. But once every ten years, Eldermere transformed itself for a single night to welcome a circus worthy of the greatest cities in the kingdom.

The streets, usually quiet and dark, blazed with lanterns and torches. The laughter of children and adults mingled with the sound of drums, flutes and fiddles. The scent of caramel, fresh bread and warm spices drifted through the air, wrapping every visitor in a feeling somewhere between nostalgia and wonder. People came from every village in the region to witness the extraordinary celebration.

What made the fair truly unique was Vorthen’s Grand Circus, a spectacle that came to Eldermere only once every decade. Its caravan arrived with brightly coloured tents, wagons carved with intricate twisting figures and lanterns whose glow burned with a warmth far too rich for an ordinary travelling fair.

Rufus, Peter and Galen wandered through the crowd, breathing in the sweet smell of caramel and burning wood while the air pulsed with laughter, cheers and applause for performances that defied the ordinary.

Some claimed the circus performers were not entirely human.

That they travelled with the moon.

That once the fair ended, they vanished without leaving so much as a trace.

But the people of Eldermere preferred not to ask questions.

Because deep down, everyone wanted to become part of the spectacle—

if only for a single night.

As usual, Galen was the first to bring up girls.

“Did you see Lina Grayweather at the apple stall?” he said with a smug grin. “She winked at me.”

Peter snorted.

“She probably just had something in her eye.”

“Oh, please. You saw it too. Girls adore me.”

“Girls adore the coins you spend on them,” Rufus muttered, unable to help himself.

Peter burst out laughing.

“That’s your brother’s secret. Your coins do more courting than you do.”

Galen frowned.

“That’s unfair! Do you really think everything in life can be bought? Girls only let you buy them things if they like you.”

“Or if they’re hungry or thirsty,” Peter said. “I doubt Lina Grayweather is going to marry you just because you buy her a mug of mead at the fair. Though if you buy me one, I’ll give you a kiss.”

Galen grimaced.

“Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

“On the cheek, obviously,” Peter added.

“I’m not interested in marrying Lina. I’m interested in seeing her smile. I wouldn’t mind if she kissed me, though.”

Peter shook his head, though he could not help smiling.

“That’s never going to happen.”

“What would you two know? You’re just kids.”

“What do you think, Rufus?”

Rufus watched the fairground lights shimmer in the puddles beneath their feet.

“If a woman laughs with you, brother, you’ve reason to hope. If she laughs at you, you’d better have extraordinary luck if you expect to stand any chance with her. But if she accepts your gifts without even looking you in the eye, you’d do well to stop wasting your coins, because you’re nothing more than the fool paying for her food and drink. Still, go ahead—keep throwing your money around as though you had plenty of it.”

Galen had grown used to hearing wisdom from his younger brother that seemed far beyond his years. He fell silent, turning Rufus’s words over in his mind as they walked.

“Rufus, you’re such a grouch. You’re the youngest in the family. Why don’t you ever relax?”

“You know we’re poor,” Rufus replied. “And you keep throwing money away.”

The fair was still brimming with life when three girls crossed their path. Two of them were Rufus and Peter’s age, but the third, Elyse Marwood, was older, the same age as Galen. The daughter of the cloth merchant, she had always been one of the most popular girls in the village, with her long brown hair and a smile that could make even priests forget their vows of chastity.

Galen saw his chance and did not let it pass.

“Elyse.” His voice slipped into a deeper, more confident tone. “Is it my eyes, or did the fair just grow brighter the moment you stepped into it?”

She folded her arms and arched an eyebrow.

“Do you always talk to girls like that, or only when you’re trying to impress them?”

He smiled.

“Only when I see you.”

Elyse laughed, though she gave no sign whether his attempt was working.

Meanwhile, Rufus and Peter had already been drawn into another conversation with the other two girls, Mira and Colette, both from the village.

“Have you been on the Carousel of Fates yet?” Colette asked, her eyes shining with excitement. “They say if you close your eyes and let it carry you round, you can see your future.”

“That’s nonsense,” Peter said with a shrug. “I’m sure it’s just a trick to get people on it and take their money.”

“Then why don’t you try it?” Mira teased, folding her arms. “Are you afraid of what you might see?”

Peter snorted.

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“No?” Colette said, a mischievous smile on her lips. “What if you see yourself ending up married to Mira?”

Mira made a face of exaggerated horror.

“What a terrible fate!”

Peter shook his head, smiling.

“I doubt the carousel is that cruel.”

The girls laughed, and Rufus watched them in silence, amused, though his mind was elsewhere.

“And you, Rufus?” Colette asked. “Have you seen anything interesting at the fair?”

Rufus took a moment to answer.

“Everything is interesting.”

“That’s a very vague answer,” Colette said.

“It is what it is. We’ve only just arrived. Everything looks interesting.”

Mira glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“What do you want to see?”

Rufus smiled.

“Everything we have time for. I’d like to see my future. I’m not afraid.”

The girls laughed, and Galen, who had been listening in the background while trying to charm Elyse, raised a hand in approval.

“That’s the spirit, brother!”

Elyse rolled her eyes and folded her arms.

“I bet you’ve used that line you gave me on other girls before.”

He placed a hand over his chest in feigned indignation.

“Elyse, please. I would never repeat a line I’d used on you, and I would never use one on you that I’d used on anyone else, not even my own family.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t?”

“Of course not. You deserve something far better. You deserve attention. Someone walking ahead of you, kissing the ground wherever you step.”

She blinked, unable to keep herself from smiling.

“Hmm... You may have some talent after all.”

Galen smiled in triumph.

Peter sighed.

“I can’t believe this is working on her.”

Rufus merely shrugged.

As they moved on, a seven-foot colossus lifted a massive log over his head, and the crowd burst into applause. Marek, the Giant of the North, was challenging the boldest villagers to carry mountain stones onto a wooden platform.

Galen, with his natural competitiveness, could not resist.

“I’ll give you a sack of wheat and two goats if you beat him,” the announcer said when he spotted him, a mocking smile on his face.

“Try it,” Elyse encouraged him. “You’re strong from working on the farm.”

“How much does it cost to enter?”

Beside him, Peter shook his head.

“Rufus, say something to your brother before he breaks his back.”

But his friend only smiled.

“Leave him. My brother would rather get a hernia than admit someone’s stronger than him, especially with Elyse beside him.”

The announcer smiled like a cunning fox and struck the wooden platform with his cane.

“Five draken per attempt, lad. If you beat Marek’s weight, we’ll double the wager: two sacks of wheat and four goats.”

Five draken was not a fortune, but it was not cheap either. Galen took the coins from his pouch without hesitation, glanced at Elyse and dropped them into the announcer’s hand.

“Worth it,” he said confidently, flashing her a smile.

She crossed her arms, amused.

“Let’s see if your strength lasts longer than your words.”

The crowd around them began to cheer him on. Marek, the Giant of the North, watched with an unreadable smile.

“Come on, lad. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

The announcer gestured towards a collection of large stones, worn smooth by use.

“Choose whichever one you like. All you have to do is lift it over your head and hold it there for five seconds.”

Galen looked over the stones and, with a mixture of pride and stupidity, chose the largest one.

Peter covered his face with one hand.

“He’s dead already.”

“Bah,” Rufus said with a half-smile. “Galen would rather die than let Elyse see him fail.”

“That’s exactly why I say he’s dead already.”

Galen took his position, bent his knees, gripped the stone with both hands and pulled with all his strength.

The first attempt was disastrous.

He did not move the stone an inch.

The crowd erupted in laughter.

“Come on, Galen, it isn’t a sack of flour,” Elyse teased, grinning.

Galen’s jaw tightened. He could not lose like this.

He drew a deep breath, adjusted his stance, clenched his teeth and tried again.

This time, the stone rose.

Only a few inches.

But enough to make the crowd hold its breath.

Galen strained harder, his muscles trembling, his face turning red... and then, with a sharp thud, his feet slipped on the wood and he landed flat on his back, the stone rolling off to one side.

The silence lasted two seconds.

Then Elyse, Mira and Colette burst out laughing.

Peter doubled over, laughing so hard he slapped Rufus on the knee.

“Gods, that was worse than I imagined!”

Rufus only smiled and leant over his fallen brother.

“Galen, do you want me to fetch Mother, or should I write your epitaph straight away?”

Galen groaned, still lying on the ground.

“Go to hell, Rufus.”

The announcer laughed as he helped him to his feet, then leant close to his ear.

“Good try, lad. If it’s any comfort, at least you managed to get it off the ground. That’s far more than most can do.”

“It’s no comfort.”

Marek approached calmly and, without any apparent effort, lifted the same stone above his head with one hand.

“Good attempt, boy. But strength isn’t just muscle. It’s technique. It’s patience.”

Galen frowned at him, still trying to catch his breath.

“And you... what do you have?”

Marek smiled with almost philosophical calm.

“Time. Time to learn how to do things properly... and the strength to lift what ten men cannot.”

Elyse patted Galen on the back and kissed him on the cheek.

“Come on, farmer. Are you getting up, or do we need to carry your pride for you?”

Galen huffed and got awkwardly to his feet, though he seemed pleased enough about the kiss.

“I need a drink.”

“And some ointment for your back,” Peter added.

The group burst into laughter, and amid jokes and teasing, they continued through the fair, leaving behind the platform, Marek and the announcer, who was still smiling over his easy money.

“Come and see the Serpent Woman and the Man of Hollow Bones, ladies and gentlemen!” shouted a man ahead of them.

Inside a golden cage, a woman with black hair and olive skin moved with impossible agility. Nezha, the Serpent Woman, bent her body into shapes that seemed to belong to another world.

Beside her, a tall, thin man named Soren climbed onto a structure of ropes and wood, folding himself as though his bones did not exist, shrinking and stretching into angles no ordinary human being could ever imitate.

The spectators murmured among themselves.

“That body can’t have a single real bone in it. It must be made of something else. Something flexible. Something that doesn’t belong to this world.”

“That isn’t normal. Bones don’t do that,” an older woman said.

Rufus, his eyes fixed on the scene, nodded in silence. There was something far too fluid in the way the man moved, as though there were no flesh, no muscle, no true bone beneath his skin.

“Maybe he doesn’t have real bones,” Mira whispered to Peter with a shiver, hugging herself. “Maybe he’s like... a sack of skin with something inside.”

Peter grimaced.

“Gods, Mira. Thank you for that image.”

Colette, more amused than frightened, tilted her head.

“They say that when he sleeps, his body comes apart, as though he can split himself into smaller pieces.”

“That’s impossible,” Elyse murmured, though she did not sound entirely convinced.

“Nothing at this fair seems very possible,” Rufus added quietly.

Beside him, Galen whistled in admiration as Nezha, the Serpent Woman, bent backwards until her back touched the floor without the slightest effort.

“Well, she is interesting.”

Elyse shot him a murderous look.

“Of course. I knew that’s what you’d notice.”

“How could I not?” Galen exclaimed, laughing. “Look at what she can do!”

Peter shook his head.

“Honestly, Galen, do you ever think with anything other than your baser instincts?”

“Only when Elyse is nearby. Then I behave like a gentleman, because she deserves it.”

“Step onto the Carousel of Fates!” called a man farther ahead.

Rufus looked over. It was a merry-go-round with wooden mounts, each one different. A wolf, a stag, a dragon. And, at the centre, a horse.

“Climb on, close your eyes, and when you open them again, you will see a glimpse of your future,” the man continued.

Some children climbed down laughing.

Others climbed down in silence.

An older man got on, and when he stepped off, there were tears in his eyes.

Rufus kept walking, followed by his friends, who were talking behind him. Then he stopped in front of a tent.

The Tent of Miracles and Curses. Fortune-Teller and Readings of the Future.

The words were written in golden letters on a worn green background.

It was a dark tent, taller than the others, with curtains of black and red velvet. Below, another sign, also engraved in golden letters, read:

Do you seek answers?

Or would you rather remain ignorant?

“Don’t tell me you’re going to waste your money on this nonsense,” his brother said. “Give it to me and I’ll make up something about your future that’ll entertain you.”

But Rufus was already going inside.

“Father gave us money to spend.”

Madame Verina’s tent was wrapped in shadow and perfumed smoke. Inside, the air smelt of incense and something else... something metallic, ancient, like the edge of a knife forgotten in the earth.

A dark wooden table stood at the centre of the tent, covered with a black velvet cloth. Candles flickered around it, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Off to one side stood a tall floor mirror.

All six of them entered, still laughing over Galen and Peter’s foolishness, but the atmosphere inside the tent gradually silenced them.

Behind the table, the fortune-teller was waiting.

She did not look at them the way a merchant waiting for customers would. She looked at them as though she already knew exactly who they were, what they had done and what they were yet to do.

“How much do you charge to tell our futures, ma’am?” Rufus asked.

“Two draken per person,” she replied without the slightest change in expression.

“That’s robbery!” Galen protested. “We’ll give you five for all of us.”

“Is that what knowing the years ahead is worth to you?”

“Will you guarantee that everything you tell us will actually come true?”

The woman gave a faint snort before finally nodding.

Galen placed five coins on the table.

Then she spoke.

“Ah... you.”

Her eyes, a shade of blue too deep to be natural, settled on him. A copper coin turned slowly between her fingers, as though she were toying with fate itself.

“You. The one who plays, who laughs, who always wins...”

Galen raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“I like the sound of that.”

Madame Verina narrowed her eyes and gave the coin one last turn before trapping it beneath her palm.

“You will marry the girl you take such pleasure in teasing.”

Galen blinked.

“Excuse me?”

The fortune-teller lifted her gaze to Elyse. Catching it, Elyse looked away and folded her arms.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Madame Verina murmured with the faintest smile.

“Far too easy. You saw us walk in together and made up the rest.”

“You will have three children—two sons and a daughter. The girl will be born with serious health problems, and for a time you will fear she will not survive. But she will live longer than any man or woman who has ever lived in this village.”

The coin began to spin between her fingers once more.

“A word of advice, young man. Laughter and love make good companions. Pride and love do not. Cast aside your arrogance, or it will destroy you in the end.”

Galen scoffed and leant back in his chair.

“Tell me something more exciting.”

The fortune-teller did not answer him.

She simply looked past him.

Towards Mira and Colette.

The atmosphere shifted.

Madame Verina’s eyes seemed to darken, and the candle flames flickered as though someone had whispered inside the tent.

“Mira.”

Her name echoed strangely, as though Madame Verina’s voice came from more than one place at once.

“The one who sees more than she should.”

Mira swallowed.

“What does that mean?”

Madame Verina did not blink.

“You have already chosen the man you will marry,” she said, looking at Peter as they both flushed crimson. “He will not be your first husband, but fate has already bound you together, and there is nothing in this world either of you can do to break that bond. You will live in the city, far from here, in a great house with servants. You will have a son who will become a prominent statesman at court.”

“Ma’am, your predictions are rather predictable,” Galen said. “What would you have told us if only my brother and Peter had come?”

The candles flickered again, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord across the tent walls. Madame Verina slowly rolled the copper coin between her fingers and regarded Galen with an enigmatic smile.

“Ah, young man... If you believe fate changes simply because you choose who gets to hear its words, then you have understood nothing.”

Galen arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

Madame Verina turned back to Mira and Peter, who were still blushing at the revelation.

“One person’s destiny does not depend upon another’s presence. The story has already been written. Had they come alone, I would have told them exactly the same thing. But...” Her eyes took on a strange gleam. “...the difference is that they would not have believed me.”

Peter frowned.

“And why should we believe you now?”

For the first time, the fortune-teller smiled genuinely.

“Because words ignored in solitude become far more real when spoken before witnesses—before those destined to be part of your future.”

The group shifted uneasily.

Mira, still unsettled by what she had just heard, tried not to look at Peter—the boy with whom she was apparently destined to spend the rest of her life, though not on the first attempt.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” she insisted, forcing herself to think of something else. “What do you mean when you say I see more than I should?”

Madame Verina’s smile faded.

“Some people have eyes only for the present. Others for the future.”

Her gaze grew more intense, as though she were looking straight through Mira.

“You... see things you were never meant to see. That gift will serve you well in business, and together with your husband you will become a very wealthy woman. But one day you will look upon something that will change your life for ever.”

The air grew heavier.

“Will it be something good... or something bad?” Mira asked quietly.

Madame Verina let the coin fall onto the table. The metallic clang seemed to echo through the enclosed space.

“Something that should never be seen at all.”

A chill ran across Mira’s skin.

“How do I stop it?”

“Perhaps you can. But curiosity is a thread that, once you start pulling...” Madame Verina spun the coin across the table with one finger, “...causes everything else to unravel.”

A shiver ran down Mira’s spine.

Trying to break the tension, Peter snorted and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well, the part about the house with servants sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

No one laughed.

Because, though none of them said it aloud, they all felt that Madame Verina was not speaking in metaphors or offering the sort of vague warnings one expected from a fairground fortune-teller.

She was describing something real.

And from that night onwards, Mira would never again look into a reflection without wondering what she was truly seeing.

Colette straightened and glanced at Rufus—that quiet, handsome, intelligent boy. It was her turn now, and surely her future would resemble those of her friends: married to the boy standing beside her.

The fortune-teller studied her intently.

The candles flickered, casting twisted shadows across the canvas walls. Colette drew a deep breath, ready to hear her destiny.

She stole another glance at Rufus, as though she already knew what Madame Verina was about to say.

He did not notice. His thoughts were still caught up in what the fortune-teller had revealed to Mira. But Colette had been noticing him for a long time.

Whenever they talked in a group, Rufus sometimes drifted away into his own thoughts. His gaze wandered towards distant places, as though he lived half in this world and half in another. Yet he was clever, kind in his quiet way, and whenever he spoke, his words carried an unusual weight, as though each had been carefully considered before being allowed into the world.

She could not help imagining him at her side.

Surely the fortune-teller would tell her she would marry a good man. That she would be loved. That she would have children and a peaceful life.

Something much like what she had foretold for Mira.

But the moment Madame Verina looked at her, the smile vanished from Colette’s face.

Because the fortune-teller’s eyes filled with a sadness she had shown to no one else.

“You...” she whispered, her voice faint and distant. “You will be the one who is forgotten.”

Colette’s heart tightened.

“What?”

The others shifted uneasily.

Mira frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Madame Verina let the coin fall onto the table. The metallic sound rang out far louder than it should have, lingering like an echo that refused to die.

“Your name... your story... one day they will disappear. You will be cast aside by your friends.”

Gooseflesh prickled across Colette’s skin.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not to you. Not yet.”

“But...” Colette tried to laugh, but no one else was laughing.

Even Galen, who always found a joke in every situation, remained silent.

“Am I going to die?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

“Not in the way you imagine. But one day you will walk among those you love, and they will not know who you are... or they will choose not to.”

The air grew heavier, as though the tent itself were enclosing them in something more than mere fabric.

Peter swallowed.

“You’re exaggerating...”

But Madame Verina never took her eyes off Colette.

“The destiny of each of you has already been marked. But yours... yours is different.”

Colette felt an overwhelming urge to protest, to deny it, to demand another answer. Yet her lips remained dry and silent. She was frightened.

And heartbroken.

Rufus spoke up.

“We shape our own future. Nothing is unchangeable. Nothing is beyond changing. If you’re going to burden a little girl with a curse, at least give her advice she can use. It isn’t enough to tell her she’ll lose what she loves. Tell her how to make sure that, when the day comes, she’ll still have something worth fighting for.”

Then the fortune-teller turned towards him.

The copper coin rolled across the table and stopped abruptly.

The candle flames flared and flickered violently.

And Madame Verina smiled.

But it was not a kind smile.

“Ah... you.”

The tone of her voice changed.

It was no longer the theatrical voice she had used before, nor the hypnotic cadence with which she had woven everyone else’s destinies.

This voice was something else.

Deeper.

Older.

Rufus met her gaze, and for the briefest instant he saw something move within her reflection—something beyond the candlelight, beyond his own image.

Something that recognised him.

Madame Verina tilted her head, studying him as though she had just perceived something the others could never understand.

“You’re right, boy...” Her voice had become little more than a whisper, one that seemed to slip between the folds of time itself. “No destiny is beyond changing... but some cannot be bent by any wind, any ocean or any trick of the gods.”

The coin spinning between her fingers stopped dead without her touching it.

“You and the girl will not marry.”

Colette lowered her eyes, unable to hide the shadow of disappointment that crossed her face.

But Madame Verina paid her no further attention.

All her attention rested on Rufus now.

“Your future has already been claimed, boy. It is marked in a place that does not belong to this world. You see farther still than Mira. Your sight is not merely useful in matters of trade—it reaches far beyond them. You see what others cannot even begin to imagine.”

Her words struck him like the crack of a whip across his chest.

Madame Verina smiled with almost gentle indulgence, as though she had read every thought passing through his mind.

“The one who awaits you does not walk this world.

But one day...

you will cross the threshold.”

The candles flickered violently, and for a fleeting moment Rufus felt ice beneath his feet.

The ice of the lake.

He felt the moon’s reflection shimmering across the frozen surface. He heard a whisper riding the wind—a voice that did not belong to mortals.

Madame Verina leant a little closer.

“You will lose her, and you will find her again. Before you do, you will walk among shadows and stars. You will run where no man has ever run before. You will witness things no one in this world has ever seen. And when the moment comes, you will stand before the only choice that truly matters.”

The air grew heavier, as though something ancient and immeasurable had bent down over them to listen.

“But listen carefully, Rufus... Only you will be able to help Colette change her destiny.”

Mira, who until then had been too shaken by her own prophecy to think of anything else, looked up abruptly.

“What?”

Madame Verina slowly straightened, as though her work were done.

“Destiny is a spider’s web. Some threads become tangled beyond all hope...” Her impossible blue eyes settled on Rufus. “...and there are those who can break them. Your destiny and Colette’s are woven together.”

Then she turned towards Colette.

“Do not fear what is coming. Fear not being ready when it arrives.”

The silence inside the tent became almost unbearable.

Rufus could feel his heart beating far too fast.

The candles flickered one last time.

Then Madame Verina picked up her coin, smiled with an expression he would never forget and said in a light, almost mocking voice,

“The reading is over.”

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Until the curtain of the tent stirred in a wind that should not have been there.

And Rufus knew everything had changed.

“Is there anything else I should know, ma’am?” Colette asked. “Anything that might change my future?”

“When everyone abandons Rufus, you will remain by his side. That is what will save you. But it will not be easy.”

“When everyone abandons him...” Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Why would they abandon him?”

Madame Verina did not answer at once. She picked up the copper coin and spun it across the table.

The sound echoed through the tent far louder than it should have, an echo that had no right to exist.

“Because he will choose a path no one else can follow. You will be his only support in this world.”

Rufus felt cold creep up his spine before the words had even left her lips.

“I don’t understand...” Colette frowned. “Does that mean Rufus is going to do something terrible?”

“No.” Madame Verina let the coin spin between her fingers. “The world does not fear what it cannot understand... it rejects it. It brands it. It casts it aside, as though doing so could make it cease to exist. But what the world forgets is that the very thing it rejects is what it should fear most.”

Silence settled over them like a weight.

“When the time comes, everyone will turn away from him. Even those who now call him brother. Even those who swear they would never leave him.”

Galen narrowed his eyes.

“That isn’t true.”

The fortune-teller smiled with a calmness that sent a chill through them all.

“I wish it weren’t.”

Galen’s expression hardened, but he said nothing.

Colette looked at Rufus, searching his face for answers.

He had none.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she insisted. “How can I change this?”

Madame Verina spun the coin one final time before letting it fall onto the table.

This time there was no echo.

Then she looked at Rufus.

“When the ice breaks for the first time, stay. But when it breaks for the second time, she will not return. You will have to leave and search for her elsewhere.”

“The ice?” Colette asked.

The fortune-teller regarded her with that gaze that seemed to see beyond bone, beyond the soul itself.

“When everything falls apart and he is left alone in the darkness, you will be there. That is what will save you. That is what will change both your destinies.”

Colette’s breathing quickened.

“What darkness are you talking about?”

Madame Verina smiled.

But she did not answer.

“The reading is over. To speak too much about the future is to risk changing it... and more often than not, for the worse.”

The air seemed to grow colder.

And in the wavering candlelight, the reflection of Rufus in the fortune-teller’s eyes was not his own.

It was someone else’s.

Something older.

Something waiting.

Galen started to protest, but Elyse caught him by the wrist and pulled him firmly away.

“Let’s go,” she whispered. “There’s something... strange about this place.”

It was not only the prophecy.

It was the way the air seemed to thicken inside the tent.

The way the shadows appeared to move even when there was no wind.

“How did she know our names?” Galen muttered, glancing back at the fortune-teller as Elyse led him outside. “Does she investigate every village before she arrives?”

But Madame Verina was no longer paying him any attention.

Her eyes remained fixed on Rufus.

Then, without looking away from him, she extended her hand.

“Rufus.”

The boy was already stepping through the tent flap, but something in the way she spoke his name brought him to an abrupt halt.

He turned.

Madame Verina was holding out a card.

At first, Rufus had no intention of taking it.

But the air around him seemed to grow heavier, as though the tent itself were waiting for his decision.

At last, he stepped forward, reached out and accepted it.

The card was black and worn, its silver lettering reflecting the candlelight in an unnatural way.

The name printed upon it was not merely Madame Verina.

Verina, She Who Walks Among Shadows.

Beneath it was an address.

7 Lost Horizon Street.

Vareth.

Rufus frowned.

He had never heard of the city of Vareth. Perhaps it was only a village, or a small town.

And yet the name felt disturbingly familiar.

As though he had heard it once before...

in a dream.

When Rufus looked up, Madame Verina was watching him with the quiet certainty of someone who already knew what he would do with that card. As though she knew that, years from now, she would see him cross the threshold of her door in search of answers to the questions that haunted him.

“You will become the bridge between two worlds,” she said, her voice carrying something beyond the reach of words. “If the day comes when you walk alone, it will not be because you chose the wrong path, but because the others were never ready to follow you. And when that day arrives, boy, the only question that will truly matter is whether you are still willing to keep moving forward.”

The candle flames went out all at once.

And for the briefest instant, Rufus was certain that something unseen had slipped between them...

and touched his back.

Something that had come from the other side of the mirror.