For a long moment, Rowan and Bjorn stood in the hush that followed. Above them, leaves swayed with a gentle shhh, and sunlight spilled in broken beams, sliding across the path like golden spotlights on a stage.

“So…” Rowan began, kicking at a pebble.

Bjorn smirked, already guessing. “We’re definitely still going.”

Rowan laughed. “Thought you’d say that.”

The trail unraveled into a mess of roots and shattered stone. Jagged rocks jutted up like crooked teeth, half-smothered in moss. They shoved through a curtain of ferns, and the forest suddenly opened. 

A colossal stone wall loomed across the clearing, scarred by time yet still commanding. Vines spilled down its face in thick green waterfalls, and where the stone had crumbled, the boys squeezed through an opening, wriggling carefully so their packs wouldn’t snag on the jagged edges.

On the other side, the old fortress rose from the clearing, its stone walls cracked and weathered, its roof half-collapsed. Vines poured down the outer wall in thick curtains of green, and through a gaping break in the masonry, they could see straight into the hollow interior.

Nature had claimed every corner. Moss carpeted the stone, ferns rooted in the cracks, and ivy coiled up the pillars as if trying to hold the building together. A crooked staircase clung to one side of the chamber, its steps chipped and uneven, yet still winding upward toward what remained of the second floor. Half the upper level had crumbled away, leaving jagged edges open to the sky, where sunlight streamed down in golden slants across the ruin’s hushed interior.

Bjorn whistled. “This place must’ve been massive.”

Rowan stepped forward, brushing his hand along the stone. It was cool beneath his fingertips, but rough as dragon scales. “It’s way bigger than it looked from the tower.”

Bjorn’s eyes gleamed. “It’s practically a castle.”

Their boots crunched over gravel and dry leaves, the sound echoing through the ruins.

CLACK!

The sharp crack of stone against stone.

Rowan whipped around. “Did you hear that?”

Bjorn’s hand dropped to his axe. “Yeah.”

Rowan’s heart thumped. “Maybe it’s just…an animal?”

Bjorn looked at Rowan. “Relax. You’re walking with the future greatest warrior in Althoria. I’ve got this.”

Rowan snorted. “Good thing you’re better with an axe than you are with directions.”

Bjorn pointed toward the far wall. “Let’s go see what’s upstairs.”

They crossed the bottom of the fort, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone. Sunlight slanted through the collapsed roof in fractured beams, painting shifting shapes across the floor. Rowan’s eyes lingered on scattered fragments of broken tiles, the curve of a shattered shield, a pot split into two halves.

A wide stone staircase clung to the wall, its edges chipped and uneven. Cracks ran down the steps where vines had forced through. The boys climbed with care, testing each slab before trusting it with their weight. Dust stirred beneath their boots, drifting upward in lazy spirals toward the broken roof.

At the top, the floor stretched across the fort, half-sheltered by what remained of the roof and wall. The other half disappeared completely. At the far end of the room, beside a fractured pillar, the air rippled. 

Rowan’s chest tightened. “A shimmer…” he whispered.

They began to cross the room. Every crunch beneath their boots echoed too loudly in Rowan’s ears. He tried to stay focused, but his wrist burned with the memory of cold fingers grabbing him in the Shadowlands. The mark was barely visible on his wrist anymore, but the real scar now sat in his stomach, in the part of him that now screamed, Don’t go closer.

But Bjorn was moving forward, calm and sure as always. Rowan swallowed hard and followed, his hands curling into fists to stop their trembling. I’m not letting it control me, he told himself. Not again. And yet, with every step, the Shimmer seemed to call him closer.

SQUAWK!

A sharp cry split the silence, slicing through the fort like a thrown dagger. Both boys froze. Rowan’s heart skipped, then hammered so loudly he was sure Bjorn could hear it. His eyes darted over the shattered pots, scattered scrolls, and dented scraps of armor dulled with rust. It felt less like ruins and more like the remnants of a story, abandoned mid-chapter, left to crumble in silence. He searched every shadow as if something might leap out at him.

Rowan’s gaze darted upward. “Okay,” he whispered, “that definitely was not wind.”

Bjorn didn’t answer. His eyes had locked on a pile of rubble that was shifting.

SQUAWK!

A tiny head popped out. Its feathers shimmered with streaks of blue and gold. Its beak was short and curved, its round eyes sparkling with curiosity. The little creature wobbled once, squawked again, then dove back under the debris with a flurry of feathers.

Rowan’s jaw dropped. “It looks like Tetra. Maybe it’s a frost phoenix.”

Bjorn leaned forward, “But, what’s it doing up here?”

“I don’t know… but it looked scared,” Rowan said as he took a cautious step closer.

The shimmer reacted as soon as Rowan stepped, sending a sudden chill through the room. Loose parchment lifted, fluttering like startled birds. Dust twisted upward in spirals. Beneath Rowan’s boots, the floor gave a faint tremor, as if the stone might crumble away.

“Do you feel that?” Rowan whispered.

The shimmer pulsed, and from its center, a multicolored thread unwound, drifting through the air like smoke. It curled lazily through the chamber until it brushed Rowan’s cheek. The world snapped silent. Sound vanished. The wind stopped. No bird cries. Even Bjorn’s voice disappeared. 

Something slipped into Rowan’s thoughts. It wasn’t a voice, or a sound, but a presence. It threaded through his mind like a breeze weaving through tall grass.

Come to me.

Rowan’s eyes glazed. His arms went slack. He began to walk forward as if caught in a dream.

“Rowan?” Bjorn’s muffled voice broke through faintly.

But Rowan didn’t answer. 

The shimmer swirled around Rowan’s legs, pulling him closer. Another step. Then another. His boots barely touched the floor, as though an unseen hook had sunk into his chest, drawing him closer. Then, the shimmer split apart, and something stirred on the other side. Not man. Not shadow. Something between. Then, a pale, bony arm slid through the shimmer, stretching toward Rowan.