Chapter 3: Into the Borderlands

NYXARA

The eastern gate smells like rust and horse sweat. The guard doesn’t look up until I clear my throat.

“Papers,” he says.

I hand them over. He studies the seal longer than he studies me. That’s fine. Seals are easier to trust than faces.

“Elira Marr,” he reads. “Weaver. Traveling alone?”

“Yes.”

He glances past me toward the treeline beyond the road. The trees look darker than they should for this hour.

“You picked a bad time to be heading out,” he says.

“I don’t mind the cold.” He shakes his head slightly.

“Not the cold.” He lets that sit between us.

“Bandits?” I ask. 

His jaw shifts. “I wish.” That’s new.

“I’ve traveled before,” I say.

“Not out that way,” he replies. His thumb rests on the stamp, but he doesn’t press it yet.

“People have been missing past the bend,” he says quietly. “Livestock too. Something’s not right in those woods.”

“Not right how?”

He finally looks at me properly, like he’s trying to decide something.

“Too quiet,” he says. “No birds. No usual sounds. Just… quiet.”

He stamps the papers and hands them back.

“If it goes quiet on you,” he says, “that’s when you turn around.” 

I nod. “Of course.”

He watches me a moment longer.

“You won’t,” he says. 

I don’t answer.

The cart ride west is rough. The wheels catch in deep ruts while two merchants argue about tariffs across from me.

A woman with flour dusting her sleeves keeps glancing toward the treeline before leaning forward.

“You’re heading toward the border?” she asks. I nod.

“Family out there?”

“Yes.”

She frowns. “No one with sense lives that close to the wilds.”

One of the merchants snorts. “Wolves do.”

The word lingers a little too long.

“Wolves aren’t real,” the woman says quickly.

“They’re real enough,” the merchant replies. “My cousin swears he saw one walking upright.”

The other merchant rolls his eyes. “Your cousin was drunk.”

“Or scared,” the first shoots back.

They all look at me. “Have you ever seen one?” the woman asks.

My fingers rest against the edge of the cart. I shake my head once.

She exhales. “Good. Keep it that way.”

The cart slows near the fork where I’m meant to get off. I climb down, boots hitting packed dirt.

“Are you sure about this?” the driver asks, avoiding my eyes.

I adjust the strap on my pack and nod. He hesitates, then says quietly,

“People claim the forest answers back now.”

“To what?”

“Footsteps.”

I met his gaze.

“Forests don’t answer.”

He studies me a moment before snapping the reins. “Suit yourself.”

When the cart disappears down the road, the silence presses in. It isn’t the absence of sound. It’s the absence of life. No birds. No insects.

Even the wind moving through the branches seems to fade overhead instead of passing through the trees.

I step off the road. My shoulders angle forward. My weight settles across my feet without conscious thought.

I don’t choose to move this way. My body does. The brief pause irritates me.

“Focus,” I murmur.

The word sounds louder than it should.

I adjust the strap of my pack. It feels heavier than it did this morning—not because it weighs more, but because something about the air feels different.

The forest deepens quickly. Light thins. The air grows heavier.

I step over a root and stop. A scent reaches me—faint and metallic. Clean. Like rain before it falls. Animal. Or human.

I crouch and scan the soil for tracks. Nothing. No broken branches. No disturbed leaves. Still, the hair along my arms rises.

“I’m being watched,” I murmur.

The forest remains silent. Something shifts high above. My fingers hover near the blade hidden in my sleeve. 

And I realize something strange. I haven’t drawn it.

The thought lands a moment later. Why haven’t I drawn it?

My pulse strikes harder. I take three careful steps forward.

The sensation sharpens. Not danger. Presence. Vertical. Tall.

I turn. He stands between the trees.

Far enough away to pass for shadow. Close enough that I can see him clearly.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Completely still.

He isn’t hiding. He’s watching. 

Dark clothing. No visible weapon.

Mist drifts across his face, veiling part of it. But his eyes remain fixed on me.

The forest feels aligned around him. As if it recognizes him.

In a moment like this, I should move. Assess exits. Reach for my blade. I don’t.

“Who are you?” I called.

My voice stays steady. He doesn’t answer. Wind stirs behind him.

But there are still no birds. No insects. No life.

“Step forward,” I say.

He tilts his head slightly. Studying me.

My chest tightens. Not fear. Something worse.

Recognition without memory.

“Have we met?” I ask.

His gaze drops briefly to my hands. Then to my throat. Then back to my eyes. 

My pulse falters when he finally moves. Something in my chest answers him.

One step forward. My breath catches. I know he hears it. His jaw tightens. Something crosses his face— restraint.

Then the mist thickens suddenly, rolling low across the forest floor. 

I blink. He’s gone. 

I scan the trees. Nothing.

I stay where I am, counting my breaths. Listening to the hollow quiet.

And I know, with the same certainty I know how to kill cleanly—

I am no longer alone in these woods.

And whatever stood between those trees… chose not to attack.