Shifting Fates: Veil of the Forgotten

Ch. 3

“When the Darkness Comes”

For what feels like hours, I ride the winds, my winds, floating over the forest’s immeasurable sprawl. The cold air lifts me higher, but the ache in my wings grows impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, I glance below, scanning the canopy. A dense cluster of pines stands out against the ember-colored woods, their scent clear and crisp even from this height. I descend toward them, grateful — pine is one of the few trees that doesn’t mess with my senses. The smell, though — tugs as something distant, a memory buried beneath layers of dust.

The wards of my castle wing buzzing, their hum fading softly. The soft click of boots on the stone echoed down the hall, which made the hair on the back of my neck stand, followed by the warm, earthy scent of roasted pinecones. I used to sit quietly in my room as my mind would race, counting each step Mother took as she neared. The wooden door at the end of the hall creaking open…

I cut the memory off before it takes root. Not here, not now.

There is no room for the past, not with the forest passing by me.

As I sink closer to the pines, my eyes scan the area. There are no wisps in the air, no flicker of fae lights — nothing that hints at the presence of another being more powerful than me, and I like to think there aren’t that many. Only darkness consumes the area, thick and swallowing every shape it touches. But even in this murky expanse, the shadows around me stir with a mind of their own, as if aware of my presence, curving and coiling like anxious serpents.

My wings fold in, and I settle onto a sturdy branch deep within the pines. The wood groans under my weight, the rough bark biting into my feet as I grip the edge, grounding myself in the stillness. Everything is too quiet — the kind of quiet that makes even the wind seem unnatural.

The hushed forest deepens, pressing like a weight on my chest as I grip the branch. Every rustle, every whisper on the wind, seems to vanish. The shadows pulse around me, throbbing with an unsettling energy. Then, cutting through the silence, a faint sound rises in the air. A murmur, soft and almost imperceptible, like a breath exhaled in the darkness.

My pulse quickens, a cold rush of uneasiness creeps up my spine. My gaze snaps to the shadowy depths of the forest, searching, straining to see what hides from my view. The distant howls of the Varcolac echo in my skull, but this weight is different — heavy, unseen, unknown — that grips me. I can feel the air thicken, the darkness breathing with me, alive with something waiting just out of sight.

Watching.

I breathe in deeply, the air dense with the earthy scent of the trees and the dampness left by the recent rainstorm mingling with the decay of fallen leaves and a hint of raw moss. But beneath it all, an unfamiliar scent emerges — mint — crisp, and almost overpowering against the backdrop of nature. I furrow my brow, wild mint in the Endless Forest? It feels out of place, jarring against my new familiar aromas of decayed leaves and earth. A sense of apprehension unfolds within me, urging me to retreat, yet my curiosity keeps me fixed, wanting to be drawn closer to the shadows, to the sound, and deeper into the forest.

I send my voice into the dark, feeling the shadows shift around me, almost as if they are leaning in to listen. Watching as my call reverberates through the darkness, echoing back like the whisper of my own thoughts. There is something out there, and a mixture of fear and excitement evolves in my chest. Wonderment fills my bones, and ignites my muscles, pushing aside the caution that usually grounds me.

I focus, letting out a series of high-pitched clicks, each sound wave slices through the darkness, searching for the source of the faint noise. The echo bounces back, revealing a flicker of movement. My true instincts pound at the door of my mind, rattling with urgency, but I ignore him, driven by reckless curiosity. With each pulse of sound, I can almost taste the air, and I am drawn to the mystery that prowls just out of my sight.

A quick inhale and a heavy sigh, I release another set of clicks into the darkness. This time, the sound returns altered — no longer just empty air, but a stirring presence moving closer. My heart races as I scan the shadows, searching for the source of that sound, the only noise in this smothering silence.

Abruptly, the darkness swells around me, enveloping every leaf, tree rock, and brush — the moonlight is fading like the air after a breath that is held too long. Everything sinks into an abyss of black and tenebrous shadows. I remain still, quietly observing, a comfort default, but my instincts are now screaming within me.

In this void, nothing moves. The world around me, silent, devoid of rustling leaves, chirps of insects, or distant calls of creatures of the night — only the oppressive stillness of encroaching darkness. It swallows every trace of life and sound, an insatiable force consuming all in its path. A sense of being watched wraps around me, constricting my breath as the shadows swirl, beckoning me to join them in their secret.

I blink, and the darkness changes, revealing a figure. A man crouches about ten feet from my perch, his form nearly swallowed by the shadows, but the darkness moves, allowing moonlight to cast an eerie glow on the man, illuminating the sharp angles of his face. His dusky, mahogany-colored hair falls around his shoulders. The color mirrors the trees back at the castle — the ones that do play tricks on my senses.

The man’s cerulean eyes slice through the gloom, piercing with an unnerving gaze. He is dressed in black noble-looking attire with a cloak that flows around him like a dark wisp, melding seamlessly with the shadows. He has heavy dark boots, oddly pristine, untouched by the rain-soaked earth. A chill runs down my spine as I sense the unsettling reality of my unknowing situation.

I quickly survey my surroundings, forcing myself to act natural, to contain my loosely running thoughts, but the man below anchors my focus. A wave moves down my spine, again — is it fear or fascination? Perhaps both. I tuck my wings in close, and I concentrate on the surrounding forest — the jagged outline of twisted branches against the starlit sky, the uneven texture of bark beneath my claws, and the faint luminescence of moss clinging to rocks. Each shadow dances and morphs into the gloom, creating an illusion of movement.

Yet, my eyes inevitably drift back to the man below. His cerulean gaze pulls me in like a feystone, an enchanted stone pulsing with a magnetic force that entices me closer. Most people pay me no mind in this form — or at least, they didn’t at the castle. I cling to the hope that this wild expanses world offers the same anonymity. But the shadows here pulse with life as if they are part of the forest itself, swirling and drifting as if they are drawn to something, as they seem to move closer to me. Echoing the same magnetic pull I feel toward the man below. In this sinister interplay, I wonder if I, too, am just as captivating to shadows.