"Four days!" Briana's voice thundered through the marketplace, echoing like a crack of lightning. "It's been four days since everyone started looking for you!"
Her eyes darted between Fenja, Aisling, and Idris. Though her tone was harsh, crisp with military precision, there was a hint of relief beneath her stern exterior. The Watcher hadn't lied. Upon their return, time had reclaimed the stolen hours, and now, night had settled over Nimrach. Briana, the commanding general of the island's soldiers and Idris' mother, stood before them, her face hardened by controlled anger. Around her, villagers had gathered, forming a concerned crowd, though their relief at seeing the trio return was evident. On Nimrach, every human life mattered.
Even at 24 years old, Idris stood rigid, at attention, tense under his mother's piercing gaze. Though he had faced dangers before, none seemed as terrifying as this confrontation. His stance stayed stiff, hands clammy behind his back as Briana's sharp gaze scanned them one by one.
Fenja and Aisling, heads hung low, fared no better under the weight of Briana's wrath. Fenja, nervous, tried to shift the attention away from Idris, attempting to speak up.
"We went hunting," she stammered, her voice faltering, knowing full well the flimsy lie wouldn't last a second.
Briana raised an eyebrow above a glare so icy it could freeze fire. Fenja began to stutter, struggling to find the right words. Aisling, seeing her friend falter, rushed in.
"We… we went to reflect," Aisling blurted out, feeling Briana's glare shift toward her.
But nothing seemed to cool the general's temper. She raised an accusatory finger, her eyes burning with a restrained fury.
"You've been unbelievably reckless!" she shouted, her voice climbing in intensity. "You leave without telling anyone, disappear into the woods, and no one knows whether you're alive or dead! You have no idea the worry you've caused!"
At that moment, the three young adults exchanged guilty glances, their faces awash with shame.
"Sorry…" they muttered in unison, like children caught in a misdeed. Their voices barely carried over the murmuring crowd that had gathered around them.
Briana, seeing their pitiful expressions, let out a small sigh. Stepping forward, she gave Idris a quick, firm smack on the back of the head—a mix of discipline and affection.
"You, you're running three laps around the island at dawn."
Idris nodded, barely suppressing a wince. He knew he had escaped the worst of it. Briana then turned her sharp gaze toward Fenja.
"And you, go back to the hunters' huts. Ceorl will decide your punishment."
Fenja bit her lip but didn't protest, knowing full well that arguing would only make things worse. She cast one last glance at her friends before quickly slipping away. Briana watched her leave, before her expression softened, if only slightly, as she turned to face Aisling.
"Ren nearly died of worry. You're the next Keeper, Aisling. A little less fantasy, a little more sense! You're lucky we had visitors, it's what's kept him occupied these last few days. But you'd better hurry home now."
The villagers, who had been silently watching the scene unfold, began to disperse after Briana's free lesson in discipline. Some, clearly relieved to see the young trio return safely, patted Aisling on the shoulder as they passed her, signaling their quiet approval.
Once no one was around, a small voice whispered near her finger.
"That was… absolutely terrifying," murmured Nimue from her hidden place inside the ring.
Aisling glanced around, then whispered back with a wry smile.
"That was nothing. If she'd been truly angry, we'd be running those laps around the island in the dead of night."
Aisling hurried down the path towards the tree-temple, Briana's words still echoing in her mind.
Visitors?
Aisling quickened her pace, her eyes fixed on the towering form of the Tree-Temple in the distance. As she approached, she scanned for anything out of the ordinary, her thoughts racing, searching for clues to confirm the old Watcher's words. The bark of the temple, its knotted branches—everything appeared normal at first glance. She squinted, trying to pierce the mystery, when suddenly, the flutter of wings pulled her from her thoughts.
A black raven swooped across the grey sky above her, cutting an eerie path before landing, with unsettling calm, just above the entrance to the temple. Aisling shuddered. The bird's gaze was fixed on her, as if it was watching with a disturbing intelligence. Shaking off the unease, she pressed forward toward the massive entrance.
Pushing open the temple's heavy door, she tried to slip in unnoticed, but her efforts rested in vain. The moment she entered, her eyes caught sight of a group gathered near the large circular brazier in the center of the room. Ren stood there, alongside four strangers: three men and one woman.
One of the men had a broad, muscular build, exuding the aura of a battle-hardened soldier. His face was scarred, framed by ash-gray hair, and he looked as solid and unshakable as a boulder.
Beside him stood a more austere man, his pale, almost gray skin and sharp features giving him a ghostly appearance. His raven-black hair contrasted sharply with his ice-gray eyes, and his hollowed cheeks lent him a severe, almost forbidding look.
The only woman in the group had an undeniable presence that commanded respect and authority. Her sharp features were framed by a mane of fiery red hair, and her piercing green eyes burned with intensity. There was something almost feline in her posture, a graceful, deadly poise.
Finally, the last man, with skin as dark as Idris's, had an air of charm and mischief about him. He carried himself lightly, with dark hair and a few days' stubble. His eyes gleamed with a golden spark, and when he saw Aisling, a sly grin tugged at his lips.
They were all dressed in a way that sharply contrasted with the islanders' usual attire. They stood tall, their postures and movements disciplined, like seasoned warriors—nothing like the locals, even the most battle-hardened among them. These people seemed... dangerous.
Ren turned at the sound of Aisling's entrance and shot to his feet, relief flooding his face more than anger. Yet, there was an unusual nervousness hanging over him.
"Where have you been?" he asked, worry evident in his voice as he moved to help her remove her cloak, a familiar gesture, but now tinged with a new tension.
Aisling, her attention still captivated by the four strangers, answered vaguely, her mind distracted by their presence.
"With Fenja and Idris... we lost track of time..."
She studied their faces, trying to piece together who they were and where they came from. Their rigid postures, precise movements— they were far from ordinary travelers. She stepped closer to Ren, her gaze still on the strangers.
"Who are they?" she whispered.
Ren hesitated—a brief pause, barely noticeable but telling. He glanced at her nervously before replying, evasively.
"Visitors... Go fetch something to eat from the kitchens, will you?"
Aisling frowned. Ren, usually straightforward, was dodging her question. She hesitated, her eyes lingering on the woman in the group. But instead of pressing further, Aisling obeyed her adoptive father and headed toward the kitchens, her mind troubled by the scene she'd just witnessed.
Once safely hidden away in the kitchens, Aisling let out a breath, relieved to be out of the strangers' sight. She had barely set down the wooden tray when a small shimmer of light emerged from her ring, and Nimue floated out, darting around her with graceful, excited movements.
"Those humans are strange, different from the others in the village," she commented in her ethereal voice, her many eyes glowing with curiosity as she peeked toward the entrance.
Aisling nodded, quickly adjusting the leather curtain that separated the kitchens from the main hall to ensure no one could hear them.
"We're just a small island compared to the others. We tend to the temple and the pool... but you should see those from the capital. They're much less... primitive than we are," she shrugged, slicing a piece of bread. "But... you're right. I've never seen anyone like them before. And Ren's acting strangely. Something's off."
As she busied herself preparing a tray of fresh bread, fruit, and honey, Nimue floated around the room, inspecting every corner, every jar of spices, her childlike curiosity evident in every movement.
"So?" Aisling asked quietly. "Is this the right tree?"
Nimue paused mid-flight, slowly turning to Aisling, her glowing eyes reflecting a thoughtful glint.
"No," she replied softly, her words lingering in the air like a gentle breeze. "This is a Maker's tree... strong, ancient, but not a Tree of Life and Death. It holds power in its own way, but it's not part of the great cycle of souls."
Aisling felt a twinge of disappointment, carefully placing the fruit on the tray with more precision than necessary. Her instinct had been correct, but that only deepened her concerns.
"If it's not the right tree... then where is it?" she whispered.
Aisling felt the atmosphere shift when she returned to the great hall. Ren and the mysterious visitors had settled on cushions, deep in conversation around a low table. The fire crackled softly in the brazier, and although the voices were calm, there was an underlying tension, as if they were discussing delicate matters. She began to serve each of them a bowl of cider, her movements discreet, but her ears sharp.
The dark-skinned man and the woman appeared the most comfortable sitting there. It was clear from their gestures and manner of speaking that they all had known each other for a long time.
Mercenaries? she wondered, focusing more intently on their conversation.
"We're a thousand on this island," Ren explained, nodding toward his guests. "And there are even more on the neighboring islands, not to mention the capital, where the population is much larger."
"So few," the woman murmured, visibly disappointed, as though she had expected much more.
"Several years ago, births were numerous, almost exponential. We often had twins in every family. But... in the last thirty years, things have changed. Soulless births have become frequent."
A heavy silence fell for a few seconds before the man with ash-gray hair spoke slowly, his words weighted with intensity.
"Did something happen?"
"I have my theory," Ren hesitated for a moment, then answered cautiously, without revealing much more.
As Aisling continued her service, she leaned forward to offer a bowl to the man with gray eyes. At that moment, she caught her father's glance toward the visitors—brief, but significant: he didn't want her to hear this part of the conversation. She tilted her head, searching his gaze, annoyed. He had always been protective, but this felt different. More intense. More serious.
That was when the man with gray eyes grabbed her hand.
"Interesting ring you've got there, little one…" His deep voice startled her.
The cold touch of his skin and the tone of his voice shocked her. Instinctively, she tried to pull her hand away, but he held it, not harshly, but with undeniable firmness.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, his piercing gaze shifting from the ring to her.
The weight of the four visitors' stares fell on her like a heavy cloak. Aisling felt the tension rising, particularly around the ring. She swallowed, searching for her words.
"It's a gift," she finally replied, dodging the details.
She tried again to pull her hand back, but the gray-eyed man still held it, a strange fascination in his expression.
"A daffodil…" murmured the ash-haired man, leaning closer to get a better look at the ring. "A flower from the ancient Earth…"
Aisling's heart raced. Ren intervened quickly, and Aisling could sense his growing worry.
"Who gave it to you?" he asked, his tone more urgent than usual.
"Hakim, the blacksmith," she lied, almost instinctively, her voice shakier than she had intended. "It was for helping heal his wrist."
She cursed herself inwardly for the shaky response, but it was the only explanation that came to mind. Ren nodded slowly, his eyes filled with suspicion.
"You'll return it to him tomorrow." His tone left no room for argument.
"But—"
"Aisling," Ren cut her off sharply, his gaze hard and unyielding. That single word made it clear that there would be no further discussion. "You should go upstairs."
Aisling felt a chill as the gray-eyed man finally released her hand after a long hesitation. The weight of his intense gaze lingered long after he let go. Without a word, she turned and headed for the stairs. As she walked away, her footsteps barely audible on the old wooden floor, she could still feel the weight of their stares on her. One thing was clear: something far more serious than she had imagined was happening here.
As she climbed the stairs, she discreetly listened. The murmurs had resumed, quieter now, as though her mere presence had stalled a conversation that wasn't meant for her ears. Their voices were hushed, almost imperceptible, but Aisling could still feel the tension.
She gripped the wooden banister tightly. She slowly ascended the last few steps, careful not to let the wood creak under her weight. The urge to uncover what was being said downstairs gnawed at her. She had seen enough to know that the four strangers were not mere visitors and that their presence here had a much darker purpose.
Once she reached the upstairs corridor, Aisling paused, her breath quick. Suddenly, a small voice sounded near her ear.
"That was close…" Nimue whimpered, emerging from the ring and floating discreetly around her head.
"Did he notice you?"
"I don't think so. What are you going to do?"
Aisling turned slightly, but didn't respond right away. She felt trapped between her father, these strangers, and the growing worry that was overtaking her.
"I don't know yet," she finally murmured. "But something isn't right."
Nimue nodded, her eyes gleaming with a strange curiosity.
"I could sense it too, something hidden behind their words. I don't like it."
Aisling agreed, her fingers tightening around the wooden banister.
"Neither do I. We need to find out more."
She cast one last glance toward the stairs, where the murmurs were growing fainter. Then, with silent determination, she continued down the hallway, her figure slipping between the shadows.
"Hope you're not afraid of heights…"
Growing up in a tree had its perks, like becoming an expert climber. Aisling had climbed a few more levels, reaching a spot where thick knots in the wood had, over time and with adjustments, formed a natural network of beams. These beams descended toward the great hall, supporting the temple's structure during the island's storms.
She had discovered this secret passage in her childhood, while playing hide-and-seek with friends or seeking solitude away from Ren's watchful eyes. This vertical path had become her refuge, a place where she could observe without being seen, eavesdropping on adult conversations, whether they were visitors or villagers. She had to admit it had been a long time since she last used this hiding spot, but today, the urgency of the situation pushed her to return to old habits.
Aisling slipped silently between the beams, her movements precise and calculated. Something was going on, and she needed to know what. She finally lay down on a broad, natural beam, her back against the warm wood, closing her eyes for a moment to focus better on the voices below. The distant murmur of discussions drifted up to her, distorted by the temple's walls, but clear enough for her to make out the words.
Ren's voice, usually calm and composed, carried an odd tone, a gravity that made Aisling uneasy.
"If you'll pardon me… I believe I've observed this soul sickness ever since my Lady left…"
Aisling frowned, straining to listen, her heart racing, as she heard the woman's voice rise in the great hall, clear and measured.
"What do you mean?"
"Back then, the Reflecting Pool predicted that certain demons might eventually track down Nimrach," Ren responded, his voice heavy with unusual seriousness. "The Protector… did what had to be done to safeguard humans and keep us hidden."
"Closing the only door. But with the Tree of Life destroyed, souls lost their way…" the woman seemed to draw a connection.
Nimue emerged from the ring, floating above Aisling.
"The Tree of Nimrach was destroyed?"
The young woman gestured for her to be quiet, pressing a finger to her lips, but her face had tightened, realizing the gravity of the situation. The gray-eyed man below spoke next, his deep voice resonating in the space.
"Human souls were forced to return to Earth, and only a few manage to find their way back here. Do not blame yourself, sister. The destruction of the tree was necessary."
"Hell of a thing!" the dark-skinned man exclaimed, full of irony. "So it wasn't just one of us who condemned humanity, but two? Now I understand why you don't team up more often."
"Watch your tongue, brother, or I'll let my whip taste your skin," the woman growled, her voice vibrating with a threatening annoyance.
"Not very sanitary…"
"So humanity is doomed?" the gray-haired man interrupted, cutting them off, his voice tense, seething with barely contained frustration. "We did all this… for nothing?"
The silence that followed was almost tangible. Aisling's heart was pounding so hard she feared they could hear it from her hidden perch. After what felt like an eternity, the pale-eyed man spoke again.
"Not doomed. But it is progressing slowly. Too slowly. All of creation is searching for you, Guardian, and you're not ready to face it when it comes. We still haven't found those responsible…"
The gray-haired man added, his rough voice tinged with anger.
"And they still haven't been punished."
"We are at your service," Ren said, his voice full of respect and deference. "What do you wish to do, my lords?"
A solemn silence fell until the pale-eyed man, whom Aisling now identified as the leader of this strange group, spoke:
"We stay… and we think."
"Make sure to show us what humanity is capable of, Guardian," the woman added, her voice echoing with a sort of prideful arrogance.
"With great honor, my Lady. I will spread the word tomorrow and inform the navigators if you wish to travel to the capital. I'll prepare your rooms."
With an agility honed over the years, Aisling quietly climbed back from her perch, every movement calculated to avoid making the slightest sound. She returned to her alcove without being seen, slipping into her bed with care. She listened to the sounds of the night, waited for the last remnants of life to fall silent, before turning to Nimue, who floated near her, casting a faint glow in the darkness.
"I don't know who these people are, but something's wrong. I've never heard Ren speak to anyone like that. Could you keep an eye on them?"
"All the three of eyes, healer," Nimue replied softly but with certainty.
Aisling smiled, turning onto her side, trying to find sleep. Yet one detail lingered in her mind, refusing to let her rest: these people… they spoke about humanity as if they… weren't part of it.