Chapter 3 — Echoes Beyond the Stream

  Eis closed her eyes and let the familiar spark rise—that quiet pulse beneath her skin, contained but waiting. She pictured what she needed: not invention, not imagination, but a tool shaped by necessity.

  Distance. Control. Silence.

  Near her heart a warmth flared softly. Light folded inward, compact and restrained, shaping itself around her palm.

  When it faded, the weight was there.

  A crossbow—compact, stripped down, built for mobility rather than power. Smaller than standard issue, its profile clean and efficient. The limbs were reinforced, the stock shaved just enough to reduce bulk without sacrificing stability. No ornament. No wasted motion. Every line served a purpose.

  It felt right in her hands.

  Eis adjusted her grip, testing the balance. Her body shifted without conscious thought—stance lowering, shoulders relaxing, weight distributing evenly through her feet. Years of training settled into her limbs with effortless familiarity.

  She exhaled once.

  With a steady breath, she willed the ward to fade. The faint hum receded, leaving behind the dense, living quiet of Eldergreen.

  Crossbow held close to her body, Eis moved.

  She slipped between the trees like a veteran scout, placing each step with care as she angled toward the faint metallic clanging ahead. The sounds sharpened as she drew closer—armor shifting, weapons being checked, someone adjusting gear near a fire.

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  She eased down behind a thick patch of shrubs and peered through the leaves.

  A camp.

  Three figures occupied it, gathered around a modest fire beside the ruins she’d spotted earlier.

  The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man, older than the others. His hair was cropped short in a practical soldier’s cut—too short to show texture, kept strictly controlled. When he leaned forward to sharpen his longsword, the firelight revealed a faint scar above his left eyebrow. His eyes, a strong steel-blue, watched every flicker of the trees with a veteran’s wariness.

  He looked like someone shaped by discipline—someone who carried weight without complaint.

  The second was a woman tending the pot over the flames. Silver-blonde hair fell just past her shoulders, smooth and straight, shimmering in the fire’s glow. A few strands slipped forward whenever she leaned down to stir, brushing against a face framed by delicate features. Her eyes—light violet, almost luminous—reflected the flames softly. There was a quiet steadiness in the way she moved, graceful but present, as if always listening.

  The third kept watch on the treeline.

  A young man with tousled auburn hair, slightly messy in the front as though pushed back repeatedly. His amber-gold eyes scanned the forest with a mix of caution and restless energy. Even from a distance, Eis could see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His build was lean, agile, and he carried himself with the alertness of someone who planned to move first if danger appeared.

  He shifted his stance—soft footwork, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Skilled, but still growing into his strength.

  Eis held her breath. She was well-hidden, but they were trained enough that a single misplaced sound could betray her.

  Bits of their conversation drifted through the crackling fire:

  “—tracks are fresh.”

  “Mana beast, no question.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not another corrupted one. Last thing we need is—”

  The auburn-haired man stopped abruptly.

  His head snapped toward Eis’s position, eyes narrowing. His posture shifted, one foot sliding back for balance.

  He sensed something.

  Eis tightened her grip on the crossbow. Breath still. Muscles coiled. Heart steady.

  She wasn’t about to be caught unprepared.