Chapter 8 When the Village Begins to Turn
1179 Words
Amara couldn’t look anywhere else.
This was it.
Not curiosity anymore.
Not tension.
A line.
If she crossed it—
Nothing would stay the same.
“I’m not what you think I am,” she said softly.
Lucian didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t react.
Just waited.
“Then tell me what I should think.”
Another step closer.
Too close.
Amara felt it again—
That pull.
That strange, undeniable pull that made everything else fade.
Her heart refused to stay still.
If she told him—
He would see her.
Not the version she had been pretending to be.
The real one.
And she didn’t know if he would stay.
“I don’t know what you’ll do,” she admitted.
Lucian’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Try me.”
Behind him, Sarian watched with open interest.
Liraya, with quiet certainty.
Amara’s fingers curled slightly.
She wanted to trust him.
That was the problem.
She wanted to.
“I—”
The word broke.
And so did the moment.
Amara looked away.
“It’s nothing.”
Silence.
Sharp this time.
Lucian didn’t speak right away.
But something in him shifted.
Not anger.
Not yet.
But distance.
“That’s not true,” he said.
“I know.”
That made it worse.
Liraya stepped forward then.
Not interrupting.
Concluding.
“That is enough,” she said softly.
Lucian didn’t look at her.
“I decide when it’s enough.”
Liraya’s gaze rested on him.
Calm.
Unmoved.
“No,” she said.
“You decide when you’re ready.”
“And you are not.”
That landed.
Not loudly.
But deeply.
Lucian stepped back.
Just slightly.
Not agreement.
But restraint.
Amara felt it like something slipping through her hands.
Not relief.
Something closer to loss.
And Liraya—
Liraya had seen exactly that.
🌿
The days that followed did not return to normal.
They couldn’t.
The village had shifted.
Subtly.
But undeniably.
Whispers traveled faster now.
Not just about the missing.
But about her.
Amara.
“She’s always near when something happens.”
“I heard Lucian defended her.”
“Lira hasn’t spoken to her since.”
It wasn’t loud.
Not confrontational.
But it was there.
In the glances.
In the pauses.
In the way conversations stopped when she walked by.
“You see it now,” Mireya said one evening, her voice quieter than usual.
Amara sat near the doorway, watching the sky dim into the night.
“I always saw it,” she replied.
“I don’t think you did.”
Amara looked at her.
Mireya’s expression wasn’t annoyed this time.
Or frustrated.
It was afraid.
“You’re staying too long,” Mireya said. “And they’re starting to notice things they shouldn’t.”
Amara frowned slightly.
“I’ve done nothing.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Mireya said. “Sometimes just being here is enough.”
Silence.
“You need to go back,” Mireya pressed.
Amara’s gaze drifted toward the forest.
Then somewhere beyond that.
“I can’t,” she said softly.
Mireya stepped closer.
“Then tell me why.”
Amara hesitated.
Then—
“When I’m near him…” she began slowly, “everything feels louder. Like I’m more aware of everything.”
Mireya’s expression tightened.
“My heart doesn’t stay still,” Amara continued.
“And I don’t understand it, but I don’t want it to stop.”
“That’s exactly why you need to leave,” Mireya said.
Amara shook her head.
“No,” she said quietly. “That’s why I can’t.”
Mireya looked at her for a long moment.
Then turned away, running a hand through her hair.
“You don’t know what you’re risking,” she said.
Amara’s voice softened.
“Then tell me.”
Mireya didn’t answer.
Because some things were too dangerous to say out loud.
🌿
Across the village—
Sarian stood beneath the same tree he often favoured, watching as people moved in careful patterns.
Avoiding.
Observing.
Adjusting.
He smiled faintly.
“They’re starting to notice,” he murmured.
Lucian stood beside him, arms crossed.
“I can see that.”
“No,” Sarian said lightly. “You see the surface. I see what comes next.”
Lucian glanced at him.
“And what is that?”
Sarian’s gaze drifted toward Amara, who was walking with Mireya across the path.
“Fear,” he said.
“And then blame.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“They think she’s connected,” Sarian added.
“To the disappearances.”
“She’s not.”
“I know,” Sarian said easily.
“But they don’t.”
Silence settled.
“Something is hunting,” Sarian continued after a moment. “And it’s not subtle anymore.”
Lucian’s gaze sharpened.
“You’ve seen it.”
“Not directly,” Sarian admitted. “But I’ve seen what it leaves behind.”
A pause.
“It’s not Aswang,” he said.
“And it’s not Dalaketnon.”
Lucian frowned.
“That leaves very few options.”
Sarian smiled.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“None of them pleasant.”
Lucian’s gaze flicked again toward Amara.
“And it’s not random,” Sarian added.
Lucian stilled.
“It’s moving closer,” Sarian said. “Each time.”
“To what?”
Sarian didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Lucian.
Really looked at him.
“To her,” he said finally.
The words settled.
Heavy.
Lucian’s voice dropped.
“No.”
Sarian tilted his head.
“You’re sure?”
Lucian didn’t respond.
Because he wasn’t.
🌿
That night—
The village felt quieter than it had in days.
Too quiet.
Amara stepped outside, the air cool against her skin.
Something felt wrong.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just—
Off.
“Amara.”
She turned.
Lucian.
He stepped closer, his expression more serious than usual.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.
“I could say the same to you.”
“That’s different.”
Amara almost smiled.
“Is it?”
Lucian didn’t answer.
Instead, he looked at her.
Carefully.
“They’re talking about you,” he said.
“I know.”
“They think you’re connected to what’s happening.”
Amara’s gaze didn’t waver.
“And you?”
Lucian stepped closer.
“I don’t care what they think,” he said quietly.
Amara’s breath softened.
“That’s not an answer.”
Lucian’s voice lowered.
“I care about what happens to you,” he said.
That—
That was.
Too much.
And not enough.
Amara looked at him.
“Why?” she asked.
Lucian hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Silence.
Then—
A sound.
Not from the village.
From the forest.
Both of them turned.
Something moved between the trees.
Not hiding.
Not rushing.
Watching.
Amara’s breath caught.
Lucian stepped slightly in front of her.
“What is that?” she whispered.
Lucian didn’t answer.
Because for the first time—
He didn’t know.
And somewhere behind them—
Unseen—
Sarian’s voice carried quietly through the dark:
“It’s here."
- Writer
