The Guardian’s Echo

First Breaths: Soren

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. Truly laughed. Not just an amused huff or a forced chuckle. I was especially certain I’d never truly laughed while lying on a riverbank soaking wet. I looked at Penny. Her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes still bright from the thrill of the escape. I felt a terrifyingly sharp pull in my chest. The dull ache that I’d felt since we left the castle was finally something that was nearly impossible to ignore.

I watched the water droplets that clung to Penny’s lashes like tiny diamonds. She was glowing — not just with magic, but with the sheer, raw power of someone who had just claimed her destiny.

“You did it,” I said, my voice sounding more like I was saying a prayer than making a statement.

“We did it,” she corrected, squeezing my hand.

I looked at our joined hands. The braid was still there, looking even stronger now. I wasn’t just a general. I really had become her chain, keeping her solid in a world that currently wanted to hollow her out.

I sat up, my armor heavy and squelching with river water. I looked back up towards the ridge. The Ashendor Estate sat high above us now, still and silent. I didn’t see the spidery shadows anymore or any flickering figures, but the air around the manor looked bruised.

I sighed softly and looked down at the grass around us. It was no longer the pale, sickly yellow it had been when we first arrived. It had turned a vibrant, deep emerald now. Somehow, restarting the clock and jumping into the heart of the river had brought life back to the Vale. Penny had dragged it back into the present.

Runethorne Vale rested on the other side of the bank. It was no longer a ghost town. Smoke rose from the chimneys, and I could hear the faint sounds of livestock and distant shouting drifting on the wind.

I was certain waking the village was both a blessing and a curse. We needed cover, we needed somewhere to dry off, and we needed supplies. Unfortunately, I worried that staying here any longer than necessary made us a sitting target. It was only a matter of time before we were found by the Weavers again.

Penny pointed out a bird — a real, non-ghostly hawk — circling above us while I checked our gear. She was fascinated by the waking village. I tried to focus on the logistical concerns and the still-looming threat of the Weavers. Everything was wet, but still in tact. My sword, however, was humming. I drew the blade and examined it, only to discover a small rune I didn’t recognize had been etched into it. I wasn’t sure if it was a mark of the Weavers, or something leftover from the house.

I hated to be the one to break Penny’s good mood, but I felt exposed out here. I didn’t like it. “Penny, the Weavers didn’t just lose us,” I started. “They’ve lost their grip on the entire valley.” I paused, looking over my shoulder at the village behind me to solidify my words. “They won’t take that lightly. We need to find cover, make a plan, and restock. We won’t be able to use the main roads either. We need a map. We’ll need to find the old Grey Paths that the Wardens used to follow.”

When we crossed the bridge back into the Vale, I noticed a distortion over the river — right above the spot where we’d submerged when we fell through the waterfall. There were no shadows or flickering figures spilling out of it, but I knew undoubtedly that the Weavers were trying to keep up with us.

“We have to make this quick,” I whispered to Penny. “We have to get what we need, and find a safe place to sleep before nightfall.”

As we stepped off the bridge, the air filled with the sounds of people stumbling out of their cottages. They looked at their neighbors with wide-eyed terror and confusion. They looked at their hands. At the sky. The smell of fresh baked bread and woodsmoke drifted towards us.

I kept my hand near my hilt, but made a conscious effort to not look like a threat. I suddenly felt like I was the ghost now. This was a village who fell asleep two hundred years ago, finally waking up. To them, I must look like a soldier from a time that shouldn’t exist yet.

I pulled my wet cloak tight over my armor in an effort to hide the Royal Crest. “This way,” I murmured, leading Penny into the back alleys to avoid the main square where the confusion was the loudest.

I needed to find a general store, or a stable. Our horses were still at the manor, and it was too big of a risk to go back for them. It felt like too much to hope that they wouldn’t “reset” or “flickered” into existence at the village hitching post. I kept my eyes peeled, just in case. I watched the villagers as we passed. They weren’t ghosts anymore. They were solid, loving people.

Some of them were weeping though, staring at children that had suddenly aged or at gardens that had instantly overgrown. The awakening Penny triggered hadn’t been painless.

We entered a small apothecary, and the bell chimed with a sharp, clear sound. The shopkeeper was behind the counter, staring at a loaf of bread that had molded and petrified. Penny immediately started talking to him with an ease that I lacked. While I looked for threats, she offered comfort.

“You’re her,” he whispered suddenly, shock etched into his face. “You finally brought the sun back.”

I tensed. This was exactly the kind of recognition I was afraid of.

“I’m not,” Penny shook her head. “I’m just Penny. I haven’t…” she trailed off, a lie lost on her tongue.

“You’re her kin,” he insisted, his voice low like he understood the need for secrecy. “Please, is it true? Is the Great Time War over? Is Rosariel finally coming home.”

Penny looked at me, a flash of pain crossing her face. How do you tell a man he’s been a statue for two hundred years?

“It’s different now,” I said, stepping up to the counter and placing our goods between us — wool cloaks, dried meats, a sturdy leather map of the Highlands. I dropped a heavy, gold coin into his palm. “Keep the change. Keep your doors locked. And if anyone asks, you haven’t seen Rosariel, or anyone who looks like her.”

Penny looked at him with sympathy, a sad smile pressing her lips into a thin line. She wanted to explain. She wanted to help. I grabbed the supplies and nudged her toward the door. “Grief can wait,” I whispered to her. “Survival can’t.”

Just as I reached the door, I saw a shadow stretching out from the corner. Not because of the light, but because something was reaching in.

I instinctively caught Penny’s elbow, and we spilled back out onto the street. I kept my head down, watching from the corner of my eye as a group of villagers gathered around a well, pointing up at the Ashendor Estate. The bruised air around the house was becoming a slow-moving black vortex of clouds.

“We may not have until nightfall,” I muttered. “We must get you inside somewhere safe.”