One morning, he sat outside while his mother hung the laundry. He whispered, "Eluna," without meaning
to.
The wind stirred the clothesline. His mother dropped a cloth and turned toward him.
"What did you say?"
Jack looked up. "Nothing."
She stared at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she went back to her work.
Later that evening, Jack wandered out alone again. He went deeper than before, beyond the parts of the
forest where even the oldest villagers told children not to play. The trees there leaned like huddled priests.
The air grew colder, despite it being summer.
There, in the hollow of an old ash tree, Jack found symbols carved deep into the bark—shapes like the ones
he drew without knowing why. Some older than he could guess. They hummed when he touched them. Just
once.
And as he stepped back, he saw Eluna watching from the slope above, her face half-shadowed, her hair
floating slightly though there was no wind.
"You should go home now," she said.
"Why?"
"Because someone else is waking up."