April stopped at the edge of the forest. The air suddenly felt thicker, as if her breath had to pass through invisible water. Somewhere, a bucket hanging from a beam vibrated slightly, and the sound of the water inside it changed pitch, growing deeper. In front of her, the village breathed softly, unaware. Low stone houses, lines heavy with colorful laundry, the sound of water in buckets. A fragile normality. For an instant, she wished she were invisible.

“May I… come in?” she asked, almost under her breath.

Korvath remained motionless behind her. “Only for a little while. And don’t wander off.”

The moment she set foot in the square, April felt the pressure. It wasn’t hostility. It was attention. Gazes that lingered too long. Hands that hesitated. Conversations that went out like candles. A woman stopped speaking as April passed. She didn’t stare. She lowered her eyes.

“Good morning,” April said, forcing a smile.

The woman hesitated, then murmured, “You shouldn’t be here.”

The door behind her shut with a sharp thud. April felt something move beneath her skin. She inhaled slowly. Calm. A child was watching her from the other side of the street. The mother pulled him away without a word. When a jug of water slipped from her hands and shattered on the cobblestones, no one moved to help. An elderly man, seated near a doorway, slowly raised his gaze. His eyes rested on April for only an instant, but it was enough. The color of his irises seemed to fade.

“I haven’t seen that effect on water in a very long time…” he murmured, before turning and going back inside, closing the door gently. April understood he wasn’t talking about her. He was remembering something the village had learned not to name.

Star reached her, sitting on a log a short distance away. “They don’t hate you,” she said softly.

A little farther on, some children approached, curious.

“Is it true you can control water?” one asked.

April blushed. “Not exactly.”

Star pointed at a bucket. “Try. Just that one.”

April raised her hands. Nothing. Then the bucket trembled… and tipped over completely, soaking her feet.

Star burst out laughing, then stopped. “Sorry.”

April sighed. “Fantastic.”

For an instant, the tension eased. But Korvath lifted his head.

“April. Listen.”

The world changed tempo. A metallic smell cut through the air. Silence fell like a heavy blanket. Between the houses, an ancient well forced itself into view. April felt a sudden unease, like a knot beneath her sternum. A dog tied nearby began to growl, pulling its leash toward the opposite side of the square. A woman made the sign of interlaced fingers without realizing it, and whispered something April couldn’t hear. It hadn’t appeared—it had always been there. But now it was making itself known. The water inside it was black.

April took a step back. “It’s not… it’s not just a well.”

“It’s a seal,” said Korvath. “And it’s opening.”

Star moved closer to the edge. “Do you feel it too?” she murmured. “It’s not empty.”

“Star, stop.”

But the darkness answered first. A shadow stretched up from the depths, swift as a bad thought. April didn’t have time to think. Water exploded from the well in a blinding blue arc. It bent, constricted, forced.

“NO!”

The wave wrapped Star like a cocoon and tore her away from the edge. The shadow screamed—not with a voice, but with a fracture—and vanished. Silence. Star coughed, gasping for air. April collapsed beside her, trembling, grabbed her wrist. Not to heal her.

To make sure she was still there.

“Is she okay?” someone whispered.

Star opened her eyes. “Yes.”

She tried to lift a hand, but a tremor ran through her, forcing her to stop. The air around her remained still, as if magic needed time to remember how to flow. April felt her own breath break— not everything had closed the way it should have. But something had changed. The well remained still. Dead. Yet the water did not turn clear again. As if the village had lost something it didn’t know it had. Then the water among the ferns began to rise. It didn’t flow. It floated. Translucent figures emerged—female silhouettes with liquid reflections, eyes like drops of moonlight.

“Oh no…” April stammered.

“Only those who listen to the heart can command the flow,” whispered a voice.

The spirits attacked. Star cast a sigil, crystallizing two of them. April tried to strike one—the water passed through her. A spirit seized her ankle, dragging her toward a pool.

“Not today!”

Korvath landed with a thunderous crash. A wave of energy swept the spirits away, turning them into harmless rain. The forest fell silent again. But it wasn’t over.

A voice rose from the crowd, low and uncertain: “Now they know.”

No one asked who.