Stop!

The voice in her head startled her, its suddenness like a jolt of electricity. She stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. It was the same voice as before—soft, steady, and disturbingly intimate.

Her eyes darted around the garden. Nothing but plants and shadows.

“Who are you?” Cerina whispered, her voice trembling. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “What are you?”

The voice didn’t answer her question. Instead, it shifted, its tone firm yet coaxing. You should go to the woods.

“No,” Cerina said aloud, shaking her head as if she could physically dislodge the voice. The woman’s warning echoed in her mind: Tend to the garden. Stay on the path. She clutched her arms, as though that would shield her from the voice’s influence. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re afraid, the voice said, almost amused. But you shouldn’t be. The woods hold half the answers.

“Half?” Cerina asked, her voice stronger now. But her conviction faltered as she glanced toward the far edge of the garden, where the neatly trimmed hedges gave way to untamed forest. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, their dark branches twisting together in intricate patterns that reminded her of the angular markings on the walls.

The Monastery and the Woods do not align, the voice pressed, its tone softening to a whisper. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The tension between them. The truth lies in duality.

Cerina clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms again. The voice wasn’t wrong—she had felt the tension. The Monastery, with its cold halls and watchful silence, felt suffocating. But the woods… the woods felt dangerous in a way she couldn’t explain.

“I don’t trust you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Good, the voice replied, almost laughing. Trust will come later. For now, walk. See the trees. Feel the air, Cerina.

The mention of her name sent a shiver down her spine. She turned away from the woods, her eyes fixed firmly on the garden path. “I won’t go,” she said, more to herself than the voice.