Page 11 of Unseen Eye
Kendry smiles warmly. “You already have the heart for it, Eva. The rest will come with time and practice. Just remember, every great story begins with a bit of fiction.”
He stares at me as if he is trying to guess what I am thinking, and what sparked this random conversation. “We can skip training today, and if you want, I can make you a remedy to help you sleep.”
Never in my life has Kendry ever offered to cancel training, which means I really must look like shit. Sleep is the last thing I want right now, especially as my brain is wrapping itself around this whole hellhound thing.
I put on the best smile I can muster in this moment. “Thanks Kendry, but if it is fine with you, I think I am going to go for a walk.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” he replies as I am walking toward the door. “And Eva, please be careful,” he adds, his brow furrowed and eyes shadowed with worry.
I nod, giving him a reassuring smile before stepping outside. The crisp, fresh morning air is cool, a stark contrast to thewarmth of the house. As I walk, the weight of last night’s encounter presses down on me. My mind races with questions, each one more confusing than the last.
The path through the forest is familiar, each twist and turn as well-known to me as the lines on my palms. It’s strange how, once something shows you what’s possible, the world seems to shift. Paths you’ve walked a hundred times suddenly hint at new destinations, and the ordinary feels charged with potential. The forest, once just a place of childhood adventure, now holds a mystery I’m only beginning to understand. I can still feel the residual tingle of the power that surged through me, the way it lit up the night and banished the hellhound mid-lunge. The image of the beast, with its dark fur and glowing red eyes, is cemented into my memory.
“Could it really have been a hellhound?” I whisper to the wind, kicking at a loose stone on the path. The stories Kendry told me flood back. Tales of creatures from the dark realms, of magic and power, of battles fought and kingdoms lost. They always seemed like just that—stories. But now, I’m not so sure.
I find a quiet spot by the edge of a small river and sit down, staring into the clear water as it ripples over the rocks. The dagger I found feels heavier with every passing second. I pull it out and turn it over in my hands, tracing the intricate design for what feels like the hundredth time. I should have told Kendry the truth. But how could I? He’s always been my anchor, my guide—but his half-truths have left me questioning everything. How can I trust him to help me find answers when he’s spent so long keeping parts of the story hidden?
No, this is something I need to unravel on my own. These dreams, this dagger—they’re mine. My experience, my reality, unclouded by outside opinions or Kendry’s cautious retellings. For once, I want the truth, unfiltered. If that means stepping into the unknown alone, so be it. Maybe I am losing it. Or maybe...I’m finally finding something real.
I roll up my sleeve to look at my forearm again. The mark catches the light as I trace it with my finger, feeling a strange connection to it. What does it mean? Is it connected to the power that burst from me last night?
I lean back against a tree, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. The forest is alive—birds chirping, leaves rustling, squirrels scampering, and chipmunks chattering. I even spot a cardinal flitting between the branches. For a moment, I let myself just be, pushing away the confusion and fear.
As I focus on the tranquility of the forest, a sense of calm washes over me, clearing my mind and allowing clarity to take root. I think of the gods in my stories, drawing strength from them. I call out to Eldorin for his insight and Valtris for his strength, embracing their qualities and finding them within. With this renewed sense of determination, I stand up and tuck the dagger back into my pocket. With all the excitement from last night, I almost forgot about the festival today.
The village is already alive with activity by the time I arrive. The quaint rustic houses, with thatched roofs and stone chimneys, are adorned with garlands of autumn leaves and vibrant flowers. Cobblestone streets are lined with stalls, each one bursting with colorful goods and enticing aromas. The air is filled with the scent of fresh baked goods, roasted meats, and the sound of laughter and music. It’s like the whole village decided to throw a party just to distract me from my existential crisis.
As I navigate through the festival looking for my friends, the familiar sight of Mr. Whitfield catches my eye. His weathered face lights up with recognition as he spots me approaching.
“Eva! My dear,” he exclaims warmly, his voice barely audible over the festival clamor. He adjusts his spectacles, his eyes darting around with unease. He clears his throat before speaking, his tone low and cautious.
“Eva, I wanted to tell you something,” he begins, leaning closer as if to shield his words from prying ears. “Earlier today, a peculiar gentleman came by, asking about your stories. He seemed awfully curious, too curious, if you ask me. Wanted to know who wrote them, where you get your ideas.” He pauses, frowning slightly. “I must admit, he gave me a bad feeling. Something about him didn’t sit right.”
I furrow my brow, a chill running down my spine. “What did he look like?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Whitfield hesitates, his gaze flickering around again as if expecting the man to reappear. “Tall, with penetrating eyes that seemed to see right through you,” he murmurs. “Not the kind of fellow you’d forget, that’s for certain.”
Unease settles in my stomach, mingling with the remnants of adrenaline from my earlier encounter. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Whitfield,” I say earnestly, though my thoughts race with questions. Who could be so interested in my stories, and why now? Could it be connected to last night?
Mr. Whitfield nods, his expression grave. “Be careful, Eva,” he advises, his voice tinged with concern. “There’s more to this world than meets the eye.”
As I make my way through the bustling streets, I spot Garet near the fountain, his familiar figure standing out in the crowd. He catches sight of me and waves, a broad smile spreading across his face.
“Eva!” he calls out, his voice cutting through the noise of the festival.
I quicken my pace, weaving through the crowd of people. “Hey, Garet, fancy seeing you here,” I joke, returning his smile as I reach him.
Garet laughs—a sound that used to brighten my day, but right now, it’s just… irritating. As we weave through the market, he launches into his usual list of events like clockwork. “Huge feast,lots of dancing, a bonfire. You joining in?”
I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. “Do you really have to go through the whole itinerary every single time? I think I’ve got it memorized by now.”
The words come out sharper than I intended, and I catch the brief flash of surprise on his face. I force a sigh, immediately regretting it. “Sorry, that was... I’m just tired.”
He shrugs, giving me a small, forgiving smile. “Long night, I take it?”
“Something like that,” I mutter, trying to shake off the tension. Garet, thankfully, doesn’t press, glancing over at the food stalls instead. “If I know Finn, he’s already in line for food,” he says with an easy grin. “Let’s see if he saved any for the rest of us.”
Despite his smile, my thoughts keep drifting back to the events of the previous night. I contemplate telling Garet about it, but dismiss the idea just as quickly. He would never believe me.
