She who sees

The days after Christmas always carried a strange quiet. The excitement of the holiday had passed, leaving behind the soft weight of leftover decorations and the muted hum of routine waiting to return. Tinsel still glimmered in the corners of the cottage, and the scent of cinnamon clung stubbornly to the air, but Aisha felt as though the magic of the season had thinned, leaving her with only questions that pressed heavier with each passing hour.

Snow lay deep outside, glittering under a pale sun that never seemed to rise high enough. The lanes of the village were half-buried, footsteps already frozen into hardened trails, and smoke curled lazily from chimneys as if reluctant to leave the warmth inside. The world was hushed, muffled, as though holding its breath.

Inside, Aisha sat curled in the armchair by the fire, her knees tucked to her chest, the pendant warm against her skin. Doreen moved quietly in the kitchen, humming a tune that Aisha half-remembered from her childhood. It should have been comforting, but every note seemed edged with warning, a reminder that time was slipping too quickly toward something she wasn't ready for.

Nathan came by that afternoon, brushing snow from his coat as he stepped inside. His cheeks were red from the cold, his eyes bright with the sting of the wind. He carried a small notebook, the kind he always used for scribbled and thoughts.

"I've been looking into it," he said without preamble, his voice low, careful. "The spiral. The symbols. I don't know how it all ties together yet, but..." He glanced at Doreen before finishing. "It feels like they're waiting for you to notice something."

Aisha wanted to ask him how much he really knew, how much he guessed, but the words snagged in her throat. Instead, she only nodded and let him sit opposite her, the firelight dancing shadows across his face.

Later, when the dusk deepened and Nathan had gone, the cottage felt larger, emptier. Doreen's voice broke the silence:

"You won't be able to wait much longer, Aisha. The land is moving. It doesn't rest just because it's winter."

The statement sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't reply, only traced the pendant where it lay warm against her skin.

That night, the world outside her window glowed silver with moonlight. The snow reflected it back so fiercely that the whole village seemed carved from glass. Sleep refused to come. She sat at her desk, staring at the map again, tracing the circle around the chapel until her fingers smudged the ink further.

Each time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes— a chapel door hanging crooked, a shadow moving where there should have been none, a voice whispering her name.

Outside, the snow muffled the world, making the night feel thick, heavy, alive.

Aisha leaned for her forehead against the cold glass of the window, her breath fogging it. Somewhere out there, beneath the snow and silence, answers waited. But so did something else — something ancient, patient, and watching.

And she knew, with a certainty that made her chest ache, that the time for stalling was nearly over.

She turned back towards her bed, the pendant still pulsing faintly against her chest. That was when she saw her.

Ruby.

The pale entity's form shimmered at the foot of the bed, edges blurred as though she were carved from mist and moonlight. Her dark, endless eyes locked on Aisha, and for the first time in weeks, the weight in Aisha's chest eased.

"Ruby..." The name left her lips as a whisper.

The entity tilted her head, and then the voice brushed inside Aisha's mind — soft, fleeting, like wind through branches.

I have been keeping it away.

Aisha froze, the words sharp in her skull. "Keeping what away?"

Ruby's form flickered, as if the question strained her, but the answer came anyway, carried on the thread of thought.

Him. The one who calls. The one who would draw you into the dark before you are ready.

A chill gripped her spine. "Lord Sadon?" she breathed.

Ruby's eyes glowed faintly, and then her voice touched Aisha's mind again — softer this time, almost sorrowful.

Your father heard it too.

Aisha's breath caught. Her fingers clutched the pendant until her knuckles whitened. "My father? What do you mean? He's—" She couldn't finish the word. Gone. Dead. A silence her whole life had been built around.

But Ruby's gaze held steady. Not gone. Not entirely. He walked too close to the edge. Too close to what you now face. That is why I was sent — to keep the same shadow from taking you.

Aisha's heart thundered, hot tears pricking her eyes. The room felt too small, the fire too far away. "Ruby... what happened to him?"

The entity only lowered her head, her form blurring as though the effort of speaking had weakened her.

Not yet. But soon. You will see.

And then she was gone, the air bending as if she had never been there at all.

Aisha stood trembling, her pulse racing in her ears. She sank onto the bed, clutching the pendant as if it might anchor her.

Her father. Alive, or something close to it.

Ruby's return.

And the promise that time was running out.

Sleep never came. She sat awake until dawn, watching the snow bury the village in silence, knowing the answers she craved were coming— and that she might not be ready for them.