She who sees

The forest had changed.

Aisha could fee it before she saw it—the pulse beneath the soil, the quiet thrum of something alive and aware. The air had lost its sharp winter bite; instead it carried a damp heaviness that smelled of moss, metal, and something faintly electric, like rain trapped in a bottle. They were close to the fifth gate—closer than she dared admit aloud.

Nathan walked beside her, silent but alert, his hand brushing hers every so often as if to check she was really there. Tom trailed behind, his eyes darting between the trees, muttering to himself as if solving an unseen equation. Ms. Thorn led the group, her cloak drawn tight, the glimmering edge of her staff faint in the half-light. And Ruby flickered in and out of visibility—sometimes a form, sometimes only a shimmer in the air like heat rising from stone.

No one spoke of Mr. Halberd.

Not since the ruin where his echo had appeared, whispering warnings that tangled sense and nonsense alike. Aisha still heard the words in her sleep: "The Fifth Gate remembers what you forget."

It wasn't just a warning. It was a promise.

They reached the river by dusk. It wasn't frozen like the streams near the cottage, but black and slow, its surface reflecting only the faintest traces of light. The gate stood on the opposite bank—half submerged, built of dark stone shot through with veins of gold. Around it, the water rippled in slow spirals, like something beneath was breathing.

Ms. Thorne crouched at the edge, her reflection breaking into pieces on the surface. "This one tests memory," she said quietly. "Not what you've seen—but what you've buried."

Tom shifted uncomfortably. "And if we can't remember it?"

"Then the river decides for you."

Aisha knelt beside her, peering into the water. She saw her own face—pale, drawn, older than sixteen—and beneath it, shadows that moved in ways reflections shouldn't. Her pendant pulsed once, faintly and dimmed. The air around her felt thick, almost expectant.

Ruby materialised at her side, eyes gleaming with light that wasn't human. Remember in parts, her voice brushed Aisha's thoughts. But not all at once. Choose carefully which you open.

"Choose?" Aisha whispered. "What does that mean?"

But Ruby was already fading, her outline scattering into sparks that drifted toward the water.

Nathan touched Aisha's shoulder. "You don't have to do this first," he said. "We can wait."

She shook her head. "If it tests what I've buried, then it's meant for me." She looked to Ms. Thorne, who gave a single grave nod. "I'll go alone."

Tom muttered something about insanity, but no one stopped her.

The moment Aisha stepped into the river, the world shifted. The cold was shocking, but not physical—it was memory, clawing its way up her spine. The water rose to her knees, then her waist, but she kept walking until she stood before the gate. The sigils carved into its stone flared gold, and the reflection beneath her feet began to move independently of her body.

The shadow smiled.

She froze. "No," she whispered. "You're not me."

But I am, the reflection said, its voice both hers and not hers. I am what you refused to see.

The surface shattered, and she was falling—not into water, but into memory.

She stood in the ruins again, years younger, clutching her grandmother's hand. The air smelled of rain and stone and iron. Her father was there too, kneeling before a circle of markings carved into the ground, his face streaked with sweat and soot. Her mother stood opposite him, holding something small—a dagger, thin and silver, engraved with the same sigils that now marked Aisha's pendant.

"You promised me," her mother whispered. "You said we wouldn't use her."

"She's the only one who can close it," her father said, voice breaking. "If we fail—"

The words dissolved as the scene wavered. Aisha reached out, desperate to hear the rest, but the image cracked like glass.

She was back in the river, choking on air. The reflection was gone. The gate pulsed brighter, waiting. She could feel what it demanded now—not just a memory, but a truth she had run from.

Nathan's voice reached her faintly from the shore. "Aisha! come back!"

She didn't. Instead, she pressed her hand to the stone. "I know who I am," she whispered. "And I'm not afraid to see it."

The river exploded in light.

When the glow faded, she was standing on the bank again, drenched but unhurt. Her friends rushed toward her—Nathan first, pulling her into his arms without hesitation. For a moment, neither spoke. The world was still humming, alive with whatever power she had awakened, but all Aisha could feel was the steady beat of his heart against her own.

"You're freezing," he murmured, brushing wet hair from her face.

"I'm fine," she said, though her voice trembled. "It showed me...my parents. They used me to close something once. The last time the gates opened."

Nathan's brows furrowed. "Then this isn't just your destiny—it's theirs too."

Ms. Thorne joined them, her face pale. "The fifth gate accepted you. But what is showed you—it's rewriting your bloodline. You're not walking their path anymore, Aisha. You're creating a new one."

Aisha looked down at her hands. The sigils that had burned her skin before now glowed faintly, painless and gold. "Then maybe it's time the past stopped owning us."

Behind her, the gate began to close, its light folding inward like a dying star. But before it vanished entirely, a shadow moved across its surface—tall, familiar, wrong. Mr. Halberd. His eyes met hers for the briefest second, and his lips formed a single word.

Run.

Then he was gone.

The light collapsed. The forest went silent.

Nathan's hand tightened around hers. "What did he say?"

Aisha turned toward the darkening trees. The snow had stopped entirely now; the night was clear, brittle and waiting.

"He said to run," she whispered. "Which means something's coming."

And deep within the forest, something was. The sound began low—a rumble beneath the earth, growing sharper, closer. The gate's energy hadn't died with its closing; it had merely shifted. Awakened something older. Something that had been waiting for the right blood to pass.

Ms. Thorne's voice was barley audible. "The sixth gate won't wait long now."

Aisha took one last look at the river. The reflection that looked back wasn't her own anymore—it was both her parents' faces, blended, watching. Proud. Afraid. Calling her forward.

She turned to the others, her voice steady despite the fear tightening her chest. "Then we don't wait either."