The morning of the Midwinter Trek dawned under a veil of ice-flecked mist. Fresh snow had blanketed the Academy overnight, muffling footsteps and cloaking everything in a hush that felt almost reverent. Students moved in clusters, bundled in enchanted cloaks and scarves, laughter mixing with the crunch of snow.
Zyren Elraven stood at the edge of the procession, watching the frost shimmer across the arches. His breath hung in the air, but his mind was already far from the Academy.
Because today—they wouldn't be coming back.
Today, they were going to the Wildlights.
Alaric adjusted his satchel beside him, face grim. "If we're going to vanish, we'd better do it before Headmaster Caldus starts counting heads."
"We don't vanish," Corwin muttered, tying a rope of pastries to his belt like charms. "We heroically diverge."
"Same thing," Mira said, checking the knives hidden beneath her coat. "But one sounds more poetic."
Lysia stood a pace behind Zyren, silent but sharp-eyed. Her usual braid was loose, a strand of hair clinging to her cheek like frost. She hadn't said much since the confrontation in the Hall of Echoes—but she hadn't left his side either.
Selene's voice reached them as she strode in from a side gate. "The eastern checkpoint will thin out near the glade. Wardens rarely patrol the tree line. That's your gap."
Zyren turned. "You're not coming."
Selene's eyes flicked toward the mountains. "I have my own shadows to trace. But I'll leave you a path."
She pressed a charm into his hand—an iron-etched pendant in the shape of a spiral. "Break it if you're cornered. Once."
Then she was gone.
---
They broke away two hours into the march.
The official Trek path led to the southern trails—snowbound routes meant for bonding, study, and enchantment practice in the lowlands.
But as the group slipped behind a moss-veiled boulder and vanished into the pines, none of them looked back.
The Wildlights rose before them.
Northwood's edge was no ordinary forest. The trees grew wider here, older, their trunks etched with glyph-bark and moss that shimmered faintly in the dark. Magic didn't sleep in the Wildlights—it breathed. Lurking in root and fog, in birdsong that spoke of older languages.
The wind carried with it the scent of pine, ash, and memory.
"We stay close," Zyren said. "No light unless we need it. And we keep watch for Warden sigils."
Alaric nodded. "Order patrols will be thicker near the leyline ridge. If Kael knows we're coming, he'll try to funnel us."
"He does know," Mira muttered, drawing a dagger. "He wants us to follow."
Lysia's voice was quiet. "Then we follow on our terms."
---
That night, camp was cold and quick.
Corwin grumbled as he constructed a heat circle. "I left a perfectly fine dormitory, three half-finished snack experiments, and a ghost that whistles opera. This better be worth it."
Lysia raised an eyebrow. "You didn't have to come."
Corwin grinned. "Sure I did. Can't let you lot get all the trauma without me."
Lysia's mouth quirked, just slightly. "Fair."
Not long after, Zyren moved to the edge of camp. The moonstone glowed faintly in his hand—not pulsing, not burning—just waiting.
He closed his eyes.
Reach me, he thought.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then—cold breath against his cheek.
"You're close," whispered a voice.
He turned.
The forest had vanished.
He stood in a silver-shadowed space, mirrors drifting like mist. And she was there—the Echo, silver-eyed and starlit.
"You came farther than I expected," she said, her voice more solid now.
"Where are you?" he asked. "Are you real?"
"I'm real enough to miss you."
Zyren's chest tightened. "Why do I feel like part of me is still with you?"
"Because it is," she said gently. "But I'm not the only one waiting."
Before he could ask what she meant—something twisted behind her.
Darkness surged—Kael's voice slithered through the mirrored fog.
"Even echoes leave footprints, Zyren."
She screamed.
Zyren opened his eyes, gasping.
Lysia was beside him, hand already on her wand. "What did you see?"
"She's being hunted. But not by him alone."
---
They crossed the veil into the inner Wildlights at dawn.
The trees shifted in color—greens deeper than emerald, shadows bluer than night. Frost clung to branches like veins. The trail narrowed to a single line through brush and fog.
Corwin let out a low whistle. "Pretty. In a hungry, forest-might-eat-me kind of way."
Then they saw her.
The silver-haired girl stood in a clearing ahead, wrapped in a traveler's cloak, bow slung across her back. Her hair caught the morning light like a blade. She was human—no glow, no magic—yet the forest parted for her like it recognized something in her bones.
Zyren's breath caught.
"You," he said, stepping forward.
She turned, startled. "You—how do you know my—?"
"I saw you," he breathed. "In a dream."
The others froze.
She took a cautious step back. "I've never met you."
"But I have," he said. "Not like this. In dreams. You were calling me."
The girl looked wary—but her eyes softened. "I don't know your name. But I've seen your shadow on the lake."
"What's your name?" Zyren asked.
"…Lyrin."
Zyren smiled, faint and awed. "Lyrin. You're real."
Before she could answer—an arrow struck the tree above her head.
Order scouts.
"We're seen!" Mira shouted.
Lyrin drew her bow in one smooth motion. "Run south. There's a hollow—if you make it, they can't follow."
Alaric blocked an incoming blast with his shield. "We follow her!"
The group scattered.
Glyphfire lit the trees. Mirrors shimmered unnaturally along the ridge—conjured by Kael, who watched from a higher rock, expression unreadable.
"You found your human shadow," he muttered. "Let's see if she bleeds."
---
The group reached the hollow.
Zyren stumbled as the moonstone flared to life—brighter than it ever had.
In the pool at the hollow's base, a mirror formed—rippling, unnatural.
Lyrin stepped toward it—but her reflection didn't follow.
Lysia screamed Zyren's name.
From within the mirror—a silver-eyed reflection emerged. Smiling. And behind it… Kael's face. Watching. Waiting.
---
**End of Chapter Twenty-Two**