The wind came back with the morning, but it carried no scent of pine or fresh thaw. Just cold rot.
They left the ranger post at first light, bellies tight with dried root stew and water that tasted faintly of iron. Torren hadn't slept—his eyes ringed like bruises. Evelyn didn't speak of the dream. Not yet.
The path turned narrow beyond the pass. The ground bore prints—animal, man, and something else. Large. Misshapen. The snow at the edges of the clearing was slashed, melted in strange patterns.
"Heat signature," Torren muttered, crouching near a print. "Too big for wolf. Not fresh enough for a patrol marker, either."
Evelyn touched the mark. Her fingers prickled. Something echoed—like a sound without a source. Then it vanished.
They continued until the trees thinned and they saw it.
The carcass.
It hung suspended between two birch trunks, lashed up with sinew strands. An Echoed, no longer fresh—its torso had been split and crudely stitched closed. Its head wore a hunter's mask. Not part of its body.
"What the—" Torren stepped forward.
Evelyn stopped him. "Wait."
She could hear something—so faint it might not have been real. A voice. Her voice.
"Torren."
The mask twitched.
He froze.
Then, slowly, the Echoed raised its head.
Not dead.
Its mouth opened—and her voice came out: "Torren—stop. Wait—please."
Torren stumbled back.
The Echoed jerked against its lashings, laughing. No, mimicking laughter. Childlike. Mocking.
Evelyn drew the blade she'd taken from the outpost wall. It felt too light. Or maybe her hand was shaking.
"I can't hear it," Torren whispered. "What's it saying?"
Evelyn swallowed. "It's… using me."
A pulse shuddered through the trees, and the wind dropped. The thing convulsed and screamed—every voice it had ever stolen pouring out in one cacophony. Men. Women. Children.
"Fire," Evelyn said.
Torren lit his torch.
The creature thrashed, breaking a rope, nearly slipping free.
The fire caught.
The shriek that followed shook the birds from the trees—what few remained. Then silence again.
Evelyn dropped her blade.
"What the hell is wrong with these things?" Torren muttered. "They used to just kill. Not… this."
"They're learning," she whispered. "That's what my mother wrote. They're not beasts. Not anymore."
They watched until nothing moved but ash. And even that seemed wary of her.