A throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes as I forced them open, the world spinning in and out of focus. Dried golden blood was caked along my neck and collarbone, flaking off as I gingerly pushed myself upright. Grass, soft and wild, brushed my palms. Gone were the towers and waterfalls of Vildora. Instead, I found myself sprawled in a field—an ordinary field, beneath an endless mortal sky. The realization struck cold and sudden. I was back in the mortal world—the place where my story began, where I had died, and where everything had changed. Forá was free, awakened, and furious, and I was here, powerless and alone. Panic fluttered in my chest as memories tumbled through my mind: Forá’s golden eyes, the portal, the threat that echoed still in my bones. Was Ying safe? Yang? What about my home, the gods, the world I’d fought to protect? Had Forá already begun her vengeance? And what of Geira and Panoúkla—had they truly cursed Forá to that prison? Why? My legs trembled as I stood, scanning the horizon. The landscape felt both familiar and distant, haunted by the ghosts of memory. Then I saw it—a blackened, twisted silhouette rising from the field: an old, charred tree. My breath caught. Songbird Hideout. My hideout as a child—before the fire, before the end of Willow Hollow. The sight of it sent a rush of longing and sorrow through me. Was the war over now? Had peace ever truly returned after Yang’s return? I had never dared to look back. Until now. I took a hesitant step forward, heart pounding. I heard music coming from the once broken, famine-stricken village. The bell that was once placed in the center of the town to warn everyone that the Ashbringers were coming was now gone.I bolted down the field, my feet moving faster than my thoughts—drawn by something deep and instinctive, as if the land itself was calling me home. As I crested the last rise, the sight before me nearly stole the breath from my lungs. Willow Hollow was transformed. Music spilled through the streets, sweet and bright, twining through the air like sunlight. People danced across the cobblestone plaza, laughter rising above the melody. The houses—once battered and broken—stood whole and vibrant, painted in cheerful colors. Everywhere, faces gleamed with joy, and every step was spun with hope. Two children darted past me toward the heart of the celebration. The older girl tugged her brother’s hand, her eyes alight with excitement. “Come on, hurry!” she urged, barely slowing as she pulled him along. “Is that where the music’s coming from?” the boy asked, eyes wide as he tried to keep up. “Is that why everyone’s so happy?” “Hush!” his sister whispered, grinning as she pressed a finger to her lips. “Just listen.” Together, they plunged into the swirl of dancers, laughter and music carrying them forward—while I stood at the edge, feeling at once lost and found, an outsider in the very place that had once been my home. I drifted to the edge of the plaza, pressing myself against the cool stone wall and letting the music wash over me. My gaze found its source—a bard, not much older than me, standing at the center of the celebration. He played with a sort of effortless grace, fingers dancing over the strings as if the instrument were a part of him.
He was striking in a way that made my heart stutter. His hair was short and honey-gold, yet somehow always falling into his eyes. A teal beret sat jauntily atop his head, the color bright against his tousled hair. His tunic was a deep, mossy green, paired with cream trousers that looked well-worn from travel and adventure. It was his eyes that truly caught me. His right eye sparkled like an emerald in sunlight, warm and alive, while his left was the gray of stormy skies—mysterious, unreadable. Each time he smiled at the crowd, I felt a strange flutter in my chest, like the first time I’d ever heard music or seen the sun break through clouds. For a moment, I just watched him—captivated, a little breathless, and wondering how anyone could make the whole world seem to dance with nothing but a song. I couldn’t help but smile a little at the bard—at least someone was bringing light to this day. He caught my gaze, his music faltering for just an instant before he forced his charming mask back into place. “I’m terribly sorry, everyone, but that’s all for now! I’ll be right back,” he called, strumming a final, lingering chord. Instantly, the crowd stilled. The spell of music broke, the dancers dispersing as if returning to some old rhythm, leaving me unexpectedly alone with him. His smile vanished the moment the last villager turned away. Without warning, he crossed the square, seized my wrist, and pulled me into a narrow alley shrouded in shadow. My heart hammered, nerves and something sweeter tangling in my chest as we stopped, hidden from view. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice sharp and low. “You belong in Vildora. Why are you here?” I stared at him, startled. How could he possibly know? “How did you—?” He raked a hand through his messy honey-brown hair, his mismatched eyes flashing. “Simple. We gods—and former gods—can sense the immortal in each other. Like sirens, or nymphs, or… never mind.” He shook his head, hair falling over his forehead. “Just leave, alright?” Annoyance prickled at the edge of my fear. I squared my shoulders, refusing to be dismissed. “You claim to know me, but who are you?” He hesitated, jaw tight. “I’m Mousikí. God of music—or I was. Now, please, just leave me be.” His words hit me like a cold wave. Forá’s threats echoed in my mind: Where is the so-called ‘god of music’? Where are Life and Death, those cowards who locked me away? I lunged forward, catching his wrist before he could retreat. “You don’t understand—Forá has awakened. Vildora… I don’t even know if it’s still standing.” He pulled his arm away, face etched with pain and something like resignation. “Then I’ll stay here,” he muttered. “I’m safer far from her.” “She won’t stop with Vildora!” I cried, desperation sharpening my voice. “The mortal world will be next. I need your help to stop her—curse her again, for good!” Mousikí turned, his expression shadowed, his eyes flickering from emerald to storm gray in the dim light. He hesitated, voice ragged. “I… I can’t. There were three of us, remember?” His words hung between us, heavy as fate. “Geira and Panoúkla…” I whispered, the names tasting bittersweet on my tongue. They had left for their anniversary just two days ago, completely unaware that Forá was now free. But that didn’t matter. “Then we’ll find them,” I said, meeting Mousikí’s uncertain gaze. “We’ll find them both, and together we’ll stop Forá.” Mousikí’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He reached into his pocket and fished out a golden coin, tossing it to me. “There’s an inn two streets over—yellow door, can’t miss it. Get yourself a room. We leave at first light.” He tried to sound casual, but I could hear the weariness—and the hope, buried deep—beneath his words. For the first time since my nightmare, I felt a flicker of determination spark inside me. I closed my fingers around the coin, nodding. “Thank you,” I whispered, and turned, the weight of our new quest settling around my shoulders.
