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The thought seduces me.

But there must still be a spark within me, something buried deep and eager to spring to life, like the coals in my fireplace. It roars into existence at the mere thought of extinction, catching and growing and giving strength to my limbs.

It is not in me to give up.

Pushing aside the feeling of unease, I stand, wincing at the stiffness. The pouring rain has leached all the warmth from my body. I won’t last out here long, but all I need to do is put one foot in front of the other.

I hesitate, unsure of which direction I should go: back to home and hatred, or forward on a doomed endeavor?

The clamor of a mighty wind rolls through the forest again, stronger this time. The rain stops. Several great cracking noises cackle nearby, and my breaths come in sharp gasps. Something large must be pushing through the trees. I turn my back on Utsanek. Whatever comes, I will meet it head on.

Tremors course through my limbs as I wend between the pale tree trunks. The tumult of the approaching calamity makes it difficult to think, but that spark within me has been lit, and it drives me forward with burning insistence.

Dimly, I notice that my circle of vision remains constant, like a protective orb around me. Like I carry a lantern. My eyes test the limits of my sight, and I am alarmed to find I can see where the snaking tendrils of darkness, like wisps of ebony-colored smoke, end. They reach out toward me, desperate to claim me. But they are unable to reach their target.

How?

The uproar is on top of me, and the thick trees sway. An explosive sound rends the air, and I throw myself forward just in time to avoid the crushing impact of the gigantic, cage-like crown of a tree. Adrenaline flooding my veins, I flip to face the obscured sky and scramble backward until I come into contact with something cold, hard. Immovable. A rock face, or a very large boulder, at least. I feel along it with soggy hands, not daring to take my eyes from the danger above, until I come across a slight depression in its side, big enough to curve around me. Really, a poor excuse for a shelter, but it reaches ever so slightly overhead in such a way it might provide protection if another tree should be snapped in two above me.

My fingernails bite into my shins. I stare out wildly into the ghostly hurricane, waiting to see ... what?

The Shrouded?

Childhood frightfables are not supposed to come true.

As suddenly as the wind and the creaking and cracking began, it ceases. It becomes impossible to hear anything beyond my own heartbeat. My eyes strain. The little bubble of light remains intact around me, but the darkness beyond it thickens like tar.

No sooner has the pounding retreated from my ears than a heavy thumping emanates from the night. Slow and rhythmic, it advances nearer. Footfalls.

My exhausted brain struggles to grasp at a logical conclusion. It has passed the point of fear and entered into a realm of disbelief. The solas and the kaligorven aren’t even supposed to be real. None of this is supposed to happen.

As I shiver and hug myself in the cleft of the rock, surrounded by a strange halo of darkness-repelling light, my head screams in denial. I am watching this happen to someone else, not me. Some other poor soul huddles at the threshold of death.

The footfalls halt, and intense silence descends. Something must have happened to my hearing. I force myself to scan the concave wall of shifting darkness. My eyes dart to the left, a subtle movement calling for my attention. A shape pushes through the blackened barrier. A deformed, clawed shape enrobed in inky tatters of shadow, conjured out of the darkness itself.

Panic returns in full measure. I open my mouth to scream, but there is no sound.

A leg, bent at the joint. A shoulder. And the looming outline of a hulking, crouched creature.

The nightmare is interrupted by a thing absurd and foreign and wonderful. A timid, lilting melody pierces the air. Sweet and sad but permeating the roots of my terror. The veiled being freezes in place. The song persists, growing stronger and clearer. It is a warm, bright sound, and I can feel it pouring into me like warm honey, drop by drop, note by note.

Somehow, I know the song. I can sense which notes come next, like they spring from my own soul. And I know if I sing it, the kaligorva will flee.

If only I could recall the words, I could join in too.

But Ido.

They well up within and find my tongue. My lungs, which had refused to utter a sound, now fill themselves and give power to the haunting, hopeful refrain that feels as though it has always been inside me.

My eyes have seen a glim’ring beam

Piercing through doomed bracken’s core,

And although it has made my heart to hope,

I fear I shall see it no more.

The ténesomni shudders as my voice, timorous at first, rises to join the melody of the first singer. With each word, courage blooms, and my tone becomes steady and pure.