Chapter 24- The Start of the End.

The festival roared.

Drums thudded like soft thunder. Laughter rolled like waves. The singing of the five masked women—beautiful, strange, layered in folklore—rang out in vibrant harmony.

But not for him.

Ydoc stood outside Lucy's tent, his arms tightly crossed, the wilted rose clenched in one pale hand like a relic pulled from a ruined shrine. He hadn't realized how hard he was holding it until his fingers ached.

The tent behind him was quiet. Abandoned. Not even a single footprint remained in the dust, as if Lucy had evaporated into myth, leaving only the scent of faded perfume and a crumpled corner of her bedroll.

And the feeling—

That feeling.

Like something watching him between the beats of time.

It wasn't fear. Not yet.

But something like it.

A nagging wrongness. Like a thread inside him was being slowly pulled, unwinding something he had worked hard to forget.

He stepped away from the tent flap, his eyes scanning the crowd—but the laughter blurred, and the singing became too distant, too hollow.

His boots kicked through patchy grass and crumbs of sweetbread, weaving behind the haybale rows now stacked into half-moon seating around the main festival stage.

A child bumped into him.

“Sorry!” she said, holding a star-shaped snack. She smiled brightly, ran off.

But Ydoc didn’t smile back. He only nodded, his face unmoved.

Because that feeling was still there.

Something was off.
Lucy was gone.
And Edwards… had said he would be nearby, hadn’t he? He always made a show of things.

Where was the flamboyant voice? The swinging scarf? The scent of wine and old soap?

Ydoc slipped behind the furthest rows of haybales, sticking to the shadows—his head low, his steps careful.

A breeze passed over the Divide.

The voices of the girls filled the air again—haunting and layered, like they were singing from two planes at once.

But behind the joy, something crawled.

A whisper without words.
A thrum beneath the soil.
The kind of tension that sets birds to flight just before the lightning strikes.

Ydoc looked for Edwards among the crowds. A flash of a tail? A familiar coat?
Nothing.

He scanned for any familiar face, any vendor, any actor who might have seen Lucy last—

But everyone was engrossed in the show. Or pretending to be.

Even the elders had turned to watch, hands clasped as if in prayer.
Even the drunkards had quieted, swaying with mouths open.

Too still.
Too quiet.

The song changed tempo.

The voice of the Ringmaster echoed out like a clap of thunder, piercing through the blissful fog:

"AND NOW…"
"THE FINAL ACT—"

Ydoc ducked behind a tall haystack, his breath catching—

And from that hiding place… he noticed something strange.

In the shadow of the seats.
Near the edge of the theater grounds.
Just past the wagon draped in colorful lanterns—

A tall figure standing motionless.

Not dancing.
Not clapping.
Not watching the show at all.

Just staring.

At him.