The city never slept.

Gears turned beneath its streets, towers ticked with mechanical precision, and even the wind seemed measured, regulated by unseen systems that kept everything in motion.

Nothing was left to chance.

Especially not magic.

Lio had heard the stories anyway.

The lake only appeared at dusk.

Travelers spoke of it in uncertain terms, some claimed it reflected the sky before it changed, others said it showed things that had not yet happened. Most dismissed it as a trick of fading light.

Elin did not.

She had followed the map precisely: three days along the ridge, past the broken birch, and into the valley where no birds sang. By the time she reached the clearing, the sun had already begun to fall.

The forest had a way of keeping secrets.

Mist hung low between the trees, weaving through ancient trunks like a living thing. Nothing entered this place by accident, or so the wolf believed.

He had watched the forest longer than he could remember. Seasons shifted, rivers changed course, and creatures came and went, but he remained. Silent. Patient. A guardian, though no one had ever named him as such.

At the edge of Silverwood Forest, where the trees grew tall and the light filtered through in soft, shifting patterns, there lived a unicorn no one ever saw.

Her name was Lira.

The villagers spoke of her in passing, usually in the same way they spoke of the wind – something that was there, but never quite within reach. Some said she only appeared at dawn. Others believed she could only be seen by those who weren’t looking for her at all.