Chapter 3 THE UNSEEN ECHOES

The air in Eldermoor grew colder as Clara stood frozen in the village square, the egg in her hands now a beacon of pulsing blue light. The shell had cracked so much that she could see glimpses of what lay inside-a swirling, shimmering mass that seemed to hum with an energy she couldn't comprehend. The villagers' murmurs had turned to shouts of panic as the Eldermoor River continued to rise, its waters lapping at the edges of the village.

The shadowy shapes Thom had seen were closer now, their forms barely discernible through the churning waves, but their presence sent a chill down Clara's spine. "Clara, we can't wait any longer!" Harrow's voice cut through the chaos, his hand gripping her shoulder. "You have to decide-now!" She looked at him, then at the egg, her mind racing. The prophecy, the fractures, the shadowy figures-it was too much, too fast. But the weight of the egg in her hands felt like the weight of the entire village, and she knew Harrow was right. There was no running from this. With a shaky breath, she nodded. "Okay. Let's open it." Harrow's expression was a mix of relief and dread. He gestured for the crowd to step back, though most were already fleeing toward higher ground, their voices a cacophony of fear. Thom lingered nearby, his young face pale but determined, clutching a small slingshot as if it could protect him from whatever was coming. Clara knelt by the oak tree, placing the egg gently on the ground. The blue light illuminated the roots, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters. Harrow knelt beside her, his leather book open to the prophecy page. "The last time this happened," he said quietly, "the one who opened the egg... they didn't survive the surge of power. But they saved the village. If you do this, Clara, you need to be ready for what comes next." Clara's throat tightened, but she pushed the fear down. "I'm ready," she lied, her fingers hovering over the egg. The shell was so fragile now that a single touch might shatter it completely. She hesitated, her heart pounding, then pressed her palm against the largest crack. The egg exploded into light. A blinding flash erupted, forcing Clara to shield her eyes. The ground beneath her shuddered, and a sound like a thousand whispers filled the air-soft at first, then growing into a deafening roar. The villagers screamed, and Clara felt Harrow's hand on her arm, steadying her as the light began to fade. When she opened her eyes, the egg was gone, its shell reduced to dust that shimmered faintly on the ground. In its place hovered a small, glowing orb, no larger than a child's fist, its surface rippling like liquid glass. The whispers seemed to come from it, a chorus of voices speaking in a language Clara didn't understand. "What... what is it?" Thom's voice trembled as he stepped closer, his slingshot forgotten in his hand. Harrow's eyes were wide, his voice barely a whisper. "It's an echo. A piece of the past, trapped in the egg all these years. The prophecy said the egg would hold the key... this must be it." Clara reached out, her fingers brushing the orb. It was warm, like the egg had been, but the moment she touched it, the whispers stopped-and a vision flooded her mind. She gasped, her vision blurring as images flashed before her: a village on fire, the river swallowing homes, shadowy figures rising from the water, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. And at the center of it all, a woman, her face streaked with ash, holding an egg just like the one Clara had found. The woman's voice echoed in Clara's head: *"The fractures will return. Only the chosen can mend them."* The vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Clara gasping for air. She stumbled back, her hands trembling. "I saw... I saw the past," she stammered. "A woman-she looked like me. She was trying to stop this, a hundred years ago." Harrow nodded grimly. "That'd be Lila Hensley. Your great-great-grandmother. She was the last one chosen by the egg. Looks like the prophecy runs in your blood." Before Clara could process that, a piercing scream cut through the air. She turned toward the river, where the water had now breached the village's edge, flooding the lower streets. The shadowy figures were emerging-tall, humanoid shapes made of water and darkness, their forms shifting and rippling as they moved. Their glowing eyes locked onto Clara, and a low, guttural sound emanated from them, like a growl carried on the wind. "They're coming for the echo," Harrow said, his voice urgent. "We need to protect it, Clara. If they get it, the fractures will spread-they'll tear Eldermoor apart." Clara scooped the orb into her hands, its warmth spreading through her palms. The whispers started again, softer this time, guiding her. She didn't understand the words, but she felt their meaning: *Run. Hide. Learn.* The orb was the key, just as Harrow had said, but she didn't yet know how to use it-and the creatures from the river weren't going to give her time to figure it out. "Thom, get the others to safety!" Clara shouted, her voice steadier than she felt. The boy nodded, sprinting off to herd the remaining villagers toward the hills. Clara turned to Harrow. "Where do we go?" Harrow pointed north, toward the old mill at the edge of the village. "There's a cellar there-used to be a hiding spot during the last fracture. We can hole up, figure out what the echo wants you to do." They ran, the orb clutched to Clara's chest, its light dimming as if sensing the danger. The shadowy creatures moved faster now, their forms gliding over the flooded ground with unnatural speed. Clara's lungs burned as she and Harrow reached the mill, its weathered wooden door hanging ajar. They slipped inside, barricading the door with an old crate, and descended into the damp, musty cellar. In the darkness, the orb's faint glow was their only light. Clara sat against the stone wall, catching her breath, while Harrow rifled through his book for answers. The whispers from the orb grew louder again, and Clara closed her eyes, trying to listen. The voice of Lila Hensley echoed in her mind once more: *"The fractures are alive. They feed on fear. You must face them... or they will consume you."* Clara opened her eyes, her resolve hardening. Whatever these fractures were, whatever the echo needed her to do, she would face it. For Eldermoor. For her family. For herself. Above them, the mill's floorboards creaked, and the guttural growl of the shadowy creatures filled the air. They were here.