Prologue: Where the Circus Found Me
Five Years Ago
Unknown forest - Northern British Columbia, Canada
The first thing I feel is the cold. Not just cold—fuck you cold. The kind that feels personal, like the wind knows who I am and has a score to settle. It bites deep, seeps between my limbs, finds every inch of exposed skin and claims it. A hard surface cradles me on all sides, unyielding. Pressing. Digging in like teeth.
I open my eyes. Darkness.
The bark surrounding me pulses faintly. I feel it against my spine, slow and steady. Like breath—but not mine. The air glows with the kind of light you only see through ice. My body is heavy, limp. Limbs poured from stone.
Where the hell am I? ...Who the fuck am I?
The thought hits hard. My mind is empty. Not my name. Not a face. Not even the color of my eyes. Just a gaping void where a life should be. A blank page someone already tried to burn.
Panic slams into me. Breath ragged. Chest tightening. My heart hammers like it’s trying to outrun the body it’s trapped in.
I squeeze my eyes shut and reach inward. A name. A voice. Anything. But all I find is a wall.
And it’s not a metaphor. It’s real.
A slab of seamless black stone in my mind’s eye. Cold and smooth and absolute. I press my thoughts against it. Claw. Scream. Nothing moves. My questions echo back at me, hollow and unanswered.
Who am I? What happened?
No cracks. No door. No hint of light. But behind it, something pulses. Faint and rhythmic. A whisper.
Tay… Tay…
I taste it. Not in my mouth, but deeper. In the marrow. A shape. A name. A signature I was born with.
Is that me?
Something brushes the bark. Fingers. I feel them through the wood, through my skin. The tree shivers. So do I.
Then the world tears open.
The bark splits with the sound of silk ripping in slow motion. Cold air crashes in, sharp and pine-sweet. Light floods my vision, too bright, too much. I hear a voice. Muted. Rough.
“Scheiße. You are someone’s idea of a secret.”
Strong arms catch me as I collapse into the light. Wool and cloth wrap around me, rough against bare skin. I’m trembling. Barely conscious. Dust clings to me like ash. The burning glow behind me dims—but something inside remembers it.
Flashes crack through my mind. Hands, too rough. A voice like thunder, speaking no language I know. Eyes—golden, searing, wrong.
I try to speak. My lips are cracked. My throat raw.
“Golden eyes… don’t let them see me…”
The voice swears again. Softer. Not unkind.
“You have not got any clothes,” he mutters gently. “Bit late for hiding now.”
I hear a click. Mechanical. Then sharper words:
“Master Longwei. You’d better get down here. Found something.”
And then— A presence.
It moves through the dark like it owns the world.
“Not mortal,” says a new voice, low and steady. “Not quite fey, either.”
I can’t see him, but I feel him. His gaze moves over me like fire across paper.
“This does not feel right. She came out of the tree. Bei allen verdammten Göttern.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes. Something pushes from the other side of the wall in my mind. I clutch my skull and cry out. Their voices blur beneath the ringing in my ears. Whimpers escape before I can stop them.
“This was no accident. Someone locked everything away. Everything she is. Someone old. And deliberate.”
I want to run. Scream. Fight. But I can’t move. My body is clay.
“What do we do with her?” the first voice asks, full of gravel and weight.
“We take her. As we always do.”
“Even if it puts us on someone’s map?”
“They cannot find what the earth forgets.”
Warmth coils around me. Not hands—magic. It wraps around my mind like a blanket pulled over a fire. The pressure eases. The wall doesn’t break, but it quiets. Settles. Waits.
A man leans close. His coat brushes my skin. It smells like leather, iron, and campfire.
“Where… am I?” I whisper.
He pauses.
“With us now, Blättlein. Don’t make me regret it.”
I drift. Firelight flickers. Faces blur. Tents pass by in fragments. Someone carries me through a forest of shadows and voices.
“Stars don’t fall without a reason,” someone murmurs. Their voice is smoke and laughter. Masculine, but musical.
Another voice—cooler, sharper—carries disapproval. Red eyes catch mine. He watches me pass. I don’t know why.
They place me in a trailer. The sheets smell like cedar. A hand tucks something beneath my pillow. I want to ask who they are. I can’t.
My eyes close.
And for a moment, I dream of golden leaves. Falling upward.
A voice—feminine, ancient, familiar—echoes through the dark:
The seed born in shadow grows to break the axe or feed the flame. Only it can choose.
Then silence. Heavy. Absolute.
