Chapter 2: Secrets Beneath the Surface

The morning sun barely pierced through the heavy mist that clung to the village. Bleddyn awoke with the remnants of uneasy dreams still swirling in his mind. His thoughts immediately returned to Bernyce—the mysterious woman who had captured his attention in the briefest of moments the day before. He dressed quickly, driven by a need to understand the strange feeling of familiarity she had stirred within him.

The village was quiet, save for the occasional sound of a distant hammer or the soft murmur of conversation. Bleddyn walked toward the well where he had first seen her, his eyes scanning the fog-covered streets for any sign of her. Yet, as he wandered the village, it felt as though she had vanished as mysteriously as she had appeared.

Determined, he approached a small shop where an elderly woman was tending to baskets of herbs. Her hands worked with the practiced ease of someone who had done the task a thousand times over.

“Excuse me,” Bleddyn said, his voice gentle, not wanting to startle her. “I’m looking for someone—a woman named Bernyce. Do you know where I might find her?”

The woman paused, her hands stilling for a moment before she glanced up at him with sharp, knowing eyes. “Bernyce, you say? You’re not the first to come looking for her, you know.”

Bleddyn’s brow furrowed. “Others have asked about her?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze returning to her herbs. “Oh, over the years, yes. She’s been here longer than anyone can recall. Some say she’s been here for generations, though she looks not a day older than when she first arrived.”

Bleddyn’s heart raced. “What do you mean? She doesn’t age?”

The woman shrugged as if the matter were of little concern to her. “Stories, rumors… people talk. But I’ve seen her come and go for as long as I’ve lived, and she hasn’t changed one bit. There’s a reason the village doesn’t ask too many questions about her.”

“Where does she live?” Bleddyn asked, his curiosity too great to hold back.

The old woman sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Out by the woods, at the edge of the village. You’ll find her cottage there, though I wouldn’t go knocking unless you’re prepared for answers you might not like.”

Bleddyn thanked her and left the shop, the woman’s words echoing in his mind. What did she mean, answers he might not like? He couldn’t help but feel that the truth about Bernyce was far more complex than he had imagined.

The forest loomed ahead as he walked toward the edge of the village, the trees standing tall and silent like sentinels guarding some forgotten secret. The path leading into the woods felt strangely familiar, as though he had walked it many times before, though he knew that was impossible. Still, with every step, a sense of anticipation grew within him, as though something long hidden was waiting to be revealed.

As he neared the edge of the forest, he saw it—a small, stone cottage, partially hidden by vines and overgrown foliage. It looked old, far older than any building he had seen in the village, yet well-kept, as though someone had lived there for centuries, tending to it with care. The windows were dark, and there was no sign of movement inside.

Bleddyn hesitated for a moment, standing at the edge of the clearing, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but something inside him pushed him forward, toward the door. He knocked gently, the sound echoing unnaturally in the stillness of the forest.

Moments passed, and he thought perhaps no one was home. But then, the door creaked open, and there stood Bernyce. Her expression was unreadable, her dark eyes studying him intently. For a moment, neither spoke, the air thick with unspoken tension.

“You’ve come looking for answers,” Bernyce finally said, her voice soft but steady.

Bleddyn nodded, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know what it is about this place or about you, but… I feel like I’ve been here before. Like I’ve known you for longer than just yesterday.”

Bernyce’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, perhaps, or sadness—but she quickly masked it. She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. “Come inside. There are things you need to know, but I’m not sure you’re ready to hear them.”

Bleddyn stepped into the cottage, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The interior was sparse but comfortable, with simple wooden furniture and a fireplace that crackled softly, casting a warm glow across the room. He noticed small, unusual trinkets scattered around—a dried sprig of herbs here, an old, weathered book there. Each item seemed to carry a history of its own.

Bernyce gestured for him to sit by the fire. She sat across from him, her gaze unwavering. “This village holds many secrets, Bleddyn. Some of them have been forgotten, while others are still very much alive.”

He leaned forward, his heart pounding. “You know who I am, don’t you? This isn’t just a coincidence, is it?”

Bernyce hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of a small silver pendant around her neck. “You remind me of someone. Someone I lost a long time ago. But I don’t know if it’s truly you, or just the shadow of a memory.”

“Who was he?” Bleddyn asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She looked into the fire, her expression distant, as though lost in another time. “He was a scholar, like you. Curious, kind… and he sought answers about this place, just as you do. But he never left.”

Bleddyn’s blood ran cold. “What happened to him?”

Bernyce’s voice softened, her words heavy with sorrow. “He stayed too long. He dug too deep. Some things are not meant to be uncovered, and the spirits that dwell here… they have a way of binding themselves to those who seek them.”

Bleddyn felt a strange chill settle over him, but at the same time, he felt an undeniable pull toward her. “And you… what are you?”

She met his gaze, her dark eyes full of pain and longing. “I am not what I once was, Bleddyn. I’ve lived many lives, and in each one, I have waited. For him. For you.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Bleddyn’s mind raced with questions, but one thing became clear: whatever Bernyce was, their fates were entwined in ways he had yet to fully understand.

“I don’t know what this all means,” he finally said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I’m not leaving. Not until I know the truth.”

Bernyce looked at him for a long moment, and then she nodded, her expression resigned. “Very well, Bleddyn. But remember this—sometimes the truth is not a gift. It is a burden.”

With that, the fire crackled louder, as if the flames themselves were whispering secrets long forgotten. The journey that Bleddyn had begun was no longer just his own. It was theirs, bound by a past neither could fully remember, but which would soon come to claim them both.