That Fateful Day

The forest felt alive tonight. Finn couldn’t quite explain it, but every crack of a branch and whisper of the wind held something more, as if the trees themselves had secrets they were aching to share. He moved with a mixture of caution and urgency, his boots crunching softly against the mossy ground. The lantern swinging in his hand cast golden beams that cut through the dark like threads, chasing shadows that slipped just beyond reach.

He should’ve been asleep; in fact, his body begged for it after travelling for days alone. The Sinclairs had been kind enough to give him a place to stay—a reprieve from the torment he'd endured for the first fifteen years of his life—but something had tugged him from bed and out into the woods. A pull he couldn’t ignore.

A storm had rolled in earlier, brief and wild, and afterward, the air smelled of wet earth and pine. James Sinclair had mentioned the youngest daughter—Triona—had wandered off before the rain. They assumed she’d return soon, but hours had passed, and Finn noticed Ellen Sinclair’s quiet worry beneath her composed demeanor.

When James reluctantly set out to search for her, Finn volunteered, his voice firm despite not understanding why he cared so much. He hadn’t met her. He barely knew this family. And yet…

The pull. It had grown stronger with every step he took into the woods, a persistent hum in his chest. It was as if his body knew something he didn’t, like a string tied to his ribs was guiding him somewhere, drawing him toward her.

“Triona,” he called, his voice steady but quiet, not wanting to startle her. The name felt unfamiliar yet comfortable on his tongue, as though he’d been saying it his whole life.

The woods didn’t answer.

Finn pressed deeper into the trees, the underbrush growing thicker. He ignored the sting of branches that scratched against his hands and face. His pulse quickened. She had to be out here. She had to be.

Then he saw it—a flicker of movement just ahead. He froze. His breath caught in his throat as he raised the lantern higher, the light dancing over a tangle of roots and rocks. There she was.

A girl, no older than eleven or tweleve, sat huddled beneath the broad arms of an ancient oak. Her dark hair clung to her face, damp from rain and tears, and her small frame shivered beneath a thin shawl. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering in the lantern light, a mixture of fear and curiosity etched across her pale face.

For a moment, Finn couldn’t move. Time itself seemed to pause.

Her.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. It was her. She was the reason he’d left the Sinclair house tonight, the reason his feet had carried him into the woods without question. A warmth spread through his chest, unfamiliar and overwhelming.

“Are ye Triona?” he asked softly, his voice steady despite the strange pounding in his ears.

She nodded, but didn’t speak, her small hands clutching the fabric of her dress.

Finn crouched, setting the lantern on the ground beside him, the golden light illuminating them both. “Yer family’s worried about ye. I’ll take ye back, aye?”

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze flicking to the ground. “I got lost,” she whispered finally, her voice so soft he had to lean closer to hear. “The storm came, and I… I didn’t know where to go.”

Finn smiled gently, though he doubted she could see it in the dim light. “It happens to the best of us,” he said, his tone warm. “But ye don’t have to worry now. I’ll get ye home.”

He reached out his hand to her, his heart thundering for reasons he couldn’t quite name. The moment his fingers brushed hers, it happened.

A jolt shot through him, not painful but powerful, like lightning splitting the air in a summer storm. Finn gasped, his body stiffening as heat and light surged through his veins. His heart raced, not from fear but from something deeper, something primal.

He felt… alive. Truly alive.

Images flashed in his mind—fleeting and fragmented, like dreams he couldn’t hold on to. A smile that wasn’t hers yet felt like it should be. Laughter that echoed through a time he hadn’t lived. A touch that he knew as surely as his own name.

Her.

Triona flinched slightly, her small hand pulling back, but her eyes never left his. If she felt what he had, she didn’t show it.

“Are ye all right?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Finn blinked, shaking his head to clear the haze. “Aye,” he said, though his voice was rougher than he intended. “I’m all right.”

He helped her to her feet, her hand still fitting so small and delicate in his. For a moment, he didn’t let go, afraid that whatever had just happened might slip away if he did. But when she looked up at him, a shy, uncertain smile breaking through her fear, he knew it wouldn’t.

It couldn’t.

The pull was still there, stronger than ever, binding him to her in ways he didn’t yet understand. But he would. One day, he would.

For now, he focused on guiding her back through the woods, his lantern lighting the path ahead.

“Finn,” she said softly as they walked.

He glanced down at her, his brows lifting in question.

“Thank ye,” she whispered, her voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck something deep within him.

Finn didn’t respond right away. He simply nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest smile.

As they stepped out of the woods and into the open fields, the Sinclair house glowing warmly in the distance, Finn felt the pull settle into something quieter but no less certain.

He didn’t know what it meant yet, but he knew one thing for sure. Whatever this was—whatever she was—it had changed him.

Forever.