Lucid

PROLOGUE

"This is as far as I go, sadly," the old man chuckled, his gnarled hands gripping the steering wheel as he brought the sedan to a stop by an intricately woven archway. Gravel and dirt crunched beneath the tyres, the sound magnified in the stillness. He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his weathered face deepening with a knowing smile. "Remind me again, lass, what brings you looking for Chlaigen? That village's been tucked away beneath those mountains for a reason."

I offered him a polite smile. "My grandmother lives there. She left the city years ago—said it was too much noise for her."

Mr. McLoughlin's eyes lingered, his smile softening as he nodded. "Aye, some folks are better off away from it all. God blessed me with a farm and a good family. Life's been simple, but I wouldn't trade it."

Sensing the conversation drifting into personal reflection, I interrupted gently, "Thank you again, Mr. McLoughlin, for driving me this far. It's a long way up."

He hesitated, his gaze still fixed on me through the mirror. "Not many round these parts are fond of strangers. Especially the young ones—reckon they're up to no good. Be careful, Miss. I'll be back by noon on Monday."

I stepped out of the car, hoisting my satchel over my shoulder, feeling the weight of his words settle in. "Thanks again," I called after him as the sedan reversed, the road disappearing into the distance along with the comforting sound of its engine.

Now alone, I turned toward the archway, a tunnel of twisted branches barely wide enough for two people to walk through side by side. The path beyond was overgrown, leading into a dense forest that climbed toward the mountains. Somewhere ahead, hidden in the shadows of the peaks, lay Chlaigen.

I took a breath, the cool mountain air filling my lungs, and started walking. The hike was longer than I'd expected—steep inclines, loose rocks, and crumbling stone steps that spoke of a once-well-travelled path now forgotten. The occasional rusted sign pointed the way, though time had stripped most of them bare.

By the time I reached the crest of the hill, the sight before me was enough to take my breath away. Nestled in the valley, Chlaigen looked like something pulled from another time, another world. A massive, polished wooden archway stood at the village's entrance, gleaming under the fading sunlight. Brick paths wound through the town, lined with wildflowers that seemed to have claimed the land. At the village's heart, an ancient tree loomed, its gnarled roots dipping into a creek that split the town in two.

The buildings themselves were a patchwork of asymmetry—crooked rooftops, uneven chimneys. Taverns, homes, and shops lined the winding streets, all constructed in a style that felt both familiar and otherworldly. The scene was picturesque, but a strange unease hung in the air, something that whispered beneath the village's rustic charm.

The sun dipped behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the village as the warm glow of street lamps and fairy lights flickered to life. I pulled my hood tighter around my head and descended the last of the steps, passing beneath the archway just as twilight fell.

The nearest tavern caught my eye—a sign swinging in the breeze, its faded letters spelling out: The Lone Willow. I scraped the mud from my boots and stepped inside.

The interior was exactly what I'd imagined: worn wooden benches, roughly carved tables, and the heavy scent of smoke and ale. Behind the counter, a barkeep with a white beard leaned against the bar, his eyes narrowing as he noticed me. A few older men puffed quietly on their pipes, their conversation halting as I entered.

I kept my head low and approached the bar. The barkeep's gaze followed my every step. "Evenin', lass. What can I do for ya?"

"I'm looking for a bookstore," I said softly.