The deeper Mike walked into the forest, the quieter the world became.
Not silent—no, silence would have been a comfort. This was the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears. Like a weight. Like the hush before a storm.
The moss glowed faintly beneath his feet, tracing a path through trees that seemed to lean in as he passed, their branches curling like watchful fingers. Aero stirred occasionally in the crook of his arm, her tiny talons twitching in dream. Her breathing was steady, but something about the woods made Mike hold her a little closer.
The path curved sharply downward, leading to a rocky slope that opened into a wide valley. As Mike crested the ridge, he stopped in his tracks.
Below him lay a vast, still lake covered in a thick layer of fog—dense and unmoving, like a living blanket draped across the water. The mist pulsed faintly with a silver glow, almost matching the skyless shimmer overhead. No waves. No wind. Just stillness.
And yet… the moment Mike laid eyes on it, the sensation returned.
That tickling on the back of his neck.
He wasn't alone.
He crouched low behind a fallen log and scanned the shoreline. Nothing moved. No birds. No insects. No signs of life. The only sound was the faint echo of his own breath—and somewhere, buried in the fog, the faintest ringing sound, like chimes caught beneath water.
Aero stirred. Her black-as-silk feathers puffed slightly, and she let out a single, low whistle.
Mike gently set her down on a patch of moss near the log and crept forward.
The trail led straight to the water's edge.
A narrow wooden dock jutted out from the shore, ancient and rotting, its boards covered in glowing green lichen. A small boat, barely more than a carved hollow of wood, bobbed at the end of it—untouched by ripples, tethered by a thick, twisted vine instead of rope.
He didn't like this.
Everything about the lake felt wrong.
But the moss still glowed, leading him forward.
He stepped carefully onto the dock. The boards creaked, but the lake remained undisturbed. When he reached the boat, he knelt to inspect it. The interior was bone dry. A wooden pole—possibly for steering—lay beside it. Strange symbols had been carved into the hull, their meaning lost to time.
Then he heard it.
A whisper—faint, melodic, and not in any language he knew. It came from the lake, from the fog itself.
Mike leaned out over the water.
The surface was like glass—still and perfect—but something moved beneath it. A shadow. Long and slow.
He stumbled back just as the whisper changed.
It wasn't a language.
It was a song.
Soft, sad, and slow. Like a lullaby sung by someone who had forgotten the words.
Mike's breath caught. Something about it tugged at him—not just at his ears, but at his thoughts. His memories. His pain. Images flashed in his mind: Jake's broken stare, his mother's tired eyes, the weight of never being enough.
He shook his head, clutching the amulet around his neck.
The moment his fingers touched it, the fog pulsed—and the song stopped.
The lake went dead silent.
Then the whisper returned, harsher now. Closer.
"Speaker…"
Mike spun around. The voice had come from behind him—but no one was there.
The dock groaned under his feet.
Something moved in the water.
"Return what was taken…"
Mike backed toward shore, eyes scanning the mist. Aero stood now at the edge of the moss, alert. Her baby feathers bristled, and her wings flared slightly—still small, still healing, but ready.
A figure appeared on the far side of the lake.
At first, Mike thought it was a trick of the light, but no—it stood tall, cloaked in shadow, with a crooked staff in one hand. The fog swirled around it like it was breathing it in and out. Its face was obscured by a deep hood, but Mike could feel its gaze.
It didn't move.
Mike didn't wait.
He scooped up Aero and ran.
The moss lit his way again, flaring brighter the faster he moved. Branches whipped past his face. He didn't look back.
Not until he was safely over the ridge again.
When he turned, the lake was gone.
No valley. No fog. Just forest.
Like it had never been there at all.
Mike stood there, panting, clutching Aero to his chest, his mind racing.
That had been real.
And it—whatever it was—knew who he was.