The fire burned low by midafternoon, its flickering glow barely flickering in the dying light. Despite the slight crackle and smoke rising from the embers, none of them made a move to put it out. The small blaze seemed almost symbolic, a quiet reminder of what had transpired but with no urgency to reignite it or snuff it out. Rylan, sitting close enough to feel its residual warmth, stared intently at the mark he had carved into the cold stone earlier—no, burned into it. The symbol was rough but clear, a sign that betrayed nothing of its fragile, flickering nature. Even as daylight poured over the camp, the sigil somehow retained its faint glow, a soft shimmer of red and orange digesting the sunlight. It looked like a fragment of living flame frozen in time, refusing to fade or vanish. Its glow served as a constant reminder of the powers they had disturbed or awakened, staying stubbornly visible despite the bright sun overhead. Rylan's gaze lingered on it, caught up in the strange allure of that tiny fire shadow.
He could still hear it, echoing at the back of his mind like a ghostly whisper. That name. The voice he'd heard in the chaos of the evening, when the flames had been at their strongest. Veyr. The name pressed deep into his skull, echoing like an echo that refused to fade away. He didn't understand if it was truly him speaking or if there was something else—some unseen presence trapped inside him, trying to claw its way free. The line between his voice and that of the unknown entity blurred, making him question what parts of himself remained intact. Whatever it was, it had stirred now, wide awake and alert. A restless creature that watched his every move, lurking just beneath the surface, silent but always observing. Each passing minute, the feeling of being watched grew heavier, more oppressive, seeping into his bones like cold ash.
Meanwhile, Mira sat nearby, completely silent as she moved her hand across a fresh sheet of parchment. Her fingers worked instinctively, seeming to follow a hidden thread that only she could see, a kind of invisible guide that led her drawing without conscious thought. The sketches she made spilled out quickly—an open tree, its roots tearing through the ground, twisted symbols entwined among the tangled roots, shadows cast across the sky like dark patches sewn into the fabric of daylight. Her sketches grew more frantic and detailed, as if she was trying to capture something vast and unseen. Then, without fully understanding why, she flipped her paper over and grabbed a new sheet. Her hand trembled slightly as she began to draw: a creature. It had long, broken limbs that twisted in unnatural ways, joints that snapped and bent at odd angles. Its eyes shone like hollow lanterns, dull and lifeless, yet filled with a strange, menacing light. The body appeared stitched together from ash, bones, and scraps of dark cloth, a patchwork of decay. Its head lacked a mouth, replaced by a thin, slit seam—an empty scar where a voice might have spoken but never would. She had no idea what this creature was. No name, no story. Only that it was close, too close. She felt its presence hovering just beyond her reach, a shadow lurking at the edge of her mind.
As she continued to draw, her heart quickened with an unsettled mixture of dread and curiosity. The feeling that this creature was nearby, watching her work, grew impossible to ignore. It made her skin crawl. Her hand moved faster now, trying to shape the unnameable thing she sensed in her mind's eye. There was an undeniable urgency, a warning woven into her sketches. Not just that it existed, but that it was coming closer, slipping through the cracks of their fragile defenses.
Lina burst through the trees, breathless and frantic. Her eyes darted around the camp as she hurried toward Ash and Rylan, hands clutching her knees for support. "I felt it," she said urgently, voice trembling. "Something shifted beneath us, deep underground. I could feel it, like the ground sighed and then stilled. The trees, they reacted—like they sensed it too. Something's waking up, or maybe stirring in a way we've never seen before." Her voice was tense with fear but also with a strange hope—hope that they weren't imagining this feeling. "It's not moving on land, not walking, not breathing. But it's waking up from below, like a giant sleeping beast beginning to stir." She paused sharply, eyes fixed on the forest's darkness. "Whatever it is, it's beneath us now. I can feel it—an unseen presence lurking under the roots, waiting." She nodded toward the old basin near the edge of their camp, the cracked stone structure Rylan had drawn symbols on. The crack in the basin's center was wider—more pronounced. It hadn't been like that yesterday. No one had stepped on it or disturbed it in any obvious way, but something had spread across the edges of the crack overnight, as if the ground itself was breaking open beneath their feet.
Varyon knelt silently at the edge of the ancient stone circle, staring intently at the shadows creeping at the verge of his vision. He kept a wary eye on his own shadow—expecting it to retract or shift—yet it stubbornly remained still. The darkness beneath the trees intensified, turning denser, thicker than before, like ink pressed into the soil. It was no longer just shade cast by the trees; it was something darker, more active. He saw movement among the roots—swirling mists, smoky tendrils crawling across the ground with unnatural slitherings. Almost like smoke dragging itself across dirt and stone, alive and restless. He called out sharply, voice low but commanding, "Rylan, you need to see this." The others gathered swiftly, unspoken questions thick in the air now. They moved quietly, eyes fixed on the shifting chaos beneath the trees, feeling an ominous weight hanging over them all.
At the far side of the ruins, something made the air shimmer—distorting the daylight, twisting the space itself. It wasn't heat, nor was it wind; it was a rippling, like the surface of a pond disturbed by an unseen hand. The shimmering flickered and danced, then a form slowly materialized, like water refraction made solid. It stepped through or was somehow formed by the shifting light, emerging tall, thin, wrong—in a way that seemed unearthly. Its limbs were elongated, joints creaking as if they were made from dried wood soaked in blood. The creature's head twitched sharply toward the group, its head turning with unsettling precision. It didn't walk toward them, though—more like it bent from some unseen hinge, awkward and stiff. Its eyes, if they could be called that, glowed with a hollow, faintly menacing light like lanterns filled with darkness. It paused, just out of reach yet clearly aware of them all, studying them with an eerie stillness. Ash muttered under his breath, "That's the thing from Mira's sketch." His voice shook slightly, a mix of fear and awe.
Mira didn't answer, her focus fixed on her trembling hands as she drew again, trying to capture what her eyes saw but her mind couldn't wholly understand. Her breath caught as she sketched faster, trying to immortalize the shape, the form, the feeling of it. The unknown creature didn't walk—no, it bent, like a puppet with broken strings. Its joints squeaked and cracked, as if rusted and soaked in blood. Its head kept twitching toward them, like a predator measuring its prey, but it held back. It hadn't moved any closer, yet the threat in its presence was undeniable. Rylan took a hesitant step forward, instinct driving him. The book on his hip suddenly felt burning hot against his side, and the strange symbol on his palm began to pulse with an unnatural glow. It was as if an unseen force responded to his growing courage—or perhaps his recklessness. The creature paused again, then, in a blink, it vanished—disappeared without a sound, like it was never there. Gone as quickly as it had appeared, returning to the darkness from which it came.
Silence descended on the camp, thick and heavy. No one spoke immediately, all eyes still fixed on where the creature had been. Then Ash broke the quiet with a low, shaken voice. "What… what the hell was that?" He looked around, searching their faces for answers no one possessed. Rylan's heart hammered in his chest, yet he found he couldn't answer. Instead, a cold whisper stirred inside him—the same flicker of flame that had burned low all afternoon. It whispered, not with a name this time, but with a warning: They have seen you now. The unspoken truth hung in the air—something awakened, something they couldn't control anymore. Whatever that creature was, whatever power it carried, had shifted everything between them. And now, as the shadows lengthened, they understood that their battle was only just beginning.