The forest grew darker as they ventured deeper into Nytherys. The air itself felt thick, like wading through an unseen current, each step heavier than the last. The trees twisted unnaturally, their bark appearing more like stretched skin than wood. Shadows flickered at the edges of their vision, vanishing when looked at directly.
Zaedric gripped Lyria's hand tightly. She had stopped talking, her usually curious eyes now filled with unease. Deyvar led the way, his blade drawn, his every movement tense and watchful.
"Stay close," Deyvar muttered. His voice was low, but in the stillness of the forest, it carried clearly. "The rules here are different."
Zaedric frowned. "What do you mean?"
Deyvar slowed his pace slightly. "Time doesn't move the same in Nytherys. Neither do we." He gestured toward the ground. "Notice anything strange?"
Zaedric looked down. At first, nothing seemed unusual. The leaves crunched beneath his boots, the roots snaked across the earth then he saw it. Their footprints. They weren't behind them. In fact, there were none at all.
He stopped walking, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Where are our tracks?"
Deyvar exhaled sharply. "They disappear the moment we move forward."
Zaedric turned, searching for a sign of their path. Nothing. Just endless, shifting darkness. "What happens if we turn back?"
Deyvar's grip tightened on his blade. "Then we might never leave."
A shudder ran through Zaedric, but he pushed the fear aside. He glanced at Lyria, who clung to his arm, wide-eyed but silent. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "We keep going," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
They pressed forward, the landscape warping around them. Time stretched, minutes feeling like hours, or perhaps the other way around. The deeper they went, the more distorted reality became.
Then, a sound. Not a whisper like before this was different. A low, resonant hum, vibrating through the trees. It came from ahead, pulsing like a heartbeat in the very earth beneath them.
Deyvar halted. "We're close."
Zaedric peered through the twisted branches. A faint glow shimmered in the distance, its light reflecting off the warped trunks. Unlike the eerie, unnatural darkness of the forest, this glow felt… familiar.
Hopeful.
"What is that?" Zaedric whispered.
Deyvar exhaled slowly. "A doorway."
Zaedric's pulse quickened. A way out? Or something else?
As they stepped closer, the glow intensified, revealing a break in the trees. Beyond it, the forest was… different. Still strange, still unnatural, but lighter. Less suffocating. The hum grew louder, vibrating through their very bones.
Zaedric hesitated at the threshold, his body screaming caution. Something about this place felt pivotal, like a point of no return.
Deyvar met his gaze. "Once we cross, there's no telling what we'll find."
Zaedric swallowed hard. He looked down at Lyria, her small face half-hidden in the folds of his cloak. Then back at Deyvar.
And without another word, he stepped through.
The moment Zaedric stepped through the threshold, the air shifted. It was subtle at first, a prickling sensation along his skin, a faint hum in his ears but as the others followed, the change became undeniable. The oppressive weight of the forest lessened, replaced by something equally unsettling. The glow that had guided them here now flickered like a dying ember, casting long, wavering shadows.
Lyria clung to Zaedric's arm, her fingers tightening with every step. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, though his own resolve wavered. Deyvar moved cautiously, his gaze darting between the shifting trees, his blade still drawn.
"This place…" Lyria whispered. "It feels… wrong."
Zaedric nodded, though he couldn't quite explain why. The trees here weren't twisted like the ones before, but they seemed to watch them, their leaves rustling without wind. The ground beneath them was solid, yet it seemed to pulse as if alive.
Then the whispering began.
Faint at first, like the rustling of distant voices carried on the wind. Words that didn't quite form, syllables on the edge of understanding. Zaedric tensed, his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade.
Deyvar took a slow step forward, his expression grim. "We are not alone."
From the trees, the figures emerged.
They were shadowed things, not fully formed, their features obscured by shifting darkness. Yet their eyes burned with recognition, as if they knew who Zaedric and his companions were. They moved without sound, gliding over the forest floor, watching, waiting.
Zaedric swallowed hard. "What do they want?"
Deyvar didn't answer. Instead, he raised his blade, a silent challenge. The figures didn't react. They merely observed, their whispering intensifying.
Then, as if responding to an unseen signal, they began to circle.
Zaedric pulled Lyria closer, his heart pounding. The figures did not lunge, did not strike, they merely surrounded them, trapping them within their eerie presence.
A voice, deeper than the whispers, cut through the air. "You seek the truth."
Zaedric's breath hitched. The voice was not spoken aloud, it resonated within his mind, pressing against his thoughts like an invading force. He clenched his teeth, refusing to respond, but the voice continued.
"You walk the path of the lost. The cursed."
Lyria whimpered, burying her face in his side. Deyvar stiffened but did not waver.
The figures stopped moving. The forest fell silent, the air thick with expectation.
Zaedric forced himself to speak. "Who are you?"
The figures tilted their heads in eerie unison. "We are the echoes of what was. The remnants of those who dared to tread where you now stand."
A cold dread settled in Zaedric's gut. "And what happened to them?"
The whispering resumed, a chorus of voices overlapping, indistinct until one rose above the others.
"They did not leave."
The glow flickered one last time and went out.
Darkness consumed them.