The wind howled like a grieving widow through the trees that night.
Somewhere deep within Ember Hollow, the old chapel bell tolled twelve times—then once more.
Thirteen.
No one had heard thirteen chimes in over a hundred years. No one alive, at least.
Isla Blackwood huddled beneath her bedcovers, the edges clutched in white-knuckled fists. Rain lashed the window. The candle she left burning flickered violently, then died. Shadows stretched across the floorboards like creeping fingers.
And then came the scream.
Her mother's scream.
It wasn't the kind of sound you forget. It tore through the silence like glass shattering underfoot—raw, desperate, and cut short too soon.
Isla scrambled from her bed and raced barefoot down the hallway, her nightdress catching on the splintered wood. "Mama?" she called, voice trembling. "Mama!"
The front door stood open. Wind clawed at the frame. The fire in the hearth had gone cold.
She stepped outside.
Fog blanketed the village in pale silver. The air smelled of wet ash and something else—something metallic. Like blood.
Far ahead, just beyond the edge of the trees, a figure in white disappeared into the forest.
Her mother.
"Mama, wait!"
But her voice fell into silence, swallowed by the mist. The figure never turned around.
Isla followed.
The woods were different that night. The trees leaned in close, whispering things she couldn't quite hear. The path seemed to shift under her feet, leading her toward a clearing she didn't recognize.
And there, nestled in the overgrowth, was the gate.
A towering arch of blackened stone, carved with symbols that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Vines curled around it like veins. The air pulsed, like the gate was breathing.
Isla's mother stood before it, barefoot in the mud, whispering words Isla couldn't understand.
Then the gate opened.
Not with hinges or creaks, but with a ripple—like the surface of water disturbed by a falling star.
A hand reached out from the other side.
Not human.
Isla screamed.
Her mother turned at last—eyes filled with both sorrow and something far older. She smiled faintly
The hand seized her.
The gate swallowed them both.
Then it closed.
And Isla was alone.....
The thirteenth chime echoed one last time… and silence fell.