The Thing That Watched the Graves
A breeze rolled through the trees.
Not cold. Not sharp.
Just… wrong.
Kaelen took a step back, eyes scanning the branches. The birds had gone. No rustle, no wingbeat. Not even the breath of the forest.
Something was watching them.
Yolti lowered her stance. "That's not patrols."
Then it emerged—no sound, no warning—only the shape.
From between two bent trees, a figure unfolded like shadow pulled from stone. Its limbs cracked with each motion, not from fragility, but from memory—like the air forgot how to carry its weight.
No face.
Just a crown of spiraled bone and a mouth that didn't move when it breathed.
Kaelen's voice dropped low. "Is that…?"
Yolti didn't answer.
Because now they saw it fully:
It wasn't just a Riftborn.
It was the Grin.
Not because it smiled.
But because the place it wore its mouth stretched too wide.
As if joy had been carved in long after the face was dead.
Pulse residue shimmered faintly in its throat—like the last echo of something it had devoured.
Its head tilted toward Kaelen.
Then it took a step forward.
Yolti flared her glyph.
Kaelen pulled the scarf from his belt.
And the Grin lowered itself like a beast ready to drag the world backward through the dirt.