Elias stood frozen, heart hammering in his chest as the figure in the trees blinked—a perfect reflection of himself, yet impossibly wrong.
The air around him thickened, heavy with the scent of earth and decay. The forest seemed to lean closer, whispering secrets only the dead should know. His breath came out in mist, though the morning sun had begun to pierce the canopy.
"Who are you?" Elias whispered, but the figure didn't answer. It only smiled, a cruel twist of lips that sent a chill crawling down his spine.
Suddenly, the shadowless boy stepped forward—his feet barely touching the mossy ground—and lifted a hand, beckoning.
Elias wanted to run, but his legs refused to obey.
The figure vanished, swallowed by the twisting branches. Silence returned, but the feeling of being watched didn't.
Clutching the note tighter, Elias ran inside. His father was nowhere to be found.
The cabin door creaked open behind him.
"Your father's gone to the village," a voice said. Elias turned to see Old Mara, the village healer, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were sharp and tired, and her hands trembled slightly.
"You need to come with me," she said. "Tonight, the veil thins. The seventh son holds a key no one else does."
Elias's mind spun. A key? A curse? The note? The shadow that wasn't?
Old Mara reached into her cloak and pulled out an ancient talisman—a twisted silver ring set with a black stone that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Wear this," she instructed. "It will protect you from what hunts you."
Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the faintest echo of laughter—cold, distant, and not his own.
Elias slid the ring onto his finger.
The shadow beneath him stirred—for the first time, it moved.
And the forest whispered, "The game begins."
—