Cipher's steps slowed as the path narrowed into a corridor of blackened trees, their trunks bending in unnatural arcs, branches spiraling upward like claws raking at a sky stitched together from shadow. Red walked close beside him, her fingers gripping the edge of her cloak as though it might tether her to sanity. The crimson fabric glowed faintly still, defying the void that pressed against them from all sides, but its light seemed fragile—like a candle flame flickering against a storm.
Ahead, the nightmare cottage pulsed in the distance. Its crooked roofline rose and fell with the rhythm of lungs. Windows bulged and sank like eyes blinking shut. The front door hung open slightly, yet no hinges moved—it breathed. Each exhale rattled the air, hot and foul, carrying the copper tang of old blood.
Red shuddered. "That's… that's supposed to be my grandmother's house."
"It's not," Cipher said, his voice steady, grounding. "It's the Wolf's body wearing her memory like a mask."
The Automaton drifted from his shoulder, its wings shimmering faintly with silver sparks. Its tone was analytical, but there was something reverent beneath the words. "This is the final chamber of the tale's belly. To reach its heart, you must step closer. But beware—the closer you come, the stronger its illusions."
As if on cue, the air trembled. Cipher felt it before he saw it—a ripple that slid beneath his skin like a cold current. His grip on the scythe tightened. Shadows pooled at the corners of his vision, swelling like ink spilled across paper. The trees around him shifted. Their skeletal forms smoothed, softened, until they were no longer trees but desks, lined neatly in rows.
A classroom.
Cipher's breath caught. Chalk dust floated in the air, glowing faintly in shafts of afternoon light. Familiar voices bubbled up—young, bright, laughing. He turned his head, and there they were. His students. Sitting in neat rows, books open, eyes shining with curiosity. The air smelled of ink and paper, and for a moment, his chest tightened with something dangerously close to longing.
"Teacher!" one boy called, waving eagerly. "You promised to show us the stars today!"
Cipher blinked. His throat worked, but no words came. He took a half step forward before realizing the desks cast no shadows. The children's faces flickered, glitching, smiles breaking into frowns, then screams.
"You left us," another voice accused. A girl, her face half-hidden in static. "You said you'd guide us… but where were you when the shadows came?"
The desks warped, collapsing into jagged roots. The walls cracked apart, spilling darkness like ink across the floor. Cipher grit his teeth, lifting his scythe as if to cut through the vision, but the voices did not stop.
"You can't save anyone," the whispers grew louder, layering on top of each other until they drowned the air. "Not your students. Not her. Not yourself."
A tug at his sleeve.
Cipher turned sharply. Red stood there, but her eyes weren't fixed on him. She was staring into her own vision. Her trembling hand pointed ahead.
Through the distortion, a small cottage flickered into view—not the breathing nightmare house, but a warm, wooden home. Smoke rose from the chimney, and the smell of bread drifted on the air. At the doorway stood an old woman, her arms outstretched, her smile gentle and familiar.
"Grandmother," Red whispered, her voice breaking. Tears welled instantly, spilling down her cheeks. She stumbled forward, as if pulled by a string. "She's alive—she's alive, I can save her this time—"
Cipher's hand shot out, gripping her wrist before she could rush ahead.
"Red," he said firmly, "that isn't her."
She jerked against his grip, desperate. "No, you don't understand! I saw her die! I saw—" Her voice cracked. She trembled, pulling harder. "Please… let me go. If I can reach her this time—"
The grandmother's figure stepped forward, her face soft and kind. Her voice floated across the void, dripping with honey. "Come home, my sweet girl. It's all just a bad dream. Come back to me, and rest."
Red sobbed, her knees buckling. "I want to—"
Cipher knelt, pulling her down with him so their eyes met. His voice was sharp but quiet, cutting through the false comfort. "Look at me. That is not your grandmother. It's the Wolf. Do you hear me? It's using her voice, her face, her love—because it knows that's how it can break you."
Her wide eyes stared back, wild with grief. "But it feels real—"
"Of course it does." His tone softened, like the steady calm he always used with trembling students on their first day of class. "That's what makes illusions dangerous. They don't need to be true. They only need us to believe them."
Behind him, the whispers of his classroom swelled louder, screaming his name, accusing, condemning. Cipher forced himself not to turn. Not to look. His hand stayed firm on Red's shoulder.
"You told me you were scared," he said, "and that's fine. Fear means you're alive. But this—this is the Wolf trying to write your ending for you. Are you going to let it?"
Her breath hitched. Her hands shook violently as she pressed them to her ears, trying to shut out the grandmother's voice. The vision wavered, glitching, but it did not vanish.
"I… I can't…"
"Yes, you can." His voice cut clean through the chaos. He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers. "Say it with me: I am not food for the Wolf."
Her lips trembled. The false grandmother's voice grew sharper now, almost desperate. "Stay with me, Red. Be a good girl. Come home."
Cipher's grip tightened. His voice rose, steady and commanding. "Say it!"
Red's eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling. Then, with a sob, she forced the words out:
"I am not food for the Wolf!"
The illusion shattered like glass. The grandmother's face split into static, then dissolved into smoke. The warm cottage imploded, revealing the nightmare house again—its walls pulsating, its roof sprouting jagged claws that scraped the sky.
Cipher exhaled, his jaw tight, his chest burning. His own illusions still whispered at the edges of his mind—his students calling, accusing—but the moment Red broke hers, their grip weakened. He straightened slowly, hauling her back to her feet.
Her cloak glowed brighter now, a crimson light pushing against the darkness. She leaned into his side, her body trembling but her eyes sharper than before. "It wasn't real," she whispered, as if trying to convince herself. "It wasn't real."
"No," Cipher said softly. "But the fear it made you feel was. And you stood up to it. That's what matters."
The Automaton fluttered above, its glow pulsing faintly. "Remarkable," it murmured. "Every denial of the Wolf's illusion weakens the thread of its tale. She reshapes the narrative by refusing its terms."
Red swallowed hard, clinging to Cipher's sleeve. "Then… does that mean… I can really survive?"
Cipher looked ahead, to the looming cottage of teeth and shadow. Its windows glowed like predator eyes, and its door yawned wide, dripping with darkness.
"You already are," he said.
The ground shuddered beneath them, a tremor that knocked loose fragments of shadow. The Wolf's voice thundered across the void, no longer gentle, no longer coaxing, but sharp and furious.
"Step closer… and the story ends with you both inside me."
The cottage lurched forward, its walls stretching, claws sprouting from its foundation. The forest around them bent inward, funneled toward the gaping maw of the house.
Red clutched Cipher's arm. Her voice shook, but she didn't turn away. "What do we do?"
Cipher lifted his scythe, resting its star-lit runes against his shoulder. His expression was calm, almost serene.
"We walk forward. Together."
And with Red's cloak burning brighter than ever, they stepped onto the path that led into the Wolf's jaws.