Cipher carried Red through the dying woods, his stride long and steady though his breath fogged in the chill. Her weight was slight in his arms, but the heaviness of her despair lingered long after the Wolf's voice had faded into the distance. The forest behind them bent unnaturally, the trees arching inward as though mourning the prey that had slipped their grip. The air itself seemed resentful of their escape.
At last, the trees parted. Beyond the crooked roots and crimson leaves, the edge of a village emerged—simple houses with timber walls, chimneys curling faint threads of smoke into the dim sky. The world here was quieter, less suffocating, though the silence held an eerie thickness, like a classroom where no one dared raise their hand.
Red stirred faintly, lifting her head from Cipher's shoulder. For the first time since the chase, her eyes widened with something close to relief. "Home," she whispered, though the word trembled as though she wasn't entirely sure it was true.
Cipher slowed his pace as they crossed into the village. His eyes narrowed, scanning. Something here was wrong. The homes were too neat, too perfectly aligned. Doors shut tight, windows glinting with the reflection of a dull sky. The people—if they could be called people—stood in scattered clumps. They didn't move naturally. They drifted.
Cipher's boots struck cobblestones as he stepped deeper. The villagers turned their heads toward him in perfect unison. Their faces were pale, indistinct, as though sketched and then erased halfway through. Their lips moved, but not in words of greeting.
"Eaten… eaten…" they whispered. "The girl is eaten…"
Red shuddered, clutching his sleeve. "They're not supposed to—" She cut herself short, burying her face in her hands.
Cipher studied them, his jaw tightening. These must have been the Fades—echoes of the story itself. When he had first glimpsed them from afar, he thought them like shadows, faint and background. Up close, they were worse. Their eyes—if they had eyes—were bottomless pits of narrative certainty. The weight of inevitability.
One of the Fades drifted closer, its shape warping into a more familiar outline. The line of its hair. The curve of its shoulders. Its voice came softer, trembling, almost warm.
"Red… child… come home."
Red's head shot up, her breath catching in her throat. "Grandmother?"
She took a half-step forward before Cipher's arm blocked her. His voice cut like steel. "That isn't her."
The Fade tilted its head, glitching through motions like a puppet with broken strings. "You… must be eaten… the story ends… the story ends…"
Red trembled, tears streaking her cheeks. "But… but that's her voice. I hear it."
Cipher crouched slightly, bringing Red into his field of view, steady and certain. "Listen to me. That's not your grandmother. That's your fear wearing her skin."
She froze, her lips quivering. His words pressed against her panic like a firm hand keeping her from slipping.
Behind them, the rest of the Fades began to murmur in a chorus. "The girl is eaten. The girl is eaten. Stay. Stay. Stay."
The whispers weren't shouts—they were worse. They were lullabies, pulling her downward, asking her to surrender.
Cipher's grip on his scythe tightened, but he did not lift it. A teacher does not solve every problem by cutting it apart. He leaned in closer to Red, his voice dropping low enough only she could hear.
"You think this is safety? Look again. Do you see life here, or only endings?"
Red's wide eyes darted back to the villagers. Not one of them moved like a person should. They swayed. They repeated their fragments. Their faces blurred.
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. "They're… empty."
Cipher nodded once. "Safety without life is not safety. It's a cage."
The Automaton stirred on his shoulder, its glassy wings buzzing faintly. "Teacher," it whispered, "the village is a nexus—a pause, not a refuge. The Fades are guardians of the tale's inertia. They do not strike. They smother. They remind."
Cipher glanced at it briefly, then back to Red. "They want you to give up. To believe your death is already written." His hand settled on her shoulder, grounding her. "But no story is finished while its hero still breathes."
Her throat worked as she swallowed. The word hero didn't fit on her. She felt more like prey still quivering in the Wolf's jaws.
"I… I can't," she whispered. "If I leave this place… he'll find me again. He always does."
"And if you stay," Cipher countered, "then the Wolf wins without lifting a claw."
The whispers surged, sensing her doubt. "Eaten. Eaten. The end. The end."
Red clapped her hands over her ears, shaking her head, trying to drown them out. "Make it stop—please—"
Cipher's hand caught hers, tugging them down. He lowered himself so his eyes locked with hers, steady as bedrock. "I can't silence them for you. You have to answer them yourself."
Her breath hitched. "Answer…?"
"Say it." His voice sharpened, each word deliberate. "Tell them you are not just a meal for a story to chew on. Tell them you are Red Riding Hood, and your tale belongs to you."
Her lip trembled. The whispers pressed harder, like cold fingers clawing into her ears. Stay. Stay. Stay.
"I—I'm not—" She faltered, shaking her head.
Cipher's tone softened. "You don't need to roar. Even a whisper is enough, if it's yours."
Her chest heaved. She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and let the words crawl out through her cracked voice.
"I… am not… just food for the Wolf."
The whispers faltered. The Fades shivered, glitching in and out as though something in their code had been disturbed.
Cipher's mouth curved faintly—not triumph, but recognition. A step had been taken.
Red gasped, her cloak faintly shimmering with the crimson light from before, a flicker that pushed back the shadows just enough.
The Automaton hummed. "The narrative bends. Her defiance holds weight."
But the respite was fragile. The Fades regrouped, circling the square. Their whispers changed tone now, less commanding, more insidious. "Stay… stay… safe here… no more running… no more pain…"
Red's knees buckled. The promise of stillness, of an end to terror, clawed at her heart. She sagged, torn between relief and fear.
Cipher's hand pressed firmly to her back. "Safety is not the same as living. You said you feared being eaten, yes? But this—this is worse. This is being digested by silence."
Her eyes snapped to him, wide and wet.
He stood taller, his voice carrying enough strength to challenge the whispers themselves. "I will walk with you through the forest again. I will face the Wolf with you. Not because the fight is easy—but because it is worth it."
The square trembled. A ripple passed through the Fades, as though the words themselves burned.
Red gripped her cloak tighter, her breathing ragged, and finally—finally—she took a step closer to Cipher, away from the illusions. "I don't want to stay here."
The whispers shrieked once, dissonant, before collapsing into static. The Fades drew back, their shapes breaking like smoke in the wind.
For the first time since entering the village, true silence fell.
Cipher let out a slow breath. His scythe lowered, its runes flickering faintly as if in approval. Across its length, for just a heartbeat, the glow seemed to form words not his own—language of gods, unreadable yet heavy with meaning. Insight brushed against him like the faint hand of a teacher correcting his form.
He didn't speak of it aloud. But he understood.
This was not about slaying wolves. This was about teaching courage in the places stories had already given up.
Red leaned against him, drained but standing. Her voice was hoarse, yet firm. "If I go back into the woods… if I face him again… will you stay?"
Cipher looked down at her, his expression unreadable save for the steel in his eyes. "I will not leave. But remember: it isn't my fight to win. It's yours to claim."
The Automaton's wings hummed with faint light. "The tale shifts. But the Wolf still prowls. Its hunger is not ended—merely delayed."
From the edge of the forest, as if to punctuate the words, a distant howl tore through the air. Deep, guttural, full of inevitability. The sound bent the branches of the trees even from here.
Red stiffened, but her hands did not cover her ears this time. She gripped her cloak tighter, grounding herself.
Cipher set his scythe against his shoulder, eyes on the blackened tree line. "Then we go to him. The story doesn't end unless we close the book ourselves."
And with Red at his side, they turned from the hollow comfort of the village and walked back toward the waiting dark.