The woods had never felt so oppressive.

  Darkness stretched between the trees, thick and suffocating, wrapping the air in a silence that was unnatural. James tightened his grip on the knife, its faint vibration sending a shiver up his spine. The encounter with those ghost-like beings was still fresh, the sensation of their piercing eyes still crawling over his skin.

  Barrow walked a few steps ahead, his lantern casting long, flickering shadows across the gnarled trunks. Thomas trailed behind James, the boy’s own lantern gripped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. There was fear in his eyes, but also determination—a quiet, unwavering resolve that reminded James of someone he used to be.

  "It’s just up ahead," Barrow muttered, glancing back at James. "I came across this place years ago, thought it was just an abandoned chapel. But now…"

  James nodded grimly. "You think it’s connected? To the altar we found?"

  Barrow sighed. "I’d bet my life on it. If we’re lucky, maybe it has answers. If we’re not… well, at least we’ll die knowing we were onto something."

  The deeper they pressed into the forest, the more the trees seemed to lean in, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The path beneath their feet was uneven, roots slithering up from the soil like reaching hands, stones shifting with each step. The air grew colder, charged, as if the very woods were holding its breath.

  Then, finally, the clearing opened up before them.

  The ruin was as Barrow had described—jagged stone remnants jutting from the earth like broken teeth. Vines and moss strangled what little remained of the structure, but the eerie glow emanating from within suggested this place was far from dead. Strange patterns danced along the crumbling walls, the same intricate markings they had seen before—but more of them. Many more.

  "Stay close," Barrow warned, lifting his lantern. "Something doesn’t feel right."

  James stepped forward, running his fingers along the carvings. They were deep, precise, humming with something unseen. "They’re more than symbols," he murmured. "They’re instructions. A map."

  Thomas hesitated before reaching out to touch one. "A map to what?"

  "That’s what we’re going to find out," James said. But before he could decipher more, a sound rippled through the air.

  A hum.

  It started faintly, an almost imperceptible vibration, but it grew quickly, shaking the stones beneath their feet. The carvings pulsed, glowing in time with the sound, the ruin coming alive with an unseen force.

  "It’s happening again," Thomas whispered. "Like before. A tear."

  James snapped his head up just in time to see it—space splitting open at the heart of the ruin. Like liquid glass, the air folded, shuddered, and broke apart, revealing the void beyond.

  Then came the figures.

  Tall, too tall. Limbs too long, fingers tapering into delicate, unsettling points. Their glowing eyes—cold, unnatural—locked onto them as they moved forward with a fluid grace that sent ice crawling up James’ spine.

  Barrow swore under his breath. "They followed us. Or worse… they were already here."

  James lifted his knife, the vibration intensifying. "Thomas, get behind me."

  The boy obeyed without question, his lantern casting wild shadows as he moved. The first creature stepped fully into the ruin, tilting its head as if studying them. It made no move to attack, no sound—only watched.

  Then it pointed.

  Its long, unnerving finger traced over the carvings before shifting toward James. The message was clear.

  "It’s trying to communicate," James said, heart pounding. "But I don’t know how."

  The air changed again. A low, melodic sound filled the ruins—not words, not speech, but something else. A rhythm, a language made of resonance and energy, vibrating through their bones.

  Barrow’s face paled. "I’ve heard that before. Years ago, in a village near here. They called it the ghost song. People went mad listening to it."

  James clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. "We need to understand what they want."

  Another figure stepped forward, its presence heavier, darker. Unlike the first, there was no curiosity in its posture—only intent. A guttural hiss sliced through the hum, sharp and visceral. This one wasn’t here to talk.

  Barrow braced himself. "That one means business."

  The creature lunged.

  James barely raised his knife in time, but when the blade met the thing’s arm, a violent ripple tore through its body. The creature recoiled, flickering, its form distorting like a disrupted image.

  "The knife works," James said through gritted teeth. "It’s reacting to them."

  Barrow swung his walking stick, the wood crackling with unseen energy as it struck another creature. The impact sent it staggering back, its movement momentarily fractured.

  "They’re not invincible!" Barrow shouted. "We can hurt them!"

  Thomas, crouched behind a fallen pillar, called out. "But for how long?!"

  James didn’t have an answer. The creatures were regrouping, their glowing eyes locking onto them with new intensity. The hum in the air rose, the carvings burning with a light that seeped into their skin.

  "We need to get out of here," James said. "Now."

  Barrow didn’t argue. "Agreed. This isn’t a fight we’re meant to win."

  They backed toward the treeline, muscles coiled, ready to run. The creatures didn’t pursue—not yet. They merely stood at the edge of the tear, watching, waiting.

  Then, one of them raised its arm again. Pointed.

  Straight at James.

  Then, without a sound, they stepped back into the rift. The tear collapsed behind them, the ruins falling into stillness once more.

  Barrow let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, leaning heavily on his stick. "They’re not just wandering aimlessly. They have a purpose."

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  James looked down at his knife, still vibrating faintly. He could still feel the hum under his skin, the mark of something greater pressing against the edge of his mind.

  "And we need to figure out what it is," he murmured. "Fast."

  The fire crackled softly, throwing flickering shadows against the thick trunks of the trees. The night pressed in around them, heavy with the scent of damp earth and the distant hush of unseen creatures moving beyond the reach of the firelight.

  James sat close to the flames, the knife resting in his open palm, its once-ordinary blade now humming with something he couldn’t name. He could still feel the vibration it carried in the ruins, the lingering pulse of something other. The energy inside it had shifted, like a silent heartbeat keeping time with his own.

  Barrow sat across from him, one knee bent, an old wound making him favor the other leg. His gaze flicked between James and the weapon, sharp and knowing. “It’s not just a knife anymore, is it?”

  James exhaled, rolling his shoulders, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in his bones. “No. It’s something else.” His voice was quiet, uncertain. “When it struck that thing—” he paused, eyes darkening, “—it was like the knife knew. Like I wasn’t in control, not fully. It reacted on its own.”

  Barrow’s fingers drummed against the worn wood of his walking stick. “That kind of power comes with a cost. And a purpose.” He eyed James. “You’re part of this now. Whether you understand it or not, whether you want to be or not.”

  James let the words settle, staring into the fire. A part of him had known the moment he first touched the tear’s energy, the moment the ruins responded to him. It wasn’t just random. Something was pulling him deeper.

  After a long pause, Barrow spoke again, his voice rough, distant.

  “Years ago, I met a man—a wanderer, like me. He said the tears weren’t just doorways. He believed they were alive, in a way. They didn’t just appear. They chose people.” He let the words hang. “He said the marked ones would always be drawn to them. That they’d have no choice.”

  James’s jaw tightened. “And what happened to him?”

  Barrow scoffed, shaking his head. “He walked into a tear one day and never came back.”

  A silence stretched between them. The fire popped.

  James ran a hand down his face, his fingers lingering on the stubble that had grown rough against his skin. “So, what? I’m cursed now? Some chosen fool meant to chase these things until I disappear like him?”

  Barrow leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “It’s not about being chosen. It’s about what you choose to do with it.” He pointed at the knife. “That blade—whatever it is now—it’s tied to you. That means you have a say in what happens next.”

  James turned the knife in his hands, watching the way the firelight danced along its edges. The markings on the blade seemed more pronounced, as if the weapon itself was waiting for him to understand.

  A soft voice broke the quiet.

  “Do you think the tears will take me too?”

  James turned. Thomas sat on the other side of the fire, his knees pulled up to his chest, eyes wide but steady. He had been silent for most of the night, lost in thought, but now his gaze locked onto James, waiting.

  James’s stomach twisted. “Not if I can help it,” he said.

  Thomas swallowed hard. “But… what if they do? What if I get pulled in, and I can’t come back?”

  Barrow shifted, his voice turning softer, steadier. “Then you fight,” he said. “You keep your wits about you. And you find your way back.” His eyes flickered, the fire reflecting in them like distant memories. “No matter what’s on the other side, you’ll always have people here waiting for you.”

  Thomas nodded slowly, his small hands tightening into fists. “I won’t give up.”

  James exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck. This boy had already lost too much. He didn’t deserve to bear the weight of something so far beyond him.

  The night stretched on in silence, the only sound the gentle crackling of the fire. Sleep came in waves—uneasy, shallow. James kept his knife close, and Barrow kept watch, his back against the tree, eyes never fully closing.

  They left at first light, following the faint symbols Barrow had noticed carved into the trees. They were almost imperceptible, hidden beneath time’s erosion, but they pointed in a direction—leading them toward something.

  The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. The stillness of the woods shifted from peaceful to oppressive. James could feel it now, in the way the wind no longer moved, in the way the birds had gone silent.

  Then, the knife hummed.

  James stopped abruptly. The energy inside the blade flared up again, rippling through his arm. He lifted it, watching as thin lines of light etched themselves along its surface—forming patterns, shifting with the rhythm of something unseen.

  Barrow stepped closer, his voice low. “It’s reacting to something.”

  James turned, scanning the dense trees ahead. “Not something.” His voice was tight. “Someone.”

  The forest breathed.

  Then, from the gloom, a figure emerged.

  Tall. Lithe. Its limbs too long, its movements unnaturally fluid. Its eyes—two burning coals of golden light—locked onto them. The warrior Vyrden.

  But it didn’t attack.

  James tensed, blade in hand, heart hammering. The creature studied him, then raised an arm, emitting a low, melodic hum.

  Barrow stiffened. “It’s the same song.” His fingers tightened on his staff. “The same damned song from the ruins.”

  The hum resonated in the air, pressing against them, vibrating against their bones. James gritted his teeth, trying to understand.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  The Vyrden cocked its head, tilting it in an eerily human motion. The hum shifted, growing sharper, more deliberate.

  Barrow listened carefully, his brow furrowing. He glanced at James. “I think…” He hesitated. “I think it’s warning us.”

  James felt the chill crawl down his spine. “Warning us about what?”

  The creature didn’t answer. It simply raised a long, thin hand—and pointed at James’s knife.

  A pulse of energy rushed through the blade, lighting up the symbols, sending a sharp jolt up James’s arm. His breath hitched, his grip tightening.

  Then, without another sound, the Vyrden vanished into the mist.

  James stared after it, his pulse pounding in his ears. His gaze fell back to the knife, the glow now dimming.

  He met Barrow’s gaze.

  “We need to learn how to use this,” James said, his voice grim.

  Beyond the trees, something was coming. The air was shifting, the fabric of their world fraying at the edges.

  The fire crackled softly in the early morning light, but something was wrong.

  James’s eyes snapped open, instincts flaring before his mind could even process the unease in the air. The damp earth was still beneath him, the remnants of the fire barely more than smoldering embers. But Thomas was gone.

  James sat up abruptly, scanning the camp. The boy’s sleeping roll was empty, his small bundle of belongings scattered haphazardly. His heart pounded. Thomas wouldn’t just leave.

  "Barrow!" James hissed, shoving the older man’s shoulder. "Thomas is gone!"

  Barrow jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath, his instincts honed from years of surviving worse situations. His eyes flickered toward the vacant space where the boy should have been, his face darkening. "Damn it," he muttered, already pulling on his coat. "The kid wouldn’t wander off. Not after everything."

  James stood, scanning the edge of the clearing, his muscles coiled tight. And then he saw it.

  A faint figure, slipping between the trees, barely visible in the misty dawn light.

  "Look!" James pointed. "It’s him!"

  Without another thought, he ran.

  The forest blurred around him, his boots hitting the damp earth in rapid strides. "Thomas!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the silence. "Come back!"

  But the boy didn’t stop.

  James pushed himself harder, weaving between gnarled roots and dense undergrowth. The knife at his side vibrated, reacting to the tension in the air, as if sensing something unseen.

  "Thomas, stop!" James roared, desperation creeping into his voice. "It’s not safe!"

  Then—Thomas stumbled.

  His small frame pitched forward, his foot catching on an exposed root. He hit the ground hard, a pained cry escaping his lips. But before James could reach him, the air shimmered.

  James skidded to a halt, watching in horror as a tear opened before them. The edges rippled like water, a distortion in reality, a fragile doorway to somewhere else.

  Thomas scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with both fear and determination.

  "I have to find her!" the boy cried. "I have to find my sister!"

  "Thomas, wait—" James lunged forward.

  But it was too late.

  Thomas plunged into the tear, his small body swallowed by the light.

  James dived after him—only for the rift to vanish before his eyes.

  A void. Empty space where the door had been.

  James collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands clenched into fists, his pulse roaring in his ears.

  Thomas was gone.