Ethan Ward knelt on the slick stone floor of The Haunted Haven’s underground chamber, the twin lockets—one his, one from the pedestal—glowing faintly in his hands, their warmth a fragile lifeline to his parents, John and Mary Ward, who knelt beside him. Their forms were translucent, flickering like dying flames, but their smiles—worn yet real—held him steady. The key lay beside him, its glow dimmed, the rusted bell clapper, medallion, badge, and Patient 0 tag scattered around like relics of a war half-won. Sophie Bennett stood guard, her wrench raised, flashlight beam cutting through the dark, her grin fierce but tired. Lydia Kane hovered near the sealed crack—the Shadow Realm’s exit—her crimson dress vivid, her ring pulsing softly. Dr. Nathaniel Pierce paced, his receiver’s faint beep erratic, his cold eyes scanning the stone as if it might bite.

  “Round fourteen,” Sophie said, her voice breaking the heavy silence. “Family reunion’s a win, but I’m guessing the Haven’s not sending us a ‘game over’ screen yet, huh?”

  Ethan smirked, pocketing the key, the lockets warm against his chest. “Not its style,” he said, standing, his parents rising with him—faint, unsteady, but there. “Mom, Dad—what’s the ‘one more step’?”

  John Ward’s voice was rough, a shadow of the man Ethan remembered, but firm. “The pulse,” he said, gesturing at the chamber walls, where the green symbols flickered faintly. “The signal’s broken—mostly. But its root’s alive—buried deeper. We’re tied to it—can’t leave ‘til it’s gone.”

  Mary nodded, her hand brushing Ethan’s arm—cold, barely there. “We fought it,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “Kept hope alive for the lost. You freed them—us, almost. But the Haven’s still breathing.”

  Ethan’s chest tightened, the journal on the floor—Hope’s the echo—staring back. “Breathing where?” he asked, grabbing it, flipping to a page near the end—his dad’s scrawl: The root’s below—cut it, or it grows back.

  “Below,” Lydia said, her whisper sharp, stepping forward. “The Shadow Realm was its heart—this is its veins. The pulse is the last thread—where it started.”

  Pierce stopped pacing, his receiver spiking. “She’s right,” he said, voice low, holding up the device. “Faint signal—deep, erratic, but alive. The root’s a failsafe—your parents’ trap kept it dormant. Now it’s waking.”

  Sophie raised an eyebrow, her wrench tapping her leg. “So we’re root canal dentists now? Awesome. Where’s the drill?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Ethan turned to the wall opposite the crack, where a faint seam glowed—green, pulsing, a heartbeat in the stone. The lockets flared, his parents’ voices threading through: There. “That’s it,” he said, the key glowing again in his hand. “We cut it.”

  “Careful,” Pierce warned, his smirk gone. “It’s unstable—crack it wrong, and what’s left spills. We barely contained the realm.”

  “Then we don’t crack it wrong,” Ethan shot back, stepping toward the seam. The stone shuddered, a low groan echoing, and the seam split—a narrow passage, dark, the pulse louder, a metallic hum that vibrated in his bones. “Lydia?”

  She glided ahead, her ring flaring. “The pulse,” she said, her gaze steady. “The Haven’s birth—where it took us. It’s weak now—vulnerable.”

  “Then let’s kill it,” Ethan said, leading them in. The passage twisted downward, the walls slick and warm, the symbols brighter, angrier. The air thickened, a pressure building, and the lockets burned, his parents’ forms flickering harder—John’s hand on his shoulder, Mary’s beside him, fading.

  “Hang on,” Ethan whispered, gripping the key. The passage opened into a chamber—small, circular, its floor a pulsing red glow, a rusted console at the center, wires sprawling like roots, a cracked screen flickering with static. The hum was here—alive, desperate, a fading heartbeat.

  “The root,” Pierce said, his receiver beeping wildly. “Primitive—older than the radio. This is where it began.”

  Ethan approached the console, the key flaring, and his parents’ voices surged—Ethan, now—cut it. Shadows bled from the floor—not human, not the lost, but raw, primal, tendrils of the Haven’s will, weak but clawing. Sophie swung her wrench, a clang dissolving one, and Lydia raised her ring, a red glow holding them back.

  “Do it!” Sophie shouted, dodging a lash, her flashlight slashing the dark.

  Ethan slammed the key into the console’s slot, the glow erupting—a white-hot burst that shook the chamber, the hum warping into a scream. The screen cracked, static flaring, and a voice—not his parents’, not the radio’s—rasped through: You can’t— It cut off, the tendrils shrieking, dissolving, and the red glow dimmed, the pulse slowing.

  A small object clattered from the console—a rusted circuit, etched with the eye symbol, its edges cold. Ethan grabbed it, the lockets steadying, his parents’ forms solidifying—still faint, but clearer, their hands warm now. “It’s dying,” he said, voice raw, turning to them. “You’re free?”

  “Almost,” Mary said, her smile soft, her hand squeezing his. “The pulse is fading—we’re slipping with it.”

  “No,” Ethan said, gripping tighter. “You’re coming back.”

  John shook his head, his gaze warm but firm. “We can’t—not fully. We broke it, Ethan. You finish it.”

  The chamber trembled, the pulse weakening, and Pierce’s receiver flatlined. “It’s done,” he said, voice low. “Root’s cut—signal’s gone. They’re right—tied too long.”

  Sophie lowered her wrench, her grin softening. “Round fourteen, pulse zero. You did it, boss.”

  Lydia’s ring dimmed, her gaze soft. “The Haven’s silent,” she said, stepping back. “One last thread.”

  Ethan nodded, the circuit heavy in his pocket, his parents’ hands slipping. “Then we sever it,” he said, jaw set. “For good.”