“…Are you lost?”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
The whisper had come from right behind her.
Her instinct screamed at her to turn around. To see who had spoken. To confirm that there was another person here.
But some part of her—a primal, instinctual part—knew better.
Don’t turn.
Don’t look.
Her fingers tightened against the wound on her arm. She barely felt it—at least, not in the normal way. Pain was still there, still searing, but it felt far away now, drowned beneath the rapid drum of her pulse.
Someone was behind her.
No—something.
Because who would whisper a question like that and then just… stand there?
‘Say something.’
That was what her brain was telling her.
If it was a real person, answering would show that she needed help.
But she didn’t.
She held her breath, fighting the overwhelming need to react.
Don’t turn. Don’t look. Don’t answer.
The silence stretched.
Then—
A second voice.
“…Are you lost?”
This one came from her left.
A third.
“…Do you need help?”
Her throat clenched.
Another.
“…Are you lost?”
A chill rolled up her spine.
One voice was terrifying. Two was worse.
Now there were four.
Her hands were shaking now, her body betraying her even as she tried to keep still.
Don’t react.
Don’t acknowledge them.
The voices were coming from different places, some close, some farther away. They weren’t overlapping—just weaving in and out of the silence, filling the air with questions that didn’t sound real.
The worst part?
They sounded identical.
Not just the words.
The tone. The rhythm.
Every whisper was the same voice.
They weren’t speaking to her.
They were testing her.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs.
And still, she didn’t look.
It wasn’t just the repetition that made her stomach twist.
It was the timing.
The way the whispers filled every gap, leaving no moment untouched.
There was no randomness.
No hesitation.
No mistake.
A pattern.
A deliberate, measured rhythm.
Like a song being played on an instrument that had never been tuned.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
They were testing her.
The urge to turn her head was unbearable.
But she didn’t.
‘Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.’
“…Are you lost?”
“…Do you need help?”
“…Where are you going?”
Again. Again. Again.
Their voices never overlapped, only filled the spaces between the last.
Like chanting.
Like they were waiting for something.
She squeezed her wounded arm so hard that fresh pain flared through her body.
‘Anchor yourself. Stay awake.’
Anything to keep her grounded.
Anything to keep her from reacting.
And then—
The questions changed.
A whisper, too close to her right.
“…Do you have a name?”
Her heart stumbled.
Another, behind her.
“…Who are you?”
Another, from ahead.
“…Do you remember?”
A cold pressure wrapped around her chest.
They weren’t asking the same things anymore.
The world swayed, her legs trembling.
She felt too weak.
She couldn’t keep doing this.
And then—
A whisper far too close to her throat.
“…You’re bleeding.”
Her stomach dropped.
A second voice joined it.
“…You’re bleeding.”
Then another.
“…You’re bleeding.”
Her entire body went rigid.
The whispers weren’t asking anymore.
They weren’t even speaking to her.
A cold, writhing panic coiled around her spine.
It felt like they were announcing it to something else.
The voices multiplied.
Faster now, sharper, pressing in from all sides.
“…You’re bleeding.”
“…You’re bleeding.”
“…You’re bleeding.”
“…You’re bleeding.”
It didn’t stop.
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It wouldn’t stop.
They had been testing her before.
Now they had decided something.
The air shifted.
And all of a sudden, a slow inhale—but not her own.
Behind her.
Her stomach twisted.
The whispers immediately stopped.
Not faded.
Not slowed.
But stopped.
Silence.
And then—
Footsteps.
But it was not like the others.
It didn’t shuffle.
It didn’t whisper.
It walked.
The whispering figures had been testing her.
This one was approaching.
Her pulse roared in her ears, her fingers trembling as she tightened the cloth around her wound.
It wasn’t enough.
Her blood was still seeping through, staining her fingers, leaving a trail of warmth down her forearm.
She was too weak.
Too slow.
She needed to move.
But if she moved, would it follow?
But then she felt it.
It was right behind her.
Her lungs seized.
It was standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
A presence that felt real in a way the whispers never had.
And then—
It reached out.
A cold, alien touch pressed against her forearm.
She nearly flinched, every muscle in her body screaming to jerk away—but she didn’t.
The fingers pressed down, smooth and firm.
Not rough, nor was it decayed.
It felt human. But at the same time, wrong.
A pulse of heat seeped into her skin.
Her breath hitched.
The pain—
Was fading.
The throbbing fire in her wound dulled, the deep ache dissolving into a strange, numbing warmth.
The bleeding stopped.
Her fingers twitched.
A moment ago, her body had been on the edge of collapse.
Now, it felt… lighter.
Her heartbeat slowed, steadying.
The figure behind her leaned in.
Its breath—too steady, too controlled—brushed against her skin.
Then, in a voice unlike the whispers before—clear, but empty,
It spoke.
"You shouldn’t be here."
And then—
The hand lifted.
The warmth vanished.
The presence behind her began to step away.
Not hurried. Not hesitant.
As if it was simply… done.
As though it had done what it came to do.
Her fingers twitched, hovering just above her forearm, where the cold of its touch had faded.
No pain. No open wound.
The blood—gone.
Her breath shook in her throat, but she swallowed it down.
It had healed her.
It had closed her wound.
But why?
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Why?
A pulse of a cold feeling sat just beneath her skin, dull and lingering.
A weight she couldn’t describe.
Had it left something behind?
Her fingers hovered over the spot— And stopped.
No.
She wouldn’t touch it.
Wouldn’t acknowledge it yet.
Whatever it had done—it was already done.
And then, in a voice that was clear, steady, and cold—
"You shouldn’t be here."
Another repeated the last words it spoke to her.
Then—
She could hear it taking a step back.
And another.
"You shouldn’t be here."
More of them repeated each other.
"You shouldn’t be here."
"You shouldn’t be here."
"You shouldn’t be here."
"You shouldn’t be here."
They were leaving.
Not rushing.
Not retreating.
Just… leaving.
Her body remained locked in place, unable to move, unable to decide if this was relief or something far worse.
She wanted to breathe.
To finally let herself exhale.
But she was afraid.
Afraid that the moment she did, they would hear her.
Afraid that if she moved even an inch, they would stop walking away.
So she held it.
Her vision blurred at the edges as she counted the seconds.
One.
Two.
Three.
A fourth.
A fifth.
Distance stretched between them.
The weight of their presence thinned.
She could move.
She could finally—
A breath slipped past her lips, shallow and shaking.
The footsteps stopped.
Her entire body locked up again.
No.
No, no, no—
They had heard.
Even the quietest sound.
Even the faintest breath.
They had heard her.
The night was silent again.
A cold panic coiled around her chest, tightening with every second.
They weren’t leaving anymore.
Would they turn back?
Would they continue tormenting her?
Would they—
A single, slow exhale.
Not hers.
And then—
She could hear their shuffling footsteps coming towards her.
Not slow.
Not measured.
Not the way they had walked before.
This time, they moved fast.
A sudden, violent shift in the air—like a rope snapping after being stretched too far.
They had heard her.
And now—
They were chasing her.
She didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to question why—
Her body moved before her mind caught up.
She ran.
She wasn’t thinking anymore.
There was no plan.
No strategy.
Her legs screamed.
Her lungs burned from the sharp inhale she wasn’t supposed to take.
But she didn’t care.
The presence behind her was now barreling towards her.
And she didn’t want to know what would happen if they caught her.
She tore through the ruined village.
And it seemed like the buildings were leaning unnaturally, in spite of being warped by time and neglect.
Doors hung open like waiting mouths.
Windows shattered, jagged edges lining the empty frames.
There was nowhere to hide.
Before she knew it, the footsteps behind her multiplied.
A dozen.
Then more.
The ground shook beneath them.
Faster than they should be.
They weren’t running like people.
They weren’t people.
She didn’t need to turn back to see that much was true.
She could hear it.
The inhuman rhythm.
The sound of feet slamming into the ground too perfectly.
Like a rule had been broken, and she was the consequence.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she pushed forward, ducking through a narrow alley between two buildings.
Her shoulder scraped against splintered wood.
She barely felt it.
The pain in her arm had been replaced with something else, a feeling inhuman.
Something deeper.
Something worse.
She didn’t have time to be careful.
She ran blindly, legs threatening to buckle.
She had been standing still too long.
Her body was at its limit.
But the chase did not stop.
And then, her eye caught something moving.
Her breath hitched.
A flicker of movement—not on the ground, but higher.
No.
Not ahead of her.
Above.
A shadow slid across a broken rooftop, moving without weight, without effort—not leaping, not jumping.
Just gliding.
She veered sharply, almost stumbling as she realized—
They weren’t just chasing her from behind.
They were trying to cut her off.
Figures crawled over the rooftops—bodies moving in unnatural, weightless motions, gliding like shadows across the wooden beams.
She choked back a scream, twisting at the last second to avoid running straight beneath them.
She needed to get out of here now.
However, her foot hit something uneven.
Too late—
The ground disappeared beneath her.
She barely had time to react before she was falling.
Her body slammed into the dirt, tumbling down a sharp incline, rocks and dust scraping against her skin as she crashed downward.
She came to a stop at the bottom, sprawled out, gasping for breath.
Pain shot through her ribs.
Her limbs felt numb.
She had hit the ground hard.
Her mind raced.
Get up. Get up.
They’re coming.
They’re—
Then, for the first time—
She noticed it.
Something she hadn’t been paying attention to.
Something she had been too panicked to realize.
The sky wasn’t black anymore.
It was…
Lighter.
A deep, murky blue stretched over the horizon.
Dawn.
She hadn’t realized.
She had been running for her life, her mind fixated on escaping—
She hadn’t noticed the night had ended.
The footsteps behind her—
They were gone.
Not fading.
Not slowing.
Not retreating.
Just—gone.
Like they had never been there at all.
She lay motionless, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
Her fingers curled into the dirt, grasping for any sense of reality.
She had survived.
She had—
A blue window flickered before her.
[Second Trial: Completed.]
She let out a shaking breath.
But the cold feeling in her arm didn’t fade.
