Morning cracked open with a bruised sky, and the world outside the broken manor was quiet in the way of a held breath. Mist clung low to the earth, twisting in ghostly tendrils through the crooked trees as Isla, Caius, Finn, Lyra, and Melodias made their way along the narrowing trail.
The silence of departure was thick. No one had much appetite for words. Not after what the Cyclops had revealed.
It was Finn who finally broke it, glancing toward Isla.
"So... the Hollow Grotto. We're really doing this, huh?"
Caius scoffed. "If by 'doing this' you mean walking straight into a pit of ancient cursed land based on the dying words of a one-eyed seer, then yes. We're doing this."
Isla cast him a look. "You saw what he gave up to warn us."
Caius didn't respond immediately. He kept his gaze forward, jaw clenched.
"I don't trust dying men or riddles. Especially when they involve places with names like Hollow Grotto."
Lyra, trailing a little behind, raised her voice. "You don't trust anyone."
Caius turned slightly. "Not when they appear out of the bushes at night with a wound and a vague story."
Finn sighed. "We've been over this. Lyra's with us now."
"That's not what worries me," Caius muttered. "What worries me is what she's not telling us
Lyra didn't flinch. "What do you want to know? That I'm scared? That I have nowhere else to go? That I was left to bleed out by the people I thought would help me? Take your pick."
Isla stepped between them slightly. "She's not the enemy. We're wasting time."
Melodias barked lowly, as if in agreement.
The air grew denser as they moved deeper into the trees. Vines choked the bark, and the path beneath their feet became soft and damp, almost reluctant to let them pass.
It was midday when the trees parted to reveal it: the swamp
It lay like a rotting scar in the land, its surface glassy and black, veiled in silver mist. Gnarled roots twisted up like fingers from the water. An unnatural silence hovered above it, heavy and wrong.
Isla stopped short. "What is this place?"
"It's the Vyrefen Lyra whispered. "I've heard of places like this. Land where something terrible once happened. Magic clings to it like a wound that won't heal.
Caius narrowed his eyes. "This wasn't on the map."
"Of course not," Lyra said. "Places like this hide themselves."
They stepped carefully across the narrow path of gnarled roots and stone that led through the mire. No birds chirped. No insects buzzed.
Then, the first vision came.
--
The mist thickened around Isla until she couldn't see the others.
"Caius? Finn?" she called, turning in place.
A shape emerged through the fog.
It was a woman
Tall, slender, with red hair that shimmered like oil. Her back was turned.
Isla's heart twisted. "...Mother?"
The woman turned slightly. Isla saw the profile of her face—yes, it was her. Evelyn Blackwood.
She was wearing the same pendant she always wore, the one with the strange sigil. The one Isla hadn't seen since the night she disappeared.
"Mama!" Isla ran forward.
Evelyn didn't move. She only turned her head slightly more, just enough for Isla to see that her eyes were... wrong.
Too dark. Too wide.
"Come with me, Isla," Evelyn whispered. "You don't belong with them. You belong here."
The fog behind her parted like curtains revealing a path into a forest of shadow.
Isla stepped back. "No. You're not real.
Evelyn's expression melted into something sorrowful... then twisted
Her mouth split too wide.
Her hands turned to claws.
Her voice became a scream—a banshee's cry—and she lunged at Isla
Isla fell back, hands raised, but when she blinked
Nothing. Just fog. And the swamp.
---
The fog thickened
Isla stumbled back to the others, breath shallow, hands shaking. But she didn't speak. How could she explain what she'd seen—her mother, alive, turning into something monstrous? They were all quiet, as if held hostage by their own thoughts
And they were.
Caius slowed, eyes darting. The mist twisted, curling around his boots like spectral fingers. Then—he heard it.
A bell.
Distant, faint, but unmistakable
His jaw clenched. He hadn't heard that sound in years.
Another chime.
Then a chorus—monastic, slow, reverent.
"No," he whispered, spinning around
But the swamp was gone.
He stood within cold stone walls—grey and ancient. The monastery.
Caius backed up, but his foot landed on polished marble. The air reeked of incense and blood. Rows of kneeling figures in brown robes bowed before a cracked altar. Candles flickered. A hymn hummed low, reverent, choking in its grief.
He turned again.
A child—himself. Younger, maybe seven. Dirty. Hollow-cheeked. Bound at the wrists.
Dragged forward by a monk
"No," Caius whispered again. "This isn't real."
"You must forget," said the robed figure. "You were born from sin. You must be cleansed."
A blade flashed. The sigil was branded onto the child's back. The smell of burning flesh. The boy didn't scream—he'd already learned not to.
Caius trembled, stepping backward, heart pounding.
From the altar, the head monk rose, his eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood. "The mark is who you are," he intoned. "It was carved into your flesh… and your fate."
"STOP!" Caius shouted.
The robed figures turned to him in unison. "You ran, little ghost. But it's still inside you."
Their hands reached for him
Caius drew his blade—but it passed through them like mist. The walls began to collapse, stone bleeding from unseen wounds. The hymn grew louder. He was suffocating.
"THIS ISN'T ME!" he screamed.
Then the fog swept through like a wave, shattering the illusion, returning him to the swamp.
He fell to his knees, heaving, his hand pressed to the sigil on his shoulder. It burned—not physically, but deep in his memory
"You're not him," he muttered. "You're not that boy anymore."
Behind him, the mist rippled again.
---
Finn walked slowly, dragging his feet, staring at shadows dancing along the wet ground. A strange sound reached him—laughter.
Light. Warm. Familiar.
He turned—and found himself standing at the entrance of a small cottage.
His cottage.
His old home.
"Ma?" he called, stunned.
The door creaked open, and a woman stepped out—kind eyes, hair braided neatly. "Finn," she said gently. "Where have you been?"
He ran to her, tears flooding his eyes. "I thought—I thought you were gone.
"I've always been here," she whispered, brushing his cheek. "We were just waiting for you to come home.
Finn stepped inside. A table laid with food. Warm soup. Bread. His father sat by the hearth, smiling tiredly.
"I missed you, boy," his father said
Finn blinked, overcome.
This was everything he had lost
But—
He looked again.
The food had rotted.
The hearth burned with black flame.
His mother's hand was cold. Her smile… glassy.
"You're not real," he whispered, stepping back.
The shadows stretched. Their faces melted, skin slipping from bone. "Stay, Finn," they chorused. "Stay forever."
"No—no!"
The house collapsed into the swamp, tendrils of mist dragging him back to reality. He clutched his chest, sobbing. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I couldn't save you."
But the wind didn't answer.
Only Melodias padded to his side and whined, nudging him gently.
Lyra hadn't spoken in a while.
Not since they entered the fog.
She now stumbled blindly, one hand on a tree for balance.
Then a voice drifted toward her—cold, silky.
Lyra walks alone through the mists of the cursed swamp. Shadows twist at the corners of her sight, but one figure stands still in the fog—a boy, no older than fourteen, with raven-black hair like hers and glassy eyes filled with hurt.
"Aeron?" she breathes, voice cracking.
He turns. His face is hollow, smeared with dried blood. "You left me," he whispers. "You always leave."
Lyra stumbles backward. "No—I didn't know. They said you were safe in the southern coven—"
"They lied. You believed them. That's why I died
The fog thickens. Images flash around her: a ruined village, flames licking the walls, a ritual altar. Aeron chained to it, screaming as robed Circle acolytes chant. One acolyte speaks her name.
"They said I failed," Aeron says. "But it was you who failed me."
Lyra shakes her head. "I tried to get to you—I begged them to let me go—"
"You chose to stay in the Circle," he snarls, voice distorting. "You let them bleed me for their spell. I was the price they paid, and you walked away."
His eyes go black. His body jerks, bones cracking. His voice becomes unholy. "You should have died instead of me."
Suddenly, he lunges at her with a blood-crusted blade. Lyra screams—
—and collapses in the marsh, gasping for breath, alone again.
Everything shattered. Mist engulfed her
She was on her knees in the swamp again, breath ragged, skin slick with sweat.
She looked up—and Isla was watching her. "Are you okay?"
Lyra opened her mouth—then closed it.
"I just… tripped," she lied.
---
Each of them now stood alone… yet near.
Isla watched them silently, heart thudding.
They were broken—haunted by what they'd seen.
But she understood
The swamp didn't just show the past.
It judged you with it.
Isla stepped forward. "We need to leave. Now."
Nobody argued.
Melodias barked, low and warning
And they began to walk again—slower, quieter, each dragging something unseen behind them.
The Hollow Grotto still lay ahead.
But now… the shadows knew their names.
The last of the swamp's mist clung to their boots as they stepped onto firmer ground. No one spoke—not right away.
Above them, the trees arched into strange shapes, still whispering with wind they couldn't feel.
One by one, they glanced back at the bog.
Lyra shivered. "That place… It wasn't just cursed. It wanted to stay with us."
Caius kept his arms crossed, his eyes fixed forward. "It already has."
Isla brushed her fingers across her temple, where her vision still itched behind her eyes. Her mother's face—the warmth and the horror—was burned into her mind like a brand she couldn't shake off.
Melodias whimpered beside her, tail low.
"Do we say anything?" Finn finally asked, voice low. "About what we saw?"
"No," Isla said, firm. "It's over."
Caius looked at her sideways. "Is it?
She didn't answer.
They continued walking, the air colder now—too cold for spring. A silence settled over them again, but this time it wasn't haunted. It was shared.
Each of them carried a piece of the swamp with them now.
A secret.
A shadow.
And somewhere in the distance, hidden by trees and rising stone, the Hollow Grotto waited—its gates sealed behind riddles of blood, memory, and betrayal.