Brookheaven was a town that pretended to forget.
Every streetlamp flickered just a little too long before turning on. The trees creaked even when there was no wind. And if you stood outside past midnight, you could almost hear something breathing beneath the soil.
Rick knew all this too well.
He stood by the fogged-up window of his old wooden house, arms crossed, watching the mist roll across Blackpine Street. The town had been too quiet lately — a dangerous kind of quiet. The kind that came before something broke.
Behind him, Meera, his younger sister, stepped into the room. "He's not sleeping again," she said, her voice soft and tired. "Same dream. Same voice."
Rick didn't turn around. "Zitsu?"
She nodded. "He talks to him every night now."
Downstairs, the television flickered with static — no sound, just broken light dancing on the walls. Rex sat alone on the couch, eyes blank, staring into the screen like it was a mirror.
Rick walked down slowly and sat beside him. "You okay, kiddo?"
Rex didn't answer. His fingers twitched. His lips moved — no sound.
Then:
"He's mad," Rex whispered. "He knows the other one's awake."
Rick's breath hitched. "The other one?"
Rex turned toward him, eyes glassy. "The one in fire. The one in chains."
Rick stood. He knew who that meant.
The Devil Lord.
Before he could speak, someone knocked at the door. Three slow knocks. Rick's hand hovered near the axe handle behind the coat rack.
He opened the door.
Baston stood outside with a pizza box in one hand and his phone in the other, his dark hoodie soaked in mist. "Got food. And bad news."
Rick stepped aside.
"Three kids vanished out by Hollow Creek," Baston said, setting the box on the kitchen table. "Sheriff found claw marks, but not like animal ones. These were... burnt into the trees."
Meera's face paled. "Like fire?"
"Yeah," Baston replied. "And that's not the worst part." He pulled out his phone and showed a photo. In the dirt, scrawled in deep, charred claw marks, were the words:
"I SEE HIM TOO."
Before anyone could speak, the door creaked again.
This time, it was Dyren.
Leather jacket. Calm eyes. The kind of friend who never said too much — but always seemed to know more than he should.
"We need to talk," he said, stepping in and locking the door behind him.
"What is it now?" Rick asked, though he already felt the answer.
"I've been keeping an eye on unusual phenomena," Dyren said. "Whispers in federal databases. Power surges. Disappearances. Brookheaven is lighting up every red flag we have. Something's waking up — something old."
Rick glanced at Rex, still sitting, still twitching.
Then back to Dyren.
"You're not just here as a friend, are you?"
Dyren hesitated… then nodded. "No. I'm here as an agent."
Silence fell.
Rick looked out the window again. The fog hadn't moved. It was watching.
And somewhere deep in Brookheaven, fire stirred beneath the earth.
To be continued -
-writer
Rine