The mountains stretched wide and bright, their snow-dusted peaks piercing the sky, framed against a brilliant blue expanse. The morning sun cast long golden streaks over the slopes, warming the frost-covered grass, and as they climbed higher the air turned cool and crisp, carrying the clean scent of pine and stone. Shadows stretched long across the ridges, pooling in the crevices where the sun had yet to reach, and far below, ribbons of mist curled through valleys like silver veins threading through the landscape.

  The world felt untouched by war or magic. They could have just as easily been in the Alps.

  The weight of history and prophecy, of visions and uncertainty faded beneath the vastness of the sky. Up here, there were no ruins of fallen kingdoms, no traces of curses woven into the land— only the mountains, ancient and eternal, standing impervious to the struggles of those who moved beneath them.

  Melissa, arms stretched over her head, took a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. I get why people go skiing and hiking now.”

  Julia smirked. “You didn’t before?”

  “I mean, I figured the mountains would be colder. Worse.”

  “Just wait until we’re higher up,” Brenna said lazily, adjusting the saddle bag on her horse. “Then we’ll see how much you like them.”

  The path wound up through the valleys, past deep green meadows where herds of belled cows grazed lazily, their chimes ringing softly in the still air. The scent of wildflowers drifted on the breeze, mingling with the sharper bite of pine. Along the slopes, bright patches of purple and yellow blossoms stood out against the rocky earth. Now and then, they passed a narrow stream cutting through the hillside, its waters clear and cold, tumbling over smooth stones as it wound its way down to the valley below.

  But there were no people.

  The few cottages they passed were empty, their doors shut tight, windows dark. Signs of recent life were everywhere— fresh-cut wood stacked outside, gardens still tended, laundry lines strung with gently swaying clothes— but no one came out to greet them. No voices carried through the air, no distant shouts from farmers working the rocky hillside. Just silence.

  Brandon frowned, nudging his horse closer to Brenna. “Are these abandoned?”

  “Not abandoned,” Brenna said, studying the houses carefully. “Just... temporarily left.” She snorted. “Smart people.”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “You’re really dedicated to this whole ‘doom and gloom’ thing, huh?”

  “I respect people who know when to leave.”

  The wind shifted, carrying with it a faint, metallic tang— so faint it could have been imagination. But Annemarie felt it, just for a moment. That strange, familiar sense of something wrong pressing at the edge of her awareness.

  She tightened her grip on the reins. Higher up, the mountains loomed. Waiting.

  The higher they climbed, the more the world seemed to hold its breath. The trees thinned, giving way to jagged cliffs and sheer rock faces, their edges sharp against the sky. The wind cut through the ridges, colder now, carrying only the scent of stone and frost where pine had once lingered.

  And still, there was no sign of life.

  The cottages had vanished behind them, replaced by old outposts— small, weathered fortifications built into the mountainside, their watchtowers standing silent and empty. Some had long since succumbed to time, their doors hanging loose, shutters missing, ivy creeping through cracks in the stone. Others looked as though their occupants had only just fled. Hearths cold but intact, chairs pulled up to empty tables.

  But no one had come back.

  Melissa broke the silence first. “Okay. This is officially weird, right? It’s not just me?”

  “It’s not just you,” Brandon muttered.

  Julia slowed her horse, glancing toward Brenna. “This isn’t normal, is it?”

  Brenna exhaled sharply, adjusting her grip on the reins. “Depends on what you call normal. Some people just know when to leave.”

  Melissa frowned. “Yeah, but why? There’s no damage. No signs of a fight, no destruction. Just... empty houses. And cows.”

  Annemarie barely heard them. The pull westward, once subtle and ignorable, had become something else entirely. Here in the mountains, it thrummed beneath her skin— a steady, insistent force, as if something ahead was waiting.

  Waiting for her.

  She swallowed, tightening her grip on the reins. The last time she had felt this— this slow unraveling of certainty, this sense of being drawn into something larger than herself— had been in Ismay’s Landing, when the visions had come as flashes of memory she barely understood.

  But now... now she wasn’t just seeing them. She was feeling them.

  The sting of ice-cold wind against her face. The scrape of rough stone beneath her fingertips. The weight of something unseen, pressing down on the world like the hush before a storm.

  Not fear. Not yet. But close.

  “Annemarie?” Brandon’s voice pulled her back, the concern in it grounding her. She blinked, clearing the haze from her mind, realizing the group had stopped.

  Ahead, the path split. One trail led steeply upward, little more than a narrow, treacherous pass carved into the rock. The other dipped down into a valley, where a dark river cut through the land, waters moving fast and deep, churning beneath the encroaching shadows.

  Two paths. Two choices.

  Annemarie barely hesitated. “This one,” she said, nudging her horse toward the pass.

  The wind sharpened as they climbed, carrying with it a thin, biting chill that cut through their cloaks and set the horses shifting uneasily beneath them. The trail was narrow, little more than a jagged ribbon of stone winding up on the mountainside. There were sheer drops on one side and looming cliffs on the other. The sky stretched vast and pale overhead, the brilliant blue of the morning now tinged with streaks of silver-gray as thin clouds gathered, moving like restless ghosts.

  The silence deepened.

  Even the wind, though fierce, carried no sound beyond its own howling. No birds. No distant hum of insects. Only the rhythmic crunch of hooves against loose rock, the creak of leather saddles, the quiet rustle of fabric as they adjusted their cloaks.

  Brandon rode beside Annemarie, his posture tense, his eyes sweeping the cliffs above them as if expecting something to move in the craggy outcroppings. Julia followed behind, their usual chatter absent, replaced by wary glances toward the valley below where the river wound like a dark, shifting ribbon.

  Brenna, at the rear, let out a quiet breath. “This path hasn’t been used much in years. There used to be trade routes through here, back before the war.” She gestured toward the valley. “That river leads to the old crossings— faster, if you’ve got boats, but dangerous this time of year. Most people took the pass when they could.

  Brandon glanced toward the abandoned outposts they had left behind. “And now?”

  “Now, no one comes this way at all,” Brenna murmured.

  The words settled heavily between them.

  Annemarie felt it too— that absence. This wasn’t just a place people had forgotten— it was a place people avoided.

  And yet, the pull in her chest remained steady. Stronger, even. They were going the right way.

  The trail wound upward, steep and treacherous, forcing them to slow their pace. The horses moved carefully, their hooves sending loose pebbles skittering down the mountainside, vanishing into the mist that clung to the valley below.

  Then— a sound.

  Faint. Almost imperceptible.

  A low, distant hum, just at the edge of hearing. Not the wind. Not the shifting of rock. Something else.

  Annemarie stiffened.

  Brandon heard it too. His hand drifted toward the sword at his side. “You hear that?” he murmured.

  Melissa frowned. “Hear what?”

  Another gust of wind swept through the pass, rattling loose stones and sending a shiver through the horses. The hum was gone.

  But the unease it left behind remained.

  Annemarie exhaled softly. “Keep moving,” she said, voice low.

  They pressed onward, following the path higher into the mountains, the sky darkening as the first hints of storm clouds gathered above.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The fire crackled weakly, its light flickering against the stone walls, but the abandoned cottage still felt cold. Not just from the snow outside— though the wind howled like a living thing, rattling the half-rotted wooden shutters— but from something deeper. Something that had settled into the bones of the place. Something that had waited.

  Brandon pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, his gaze flicking toward Annemarie. “You sure you’re okay, love?”

  Annemarie swallowed, forcing herself to nod. The feeling of being watched hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had thickened, coiling in the back of her mind like a half-formed thought, just out of reach.

  And then— a heavy thud from above.

  Everyone went still.

  Melissa, who had been kneeling by the fire, slowly straightened. “Tell me that was the wind.”

  Julia’s hand was already on her knife. “That wasn’t the wind.”

  Another thud, followed by a slow, deliberate scraping noise, like claws against wood.

  Brenna exhaled sharply. “The loft.”

  Before anyone could react, Gorgoloth moved. The massive spider had been resting near the hearth, his dark, hairy legs tucked beneath him, his many eyes gleaming in the firelight. Now, he skittered toward the staircase, his movements impossibly silent for something his size.

  “Gorgoloth, wait—” Melissa hissed, but he was already climbing.

  Brandon cursed under his breath and grabbed his sword. Annemarie forced herself to focus, to push past the way the air seemed heavier now. Like the whole room was holding its breath.

  And then— silence.

  Gorgoloth had disappeared into the loft.

  Melissa clenched her fists. “If he dies, I’m never forgiving any of you.”

  Brandon shot her an incredulous look. “If we die, I’d rather you focus on that.”

  But before anyone could argue, there was a sudden sharp clicking noise from above. A chittering, rapid and unnatural.

  Then— movement. Fast, skittering. Something big.

  Gorgoloth hissed.

  And suddenly, the whole loft shook. A heavy impact— something slamming against the floorboards. Dust rained down, swirling in the firelight. And then— a guttural, echoing voice.

  Not words. Not in any language they knew. But Annemarie understood the meaning all the same.

  Her blood turned to ice. Something lived in the dark.

  And it was angry.

  The fire guttered, shrinking back into itself as if recoiling from the sound. Annemarie couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The words weren’t spoken aloud— not really. They rippled through her, pressing into the marrow of her bones, settling into her chest like a second heartbeat.

  Above them, the loft creaked, the weight of something shifting. A low, wet breath rasped through the wooden beams, heavy with decay and age.

  Gorgoloth hissed again— sharp, warning. Then, a screech.

  Louder than it should have been. Too loud. It filled the space, vibrating through the walls, rattling the shutters. The sound was ancient, layered, something massive and many-voiced.

  Melissa surged forward. “Gorgoloth!”

  Brandon caught her arm before she could charge up the stairs. “Wait!”

  Another impact— harder this time. The whole loft shook, dust and splinters raining down as whatever was up there moved.

  Gorgoloth dropped.

  One second he was above them— then a blur of dark, hairy legs as he landed on the stone floor in a tangle of limbs, hissing violently. He scrambled upright, his many eyes wide, his fangs bared— Melissa was already on him, running her hands over his body, searching for injuries.

  “Oh my god, are you okay? Are you— what was—”

  The loft creaked again.

  A shadow spilled down the stairs.

  Not a shadow. A presence.

  A shape too large to fit the space it occupied, pressing against the edges of reality, warping it. The air shuddered around it, thick and wrong. It wasn’t even fully visible— just darkness given weight and purpose, moving like liquid, shifting like it wasn’t bound by normal dimensions.

  The voice came again. Understandable, this time.

  YOU HAVE SEEN TOO MUCH.

  The fire died. The room plunged into absolute blackness.

  And then— a sound. A slithering.

  Something descending the stairs.

  The darkness swallowed everything. For a single, suffocating moment, there was nothing— no fire, no light, no outlines of their bodies. Just an endless, shifting black, thick as tar, pressing in from all sides.

  Then came the sound. A slow, wet slither. Something moving, something impossibly large, dragging itself down the stairs. It wasn’t footsteps. It wasn’t legs. It was wrong.

  Move.

  Annemarie didn’t know if the voice was hers or something else’s, but she listened. She threw herself sideways just as the first tendril of darkness lunged. It hit the stone floor with a sickening crack, the impact sending out a shockwave of cold so intense it burned.

  Brandon swore, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The steel gleamed faintly in the swallowing dark— just for a moment— before the blackness surged forward again, tendril stretching, writhing, hungry.

  Brandon swung. The blade met resistance, but not the way it should have. It cut through something, but there was no spray of blood, no sound of tearing flesh. Instead, the darkness shuddered and recoiled, the wound sealing almost instantly, reforming like thick smoke.

  “Shit,” he hissed, stepping back.

  The others scrambled to react. Melissa shoved Gorgoloth behind herm puffed and hissing like an angry cat. Julia struck flint against steel in a desperate attempt to relight the fire. Brenna pulled a dagger from her belt. But Annemarie felt it before any of them

  The weight pressing in, the overwhelming wrongness of it.

  This wasn’t just some shadowy creature. This was something older, deeper. A fragment of something vast and consuming, something that did not belong in the world of the living.

  Something that wanted to take.

  Her hands clenched, and suddenly, she knew what to do.

  She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. She reached for the power thrumming beneath her skin, and it answered.

  A surge of light exploded outward from her fingertips— bright, searing, real in a way that the darkness was not. It wasn’t fire, wasn’t lightning, but something older. Something fundamental.

  The darkness screamed. The black tendrils recoiled violently, curling away from the light like burned flesh. The shape at the top of the stairs twisted, writing, suddenly too solid, too exposed.

  Annemarie didn’t stop.

  She stepped forward, pushing against the thing with every ounce of power in her veins. The light surged again, a rippling wave that shattered through the unnatural void, tearing through the darkness like sunbeams through fog.

  The presence reeled back, howling— not in sound, but in something deeper, something that rattled her skull and burned through her thoughts.

  Annemarie bared her teeth. “Yes.”

  The light surged a final time— blinding, all-consuming. And the darkness collapsed.

  A final, keening wail echoed through the stone walls as the thing that had lurked in the loft dissolved, ripped apart by the force of Annemarie’s magic. Shadows curled in on themselves, shrinking, breaking apart like dry leaves in the wind— until, at last, there was nothing.

  No tendrils. No slithering presence. Just the dim glow of embers in the hearth.

  The fire flickered weakly back to life, casting long, shivering shadows against the walls. The room was silent. The wind howled outside.

  Then Melissa let out a long breath. “Holy shit.”

  Brandon, still gripping his sword, looked at Annemarie, his chest rising and falling. “What the fuck was that?”

  Annemarie’s pulse pounded in her ears. “I think I’m figuring out my magic.”

  The fire burned low through the rest of the night, flickering lazily against the soot-stained stones of the hearth. No more shadows moved in the loft. No more wrongness pressed against their skin. Whatever it had been, Annemarie had destroyed it.

  But she didn’t sleep.

  The others settled in one by one— Brandon curled around her, Julia grumbling about the cold as she wrapped herself in her cloak. Brenna dozed with her hood pulled over her face. Melissa snored in the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around Gorgoloth, the massive spider resting his hairy legs over her protectively.

  Annemarie let herself breathe. The magic had quieted in her veins, but she could still feel its hum beneath her skin. Deep. Waiting.

  Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under.

  By morning, the storm had passed.

  The world outside was transformed— snow-covered slopes gleaming under the pale morning light, the sky an impossibly clear blue. The air was sharp and crisp, their breaths curling in the cold as they packed up, stamping warmth back into their limbs.

  “I hate snow,” Melissa muttered, rubbing her hands together. “I nearly froze to death, and somehow you all managed to sleep through my suffering. “

  “You snored so loudly the dead could hear you,” Julia said flatly, mounting her horse.

  Melissa scowled. “Gorgoloth and I had a rough night. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Gorgoloth, nestled in the folds of her cloak, twitched his legs in lazy agreement.

  Brandon swung himself onto his horse, shaking his head. “Let’s get moving before she starts monologuing.”

  They rode out.

  The checkpoint sat at the base of the next valley, a squat fortress built from thick Ionian stone. The dark red-and-gold banners of the occupying forces snapped in the morning wind. The road leading to it was heavily patrolled, armored soldiers watching the trail with bored, half-interested expressions, hands resting on the hilts of their weapons.

  Crossing from Lolinglas into Milana should have been simple. It wasn’t.

  The guards at the main gate barely looked at their travel papers before exchanging looks— quiet, knowing.

  “Foreigners, huh?” the taller one mused, stroking his beard. “Unusual to see so many crossing all at once. Documents seem to be in order, but.. well, there’s an expedited processing fee.”

  Brandon’s grip on the reins tightened. “A what?”

  The shorter guard— lean, sharp-eyed— gave a slow smile. “Little tax. Just to make sure everything is properly recorded.”

  “That’s not how border laws work,” Julia said coolly.

  The taller one spread his hands. “Could always wait. Processing might take... oh, a day or two.”

  Melissa groaned. “God, you’re so bad at this. Just say you want a bribe and let us get on with our lives.”

  The guards’ smiles stiffened. “That’s a very strong accusation,” the shorter one said.

  Melissa raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

  The taller guard sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Fifteen gold and you’re through.”

  Brenna choked. “That’s a scam. Five.”

  “Twelve.”

  “Seven.”

  The shorter one leaned against the gate, shrugging. “Ten. Welcome to Iona.”

  Annemarie watched the exchange in silence, the remnants of the magic still humming under her skin. She could feel the expectation in the air— the guards sizing them up, trying to see how much they could squeeze from travelers who clearly weren’t locals.

  She glanced at Julia, who looked about three seconds from stabbing someone. Then at Brenna, who was visibly restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

  Fine.

  Annemarie pulled her coin pouch free, counted out the coins, and flicked them toward the guards. “Eight fifty. And that’s generous. We cleared out a living shadow from these valleys last night, so be thankful.”

  The shorter one caught the bag, weighing it in his hand. “Fine. Better you than us. Enjoy the Mirrorwood.”

  The gate creaked open. They were across the border.