Ava woke to the sound of water and the faint rustle of leaves. Her shoulder ached—a dull,
bruised throb from sleeping against the uneven slope of the forest floor—but it was the rhythmic
splashing that drew her attention first. Blinking against the morning light, she propped herself up
and peered down toward the creek where Ugraum stood waist-deep in the water, as still and
statuesque as the stone pillars that dotted the older ruins of this realm.
He moved with slow deliberation, hands cupped and poised just beneath the surface. Every few
seconds, he shifted fractionally, following some elusive darting shape in the stream with the
reverent focus of a priest in ritual.
“You look like a very determined tree attempting espionage,” Ava called out, rubbing her eyes.
Ugraum didn’t turn. “Very advanced hunting technique,” he replied evenly. “Requires patience.”
She yawned, standing and stretching with a wince. “Was this patience taught by your noble clan
of damp fools?”
“I learned from you.”
He lunged at the water with a sudden splash—too slow. The fish flitted away in a gleam of silver.
Ava smirked. “You’re terrible at flirting.”
“I thought that’s how it is done,” he said, wading back to shore with dripping boots and a
wounded kind of dignity.
“Ah,” she said with a mock-serious nod. “Then I am very flattered, Lord Wet-and-Fishless.”
The morning passed in easy companionship. They packed up their small camp and followed a
narrow trail winding through gnarled woods and steep stone outcrops. The further they walked,
the quieter the forest became, the birdsong thinning out as though something deeper in the
valley swallowed sound.
By midday, the trail took them through a patch of strange undergrowth. Ava paused near a
decaying tree, its bark split open like a ruptured seam. Blue mushrooms bloomed along its
base—wide-capped, gently pulsing with a faint bioluminescence.
“These weren’t here yesterday,” she said, crouching to examine them. “Not native either. This…
isn’t natural. These are absorbing something.”
Ugraum watched silently as she waved a hand near the nearest fungus, careful not to touch. The
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caps gave off a faint hum, barely audible, like the tuning of a broken instrument.
She stood up slowly. “There’s residual magic in the soil. Old. Fragmented. Maybe a failed ritual
site. Or worse—a feeding ground.”
Ugraum grunted. “This place, so wrong. Like the ground remembers something it shouldn't.”
She didn’t argue. They kept moving, more alert now, as the trail climbed into harsher
terrain—sharp rocks, fewer trees, and less cover, which suited Ugraum just fine. He disliked
being surrounded by what he couldn’t see.
That evening, they made camp on a slanted ridge, wind-battered but clear-eyed in every
direction. No tree cover. No shadows to hide in.
Ugraum called it ‘a fine place to see trouble coming.’
Ava called it ‘a fine place to roll to your death if you get up too quickly.’
Dinner was sparse—dried meat and roasted roots. Ava sketched quietly, recording the fungal
patterns they’d passed, trying to make sense of them. Her fingers moved by habit, but her eyes
flicked often to the edge of their firelight, where shadows pooled unnaturally.
“I have a feeling something’s following us.” she said without looking up.
Ugraum said nothing for a long moment. Then: “Yes. Not following. Watching. Has known we’re
here.”
She looked at him. “That’s not better.”
The silence between them stretched as the fire crackled. Eventually, he asked,“Do you miss it?
Your old world?”
“I do,” she said simply. “We have very comfortable beds back home.”
She gave a soft, dry laugh. “I used to crave the noise. The science. The certainty of things. Then
the portal cracked open and everything became stories. Living stories. And I thought—good. At
last, something extraordinary.”
Her voice softened. “But now… I feel like I trespassed somewhere sacred. And it wants me gone.”
Ugraum leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This world doesn’t want things,” he
said. “But I do. And I want you here.”
Ava met his eyes, startled by the plainness of it. For a moment, she had no clever thing to say.
Just a quiet: “Thank you.”
* * *
The duo discovered a ring of claw marks the next morning.
Ugraum had gone to check the perimeter when Ava stumbled across the site of their previous
camp—now a desecrated mess. Their packs had been rifled through, belongings upturned, and
her notebook lay torn open, pages scattered and stained.
“No animal did this,” she murmured.
Ugraum joined her, scanning the ground. “No fur. No prints. No signs of eating. But there—” He
pointed to faint parallel drag marks in the dirt. “Something crawled. Long-bodied. No legs.”
A sick feeling settled in Ava’s gut. She crouched near the edge of their fire ring and froze.
Sharp claw marks. Thin, deliberate, shallow. Carved in a perfect circle where she had sat the
night before.
She reached out and touched one.
It was still warm.
That night, sleep didn’t come easily. They kept a low fire. Ugraum sat watchful, his axe across his
lap. Ava tried to rest but kept her blade nearby. The night was wrong. The air was too still. No
wind. No insects. Then came the scent.
Rot. Damp wood. Blood long dried.
She sat up as the scraping began.
A slow, steady rasp—something dragging itself across the forest floor, limbs cracking, breathing
in gasps too wet and too loud for lungs. It circled them, just beyond the firelight. Back and forth.
Never stepping into sight.They waited. Eventually, the sound faded.
Neither spoke.
The air thickened, and the trees bent away from its approach.
It emerged from the woods like a dream twisted into flesh—spider-like in posture, though half its
limbs were malformed or broken. Its body was tangled with fungal strands, its ribcage fused with
something pulsing, wet and wrong. Its eyes glowed with faint ember-light, not intelligent, but
fixated. Hungry.
It saw Ava.
And it moved.
Ugraum was up before she could cry out, charging with a roar and axe raised high.
The first blow landed hard. Bone cracked. The creature shrieked—an awful, high-pitched sound
that rattled Ava’s teeth.
Claws lashed out. Ugraum took one across his ribs, staggered, but didn’t fall. He slammed his axe
into the thing’s midsection, sending it skidding back. It instantly turned its full attention to Ava.
She stood frozen, blade in hand, heart hammering.
Its mouth opened—not to scream, but to breathe her in.
A pull—a terrible, aching gravity, like the broken portal from her world all over again.
“No,” she said aloud.
She raised her dagger. “Not this time.”
The creature twitched—hesitated.
And Ugraum didn’t waste time. He struck again, this time with all his weight behind it. The axe
drove deep into its skull. A final, shuddering breath escaped it. Then silence.
Ava ran to him, catching him as he stumbled. Blood soaked his side.
“Lie down. Don’t move—”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, grimacing.
“You’re not.” She tore fabric from her cloak, pressed it against the wound.
He gritted his teeth. “Wasn’t going to let it take you.”
Her hands shook. “I know. I know.”
His gaze softened. “Stay?”
“Yes, Ugraum,” she said, eyes fierce. “I’m staying. I’m with you.”
She meant it.
Whatever this world was—whatever followed them in the dark—it wasn’t going to take her.
And it wasn’t going to take him either.
Not if she could help it.
* * *