The air was thick with white smoke, so dense that it suffocated the horizon, making it impossible to tell where the sky ended and the ground began. Every step the man took sent ripples through the fog, as if the very earth beneath him was unsure of its own existence. There was no wind, no sound, only the eerie silence that clung to him like an invisible weight. The world around him seemed to stretch forever in this endless void of mist.
As he continued walking toward the middle of the fog, a strange sensation gnawed at him—a tightening in his chest, as though something unseen was watching, waiting. Then, without warning, the fog began to recede, curling away like ghostly fingers retreating from their prey. It was slow at first, like the drawing of a veil, but with each step, more of the ground beneath him became visible. And that was when the cracks appeared.
Tiny at first, barely noticeable, but growing wider with a sickening groan, the ground began to tear itself apart. The man froze as the soil split open like a jagged wound, revealing darkness so deep it felt as if it could swallow the world whole. From the depths of that void, hands—dozens of them, maybe hundreds—began to emerge. Some were grotesquely human, while others were misshapen, gnarled, with claws like talons. They reached out, grasping at the air, at the ground, at each other. Pale, withered hands intertwined with those covered in scales, bone protruding from the flesh.
Then came the screams. Not just screams—wails of agony, of despair. The kind that tore at the soul, filled with madness and fury, rising from the pit below. The man's heart raced, his body paralyzed by a primal fear. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to move.
From within the gaping abyss, creatures began to climb out, one after another. Twisted, misshapen figures with bodies that contorted unnaturally as they crawled over each other. Some had faces that were vaguely human, but their eyes were hollow, mouths stretching impossibly wide as though they were forever locked in a silent scream. Others were worse—things that should not exist, that could not exist. Limbs bent backward, covered in sharp, jagged bones that jutted out of their skin like knives.
One of the demons reached the man first, its smile grotesque and twisted, lips pulled back far too wide, revealing rows of sharp, yellow teeth. It moved closer, dragging itself across the shattered ground, its eyes glowing with hunger. The man, his voice caught in his throat, stumbled backward and fell to the ground. He scrambled, crawling away, but the creature was too fast. It loomed over him, its rancid breath hot against his skin, its mouth slowly opening wider, ready to devour him.
But then, just as it was about to strike, something shot through the air. A sharp snap echoed, and a whip—long, red as burning coal—wrapped itself tightly around the demon's neck. With a sudden, violent jerk, the creature was pulled backward, its body flung through the air. The man watched in disbelief as the thing was hurled into the darkness from which it came, its screeching cut off as it plunged back into the abyss.
He looked up, breathless, his eyes darting toward the figure who had saved him. A woman stood there, barely visible through the lingering smoke. Her face was indistinct, blurred as if reality itself could not contain her image. Her features shifted in and out of focus, making it impossible to tell who or what she truly was. The whip coiled around her arm like a living thing, pulsing with energy.
Then, without warning, everything shattered. The mist, the demons, the cracking ground—all of it. The world splintered into nothingness, and the man was falling. Falling into an endless black void, the wails of the creatures fading into the distance as he plunged deeper into the abyss.
He awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, his hands trembling. The dream felt too real, too vivid.
As he sat up in bed, gasping for breath, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a nightmare.
And whatever it was, it was already on its way.
**Emergency Medical Services (EMS) Station**
Reine stretched her limbs, trying to ward off any discomfort. Her captain had assigned her the less strenuous task of reorganizing files and checking equipment, a far cry from the heavy-duty fieldwork she usually handled.
Her mind wandered back to the events of the previous week. The creek, known to locals as the Wailing Creek, had been a source of unsettling whispers. Each night, mournful cries drifted through the cold air, carried by the wind, while the tall grass seemed to murmur secrets of a bygone sorrow.
Long ago, a mother's desperate wails had pierced the night. Her cries, filled with a haunting despair, echoed through the village: "My baby... They took my baby." Her body was discovered in the creek the next morning, and while some thought her mentally unstable, others whispered that she had harmed her own child. Bound by grief and cursed by her loss, the mother's spirit was trapped in an endless cycle of sorrow, her baby lost to her forever. Reine sighed, pondering if the spirit's torment had twisted it into something more sinister—perhaps even demonic.
Stepping outside for a breath of fresh air, Reine glanced at the clock: it was 9 PM, signaling the end of her shift. Mathew approached from behind, clad in a black jacket and track pants.
"Reine! How was work today?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
Reine shot him a sharp look. "Careful, Mathew, or you might find yourself on the receiving end of a slap."
Mathew wisely zipped his lips.
Reine sighed again. "How long do you think the captain will keep us on this busywork?"
"Reorganizing and checking stuff, you mean?" Mathew responded.
Reine gave him a look that spoke volumes. "What else?"
"Maybe a week?" Mathew guessed after a moment's thought.
Reine sank onto a nearby bench. "I could be doing so much more right now."
Mathew snorted. "Well, if that pesky brat hadn't reported you for misconduct, we wouldn't be in this mess."
Reine's eyes narrowed. "You mean Officer Sam?"
Mathew raised his eyebrows in confirmation. "Yeah, he said you were negligent with patients and chatting with witnesses about things that should've been handled by the police."
Reine's face flushed with anger. "That coward! I'm going to speak to the captain."
Mathew stopped her. "You'd better hold off. I heard the higher-ups are holding a meeting to reassess all divisions."
"Why?" Reine asked, confusion evident in her tone.
"Complaints, I suppose," Mathew shrugged.
With a heavy sigh, Reine made her way home.
Upon entering her house, she was greeted by her uncle, Peter Kue. At 59, standing at 5 feet 6, with a touch of facial hair and dark hair turning gray, Peter Kue was a shaman, a spiritual guide.
"Uncle Peter, what brings you here?" Reine asked.
Her father, Xavier Kue, emerged from the hallway.
"Dad, you're back?" Reine rushed to hug him. "Since when?"
As the family settled down, her mother placed a bottle of water on the table, and the atmosphere grew somber.
"Um…" Reine began to speak, but her uncle cut her off.
"I had a dream… a troubling one," Peter Kue said.
Reine, puzzled, asked, "What do you mean, Uncle Peter?"
Peter recounted his disturbing dream from that morning. He explained, his words painting a picture of unease. He spoke of restless spirits, of warnings carried in dreams.
After some reflection, Reine suggested, "Maybe it's just a bad dream and nothing more…"
"I hear jingles in my ears and an itch in my nose, but my helpers are too weak," Uncle Peter said, his gaze fixed on Reine.
Reine remained silent, unsettled. Coincidentally, she had also been struggling with sleep, a vague sense of unease hanging over her, though she couldn't pinpoint why.
After their conversation, Reine retreated to her shed in the backyard, feeling an unusual fatigue and restlessness.
Lying down, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift into that familiar, eerie calm. Soon, the world around her began to shift. It was a sensation she knew well—she was crossing over.
"Bring me to it… Where are you…"
The space around her morphed into what seemed like an empty room.
"Exactly where are you?"
"Find it…"
In the room stood Rayen Ayelen.
"A woman?" Reine thought, scanning her surroundings. "Moireal?Hmmm why does that name sound strangely familiar?"
Suddenly, her vision blurred, and Reine jolted awake, sweat dampening her brow.
"I suppose that's as far as I can go," Reine murmured to herself.
But who was that woman?