The morning light was warmer than it had been in weeks. Caleb blinked, waking up to the familiar sounds of his camp—a crackling fire from the previous night's embers, the distant song of birds, and the steady breeze that rustled through the trees. He felt well-rested for once, the anxiety of recent days easing just slightly.
Today would be different. He felt it.
He moved through his morning routine, his body still aching from the constant demands of survival, but with a lighter heart. There had been no sign of visitors the night before. No ominous stones, no footsteps in the dark. It was a relief, albeit a small one. But today, it allowed him to focus on what was ahead, rather than what lurked behind.
After a quick meal, Caleb looked over his small but growing camp. The cabin was coming together, but it was slow work. He missed the tools he had lost over time—the hammer, the axe with a clean edge, even the tattered pack that carried it all. Out here, things broke. It was inevitable. But the loss of his gear still stung. Each item he had started with had felt like a lifeline to his old world, and now… they were gone.
But as he looked over the progress he had made with his hands alone, he allowed himself a small smile. There was pride in that.
Today, though, he needed food. And while he had found a few berries yesterday, he knew he couldn't rely on chance. His stomach growled, and he felt the urgency build. If he didn't find a good source soon, the energy required to keep building and securing the camp would run out fast. He grabbed his spear, a tool that felt more symbolic than functional, and headed out.
The further Caleb ventured into the forest, the stranger the air around him became. It was as if the woods themselves held their breath, watching. His footfalls were muffled by the dense foliage, but he couldn't shake the feeling that each step echoed in ways they shouldn't. The deeper he went, the quieter the world seemed to grow.
Then, just beyond the dense thicket, something unnatural caught his eye.
At first, it looked like just another outcropping of stone—jagged, dark, and half-consumed by the earth. But something about it was different. As Caleb pushed through the underbrush, wiping away sweat and squinting at the strange sight, the realization struck him: the stone wasn't natural. It was shaped. Carved.
He stepped closer, heart pounding.
Before him stood what remained of a structure—small, but undeniably deliberate. A temple? No, that couldn't be right. Not here. Not in the middle of the American wilderness. Caleb's mind raced as he stared at the smooth grey stone, its surface worn down by centuries but still revealing hints of craftsmanship. Buildings like this shouldn't exist here. There were no ancient civilizations in this part of America that built with stone like this, certainly not in the form of temples. The Native tribes didn't build in this way, and nothing he had ever read or studied mentioned anything like this.
His breath quickened. This couldn't be real.
As he circled the ruins, his hand brushed against the cool stone. A chill shot up his spine. The surface was unnaturally smooth, almost like polished marble, though cracks spiderwebbed across it, filled with creeping vines and thick moss. It was as if the forest had tried to reclaim the temple but couldn't quite smother its eerie presence.
The structure itself was small, more like an altar than a full temple, its roof long collapsed. Dark grey stone blocks, impossibly heavy looking, were stacked with a precision that seemed almost alien. Strange symbols covered the remaining walls—symbols that resembled letters but twisted in ways that made them impossible to read. Caleb's fingers traced one of the markings, feeling the deep grooves worn into the rock, and his stomach churned with unease.
What language was this? What people? What... thing had made this?
A sense of wrongness settled over him like a weight. He could almost hear whispers, though the wind was still and the air heavy with the scent of earth and rot. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This place didn't belong here. It didn't belong anywhere. It felt... forgotten. No, not forgotten. Abandoned.
He glanced around nervously, half-expecting something to emerge from the shadows of the trees. The forest was too quiet, and for the first time since he had arrived in this strange past, Caleb felt as if the wilderness was hiding something from him—something old, something that should have remained lost.
Kneeling by the base of one of the crumbling walls, he saw something else—another marking, this one partially obscured by the dirt and roots. He brushed it off with trembling hands, revealing a pattern that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't like the others. It wasn't a symbol. It looked like a... door.
But there was no entrance. The wall was solid, the stone unyielding. His heart raced as his mind spun with possibilities. Was there something buried beneath? Something hidden within?
He stood up abruptly, his pulse thundering in his ears. He needed to leave. Now. The temple—if that's what it was—had an unsettling energy, like it was watching him, waiting for him to leave before it revealed its true nature. Caleb backed away slowly, his eyes darting to the edges of the forest, every shadow now a potential threat.
As he stepped away from the ruins, the oppressive silence lifted ever so slightly, but the weight of the discovery still pressed on his chest. This wasn't just an anomaly. It was something more. Something older than anyone had ever known. And no one—no historian, no archaeologist—had ever mentioned ruins like this existing anywhere in America.
What had he stumbled upon?
Caleb turned to leave, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't truly leaving this place behind. The thought lingered in his mind: what if this temple wasn't just forgotten? What if it was forsaken? Left here for a reason, hidden from time itself?
As he made his way back to camp, the forest slowly came alive again. The distant rustle of leaves, the occasional call of a bird, all of it returning to normal. But Caleb couldn't shake the sense that something had changed—that he had crossed an invisible line, and that whatever lay beyond it wasn't done with him yet.
The ruins still haunted him. What was it about those symbols, those markings that resembled letters but twisted into something... wrong? He could still feel the cold stone beneath his fingers, the unnerving smoothness of it.
By the time he returned to camp, night had begun to fall, but Caleb's thoughts were still locked on the strange discovery. He stared into the fire, his meal untouched, his mind replaying every detail, every crack in the stone, every whispered breath of the wind that hadn't been there.
What did it all mean?
The ruins felt like a warning, something ancient trying to speak through the silence of the forest. But Caleb had no way of knowing what message it carried—or if he was even supposed to understand.