a sudden shift in the air—a cold gust that seemed to spiral around him, carrying with it a faint, guttural murmur. Nathaniel's breath caught in his throat, and he took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to leave. But his legs felt rooted to the ground, as if the forest itself were holding him in place.
The whispers grew louder, converging into words that sent shivers down his spine.
"Nathaniel… you shouldn't have come…"
His eyes darted around the glade, searching for the source of the voice, but the shadows seemed to stretch and twist, creating shapes that dissolved when he tried to focus on them. Panic gripped him as the air thickened, pressing against his chest, making it harder to breathe.
And then, out of the darkness, a figure emerged.
It wasn't his brother—not exactly. The shape was familiar, but wrong. Its body flickered, translucent yet unnaturally vivid, its features warped as though seen through rippling water. It had Ben's face, but the eyes were empty, glowing faintly with an unnatural light that pierced through the gloom.
"Nathaniel…" the figure rasped, its voice distorted, layered with something inhuman. "You left me here."
Nathaniel's stomach churned as he stared at the apparition. He wanted to speak, to explain, but his words caught in his throat. The figure took a step closer, its movements jerky, unnatural, as though it were struggling to maintain its form.
"You let them take me," it said, the accusation laced with sorrow and fury. "You didn't stop them."
"I—" Nathaniel stammered, shaking his head. "I don't understand. I didn't—what are you talking about?"
The figure tilted its head, its empty eyes narrowing. "You remember more than you admit. Think, Nathaniel. Think."
The words hit him like a blow, triggering another wave of memories. They came in fragmented bursts—flashes of the storm, the road, the argument, and then… something else. Something he had blocked out entirely.
He saw the two of them standing on the edge of the woods that night, shouting over the roar of the rain. Ben had stormed ahead, his face set in anger, while Nathaniel had followed, his own frustration boiling over.
"You can't just leave!" Nathaniel had shouted, grabbing his brother's arm.
"Watch me," Ben had snapped, pulling free. "You don't understand, Nathaniel. You never do."
"What don't I understand? That you're selfish? That you'd rather run away than face reality?"
Ben had stopped then, turning back with a look of pure fury. "Reality? You think this is about me running away? Look around, Nathaniel. This place—our family—it's already falling apart. And you're too much of a coward to do anything about it."
The memory shifted, the edges sharpening, and Nathaniel saw himself stepping closer, his fists clenched. "At least I'm not abandoning everyone like you are. You're just like Dad."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Nathaniel watched as Ben's face crumbled, the anger replaced by something far worse—hurt.
And then, just as quickly, the memory blurred, spiraling into chaos. Headlights cutting through the rain. The screech of tires. The deafening sound of impact.
But there was more. Another figure—shadowy, cloaked in darkness—standing at the edge of the trees, watching. And in its hand, something glinted—a blade? A symbol? The memory shattered before he could make sense of it, leaving him gasping for air.
"You see it now," the figure in the glade said, its voice filled with cruel satisfaction. "You've always known, deep down. You just didn't want to face it."
"No," Nathaniel said, shaking his head. "That's not what happened. It was an accident. It wasn't my fault."
"Wasn't it?" the figure sneered, taking another step forward. "You didn't listen. You didn't stop me. And when the darkness came, you let it take me."
Nathaniel staggered back, his mind racing. The symbols on the trees, the altar, the shadowy presence—was it all connected? Had something truly malevolent been there that night, hidden beneath the storm and the tragedy?
"I didn't know," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't know what was happening."
The figure loomed closer, its distorted form flickering wildly. "And now you do. But knowing won't save you."
Suddenly, the ground beneath Nathaniel began to tremble, the moss and earth splitting open to reveal writhing tendrils of darkness. They surged toward him, coiling around his legs and pulling him down. He struggled, kicking and clawing at the tendrils, but they were too strong, too cold, their touch burning his skin.
"You don't belong here," the figure said, its voice echoing as it began to dissolve into the shadows. "You never should have come back."
The tendrils tightened their grip, dragging Nathaniel closer to the altar. The gouges in the stone seemed to glow faintly now, as if they were alive, pulsing in time with the dark energy around him. He clawed at the ground, his fingers digging into the earth, but it was no use. The darkness was pulling him in, and he could feel its icy tendrils creeping up his body, suffocating him.
And then, just as he thought he would be consumed entirely, he heard it—a faint voice cutting through the chaos, steady and calm.
"Nathaniel. Remember."
It was Ben's voice, clear and unmistakable, and it filled him with a sudden surge of determination. He forced himself to focus, to push past the fear and the pain, and for the first time, he truly remembered.
The argument. The road. The crash. The figure in the shadows. The way Ben had looked at him just before it happened—not with anger, but with desperation, as if he'd been trying to warn him.
And then, the sound of laughter—cold, cruel, inhuman—echoing through the woods as the darkness closed in around them.
Nathaniel's eyes snapped open, and he let out a furious scream, yanking free of the tendrils with a strength he didn't know he had. The darkness recoiled, hissing like a living thing, and for a moment, the glade was still.
"I'm not leaving," Nathaniel said, his voice steady despite the terror coursing through him. He stood, his fists clenched, and stared into the shadows. "I'm not leaving until I bring him back."
The forest seemed to shudder in response, the shadows rippling like a pool of water disturbed. And in the distance, faint but unmistakable, he heard Ben's voice again.
"Then come find me."
With a deep breath, Nathaniel stepped forward, plunging deeper into the darkness.