The sea churned like a beast in its death throes, tossing the small ferry as though it weighed nothing. Mira tightened her grip on the rusty railing, her knuckles white against the peeling paint. The salt-laden wind stung her face, but she kept her eyes fixed on the distant outline of Obsidian Island.
It loomed on the horizon like a specter, shrouded in mist, its jagged cliffs rising defiantly against the stormy sky. A place whispered about in travel blogs and half-forgotten tales, where shadows moved with minds of their own and no one who entered stayed the same.
The thought sent a thrill through her, half dread and half anticipation. Mira had always been drawn to stories that no one else dared to tell. And Obsidian Island? It was the kind of mystery that could make her career.
"You're braver than most," the ferry captain grumbled, his voice thick with disdain. His weathered face twisted into a grimace as he hauled on the wheel. "No one goes to that cursed rock unless they're looking to lose something—or someone."
Mira gave him a tight smile. "I'm looking to find something."
The captain snorted but said no more. He'd made it clear when she paid him triple his usual fee that this would be a one-way trip. If she wanted off the island, she'd have to find her own way.
As the ferry drew closer, the details of the island sharpened. Black sand beaches stretched at the base of cliffs, and a dense forest crowned the land above. Mira caught glimpses of something unnatural in the trees—shadows twisting in ways that defied logic, reaching for the shoreline as though eager to claim her.
The ferry lurched to a stop, the captain muttering under his breath as he threw a rope over a crooked dock. Mira grabbed her duffel bag and stepped off, her boots crunching on the weathered planks. The air felt heavier here, thick with a silence that pressed against her ears.
"Don't stay too long," the captain warned, already casting off. "The shadows don't like it when you overstay your welcome."
Before she could respond, he was gone, the ferry shrinking into the distance until it disappeared into the fog. Mira turned toward the island, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders.
The path leading into the forest was narrow and overgrown, the trees arching overhead like the ribs of some great beast. As she moved deeper, the light dimmed, and the shadows lengthened, creeping closer with each step.
Her instincts screamed to turn back, but she pressed on. The journalist in her refused to be cowed by whispers of curses and haunted legends. She was here for the truth, and no amount of foreboding was going to stop her.
It wasn't long before she reached the mansion.
It rose from the earth like a relic of another era, its gothic spires piercing the sky. Ivy clung to the stone walls, and the windows, though dark, seemed to watch her approach. Mira hesitated, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.
"Not what I expected," she murmured, half to herself.
"You shouldn't have come."
The voice, deep and resonant, came from behind her. Mira spun, her heart leaping into her throat.
He stood in the shadows, tall and imposing, his features obscured by the dim light. But his eyes—piercing and inhumanly bright—held her captive.
"You're trespassing," he said, his tone as cold as the wind slicing through the trees.
Mira swallowed hard, her journalistic bravado faltering under his gaze. "I—I'm just here to document the island. I mean no harm."
The man stepped closer, and the light caught his face. He was striking, his features sharp and otherworldly, but there was a haunted look in his eyes, a shadow that seemed to cling to him as if it were alive.
"No one comes here without consequence," he said softly, almost regretfully.
Before Mira could reply, the shadows surged around them, moving with unnatural speed and intent. One moment they were shapes at the edge of her vision, and the next they were reaching for her, cold and suffocating.
"Run," the man commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
But Mira couldn't move. The shadows were all around her now, and the last thing she saw before they swallowed her whole was the man stepping forward, his hand outstretched, his expression one of equal parts fury and sorrow.