Ronan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to unclench his fingers from the rock. His palm throbbed, raw from gripping the jagged edges, and he flexed his hand to shake away the ache.
The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the faint shuffle of the creature retreating deeper into the shadows.
Ronan's sharp eyes darted over every crevice and corner, his body taut with readiness, half-expecting the creature to come barreling back from the shadows.
But it didn't. The room remained unnervingly silent, the air thick with an unnatural stillness that pressed against his ears.
The quiet gnawed at him. It was too still, too deliberate, as if the world itself held its breath. He lingered only a moment longer before making his decision.
His boots scuffed against the cracked floor as he darted toward one of the nearby houses, a half-collapsed structure that offered the faint promise of shelter.
When he reached the entrance, he paused, his breathing shallow and deliberate, his ears straining for any sound. With careful, measured steps, he pushed the creaking door inward, his hand hovering near the lantern's flame to dim it if needed.
His heart thudded in his chest as his gaze swept across the interior—a sagging ceiling, overturned furniture, and the thick scent of damp decay.
He moved cautiously, his muscles tense, every shadow a potential threat. But after a thorough inspection, it became clear: he was alone.
Ronan let out a slow, shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging with momentary relief.
'Phew.'
At least for now, the house was empty. He leaned against the splintered frame of a window, letting the tension ease just slightly.
The diary entries in his hand crinkled under his grip, their worn pages fragile but vital. He unfolded them, staring at the faded ink as if they held answers to questions he hadn't yet dared to ask.
He glanced out of the window, the warped glass distorting his view of the treeline.
The twisted, gnarled trees curved unnaturally to the east, their dark silhouettes swaying faintly against the pale light of the distant moon.
"Should I head east…?" he murmured to himself, the words barely audible in the still air. His fingers traced the edges of the diary entries absently, his mind racing with options—or the lack thereof.
He let his gaze linger on the trees, their ominous forms beckoning him forward.
'Heading east sounds reasonable... It's not like I have other options right now...?'
There wasn't much choice. Staying here was a gamble he wasn't willing to take.
His thoughts churned, each one darker than the last.
'What if there are more of those creatures nearby? What if this house isn't as safe as it seems?'
He clenched his jaw, gripping the diary tighter as a grim resolve settled over him.
'I can't stay here,' he thought.
The idea of being cornered, trapped like prey, sent a chill down his spine. If there were any chance of survival, it lay in movement, not stagnation.
And yet, the uncertainty of heading east clawed at him. What if it was worse out there? What if east led to nothing at all?
He shook his head, silencing the doubts.
''There's nowhere else to go. At least these letter entries are giving me a direction.'
He squared his shoulders and tucked the diary entries into his jacket.
'If I can't find anything, I'll turn back,' he told himself, his voice firmer now. 'But staying here isn't an option.'
Ronan tightened his grip on the glowing stone, its faint blue light pulsing softly in his hand. It wasn't much, just enough to keep the path in front of him visible, but it gave him something to hold on to—both physically and mentally.
The stone's glow didn't reach far, leaving the rest of the forest in a thick, impenetrable blackness that pressed against him like a living thing.
The trees around him were twisted and crooked, their bark rough and peeling like old skin. Their gnarled branches stretched out overhead, weaving a dense canopy that blocked out any hint of the moon or stars.
Some of the trees leaned toward him, their shadows resembling dark figures frozen mid-lurch, as if they were watching his every step.
The air was cold and damp, clinging to his skin and making each breath feel heavier than the last. He moved slowly, his steps deliberate and light, trying not to disturb the stillness.
Every sound seemed amplified in the quiet—his boots crunching on dead leaves, the faint rustle of unseen creatures scurrying away, and the occasional groan of the wind pushing through the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped.
Ronan froze, his heart pounding as his eyes darted toward the sound. The glow from the stone barely reached beyond his feet, and the darkness ahead was absolute. He strained to listen, but the forest had already swallowed the noise.
He let out a slow, controlled breath and started moving again, his ears tuned to every whisper of sound. His free hand hovered near the small blade tucked into his belt—not much of a weapon, but it was all he had.
The ground underfoot was uneven, a patchwork of exposed roots and loose rocks. Once, he stumbled on a root, the glowing stone slipping from his hand and tumbling a short distance ahead.
Panic gripped him as the darkness rushed in, suffocating and absolute. He scrambled forward, snatching the stone back and clutching it tightly. The faint light returned, and with it, a small measure of calm.
Around him, the forest seemed to shift and breathe, as though it were alive. The shadows stretched and shifted with each flicker of the stone's glow.
Ronan's mind played tricks on him—shapes moved just beyond the edges of his vision, and more than once he thought he saw something crouched between the trees, only for it to vanish when he turned his head.
The air carried an earthy, metallic scent, sharp and biting. It reminded him of rusted iron and wet soil, mixing uneasily with the distant odor of something foul—like decay. He couldn't tell where the smell was coming from, and the thought gnawed at him.
A chill ran down his spine as he passed a cluster of trees whose trunks were marked with deep, parallel grooves.
They looked like claw marks, fresh and jagged, and he quickened his pace without meaning to. His eyes kept darting back to those marks, even when the trees had long passed behind him.
He stopped when he reached a narrow clearing, the ground here softer, blanketed with thick moss. For a moment, the sky was visible—a sliver of pale light filtering through the branches above. He tilted his head, letting his eyes adjust to the faint glow, but the eerie stillness of the forest remained.
Rpmam didn't linger. The clearing felt too open, too exposed. He pressed on, weaving his way through the dense trees, his fingers gripping the glowing stone tightly.
The air seemed to grow heavier the farther he walked, and a strange, almost inaudible hum began to creep into the silence. It wasn't coming from the trees or the ground—it felt as though it was coming from everywhere, vibrating in his bones.
By the time the forest began to thin, Ronan's legs ached from the uneven terrain and his chest felt tight with unease.
The air was damp and cold, clinging to Ronan's skin like an unwelcome second layer. He moved cautiously, each step deliberate, his boots crunching on brittle leaves and the occasional snap of twigs.
The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence, making him wince. The glowing stone gave just enough light to guide him, but it also cast strange, shifting shadows that played tricks on his eyes.
Ronan tightened his grip on the glowing stone, its faint blue light flickering softly in his hand. The glow barely reached a few feet ahead, leaving the rest of the forest cloaked in suffocating darkness.
The trees loomed like crooked giants, their bark split and scarred, their gnarled branches reaching out like grasping fingers. Above, the canopy was so thick that the moonlight couldn't even hint at its presence.
Ronan froze mid-step when the faint outline of a figure appeared ahead, framed by the faintest sliver of moonlight breaking through the canopy. His breath caught as he instinctively stepped behind a thick tree trunk, peering out cautiously.
The figure was hooded, moving slowly yet deliberately, its steps almost soundless against the forest floor.
For a moment, Ronan wondered if it was another creature—some humanoid thing prowling the woods—but then he noticed the way it moved. There was something distinctly human in its gait, its posture, even in the way it carried a bow slung over its shoulder.
He narrowed his eyes, keeping his grip firm on the glowing stone. The figure stopped, tilting its head as though listening to the forest. The hood obscured its face, but the faint movement of its breath in the cold air was visible.
'A person...?'