The town of Ashenreach lay in the valley like a wound in the earth, a forgotten place where the sky never truly cleared. A thick mist clung to the crooked buildings, swirling in the dim glow of flickering lanterns. The air smelled of damp wood, stagnant water, and something metallic, like old blood.
Lena Grayson had lived here all her life. She knew every uneven cobblestone, every rusted weather vane spinning lazily in the wind. But lately, something had changed. The town felt... wrong. The stars above flickered in strange patterns, and the old clock tower at the square sometimes chimed at odd hours, even when its rusted gears refused to turn.
She adjusted her coat, pulling it tighter as she crossed the empty streets. The gas lamps overhead sputtered, their flames trembling as though something unseen passed through the air. Her father's bookstore was just ahead—a narrow, leaning building wedged between a crumbling tailor shop and an abandoned tea house.
A thin sliver of light glowed through the crack beneath the door. Odd. Her father, Isaac Grayson, was a meticulous man. He always locked up before sundown.
Lena hesitated, then pushed the door open. A bell jingled softly, and the scent of old parchment filled her nostrils. The store was small, its wooden shelves sagging under the weight of ancient tomes.
"Dad?" she called.
Silence.
Then, a rustling. Not from behind the counter or in the back room, but from above.
Lena's breath caught. The second floor had been abandoned for years, ever since the beams had started to rot. They had nailed the door shut. No one should be up there.
Her fingers curled around the brass handle of a letter opener from the desk. She stepped cautiously toward the staircase, where the air felt heavier, as if saturated with something unseen. The rustling sound grew fainter, more deliberate. A whisper of movement, like something shifting just out of sight.
A single footstep echoed above.
Lena bolted.
She spun on her heel and slammed into a solid figure. A scream built in her throat, but then—
"Lena, what are you doing here?"
Her father's voice.
She staggered back, heart hammering. Isaac Grayson stood in the doorway, his lined face twisted in concern. He held a cloth-wrapped bundle in one arm, and his coat was speckled with something dark.
"I—" Lena swallowed. "There's someone upstairs."
Isaac's expression flickered, just for a second. Then he shook his head. "No, there isn't."
"I heard—"
"There isn't." His voice was sharper this time, leaving no room for argument.
Lena stared at him. Something in his stance, the way he clutched the bundle tighter, made her uneasy.
Then, softly, almost absently, he said, "I told them not to move."
A cold, visceral fear crept up her spine. "Who?" she whispered.
Isaac blinked, as if waking from a trance. "No one. Just—go home, Lena. I'll be back soon."
He moved past her, locking the door behind him.
Lena stood frozen, watching him disappear into the mist.
---
That night, the sky above Ashenreach did not look right.
Lena had spent years gazing at the stars from her bedroom window, mapping their familiar constellations. But tonight, something had changed. The stars were... misplaced. The patterns were wrong, subtly shifted as if the heavens had been peeled away and stitched back together by unsteady hands.
And there was something else. A dark shape, barely visible, hanging motionless against the void.
A knock at the door shattered her trance.
Lena flinched. It was late—too late for visitors. The streets outside were silent, the town's curfew long past.
Another knock.
She hesitated, then grabbed the poker from the fireplace before moving cautiously to the door.
"Who's there?" she asked.
Silence.
Then, in a voice barely louder than a breath: "Help me."
A chill ran through her.
Lena unlatched the door and opened it just a crack.
A man stood in the threshold. He was soaked, his dark coat clinging to his thin frame, water pooling at his feet despite the fact that there had been no rain. His skin was pallid, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
She didn't recognize him.
"I—" He took a shuddering breath. "I need to speak to Isaac Grayson."
Lena's grip on the door tightened. "My father isn't here."
The man swallowed hard. His fingers twitched. "Then you need to listen. Something terrible is coming."
Lena stared at him, her pulse quickening. "Who are you?"
He hesitated. Then, in a hoarse whisper, he said, "My name is Elias. I was dead."
Lena slammed the door.
She stumbled back, heart pounding, but before she could reach for the latch, the man's voice came again—muffled through the wood.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
She froze.
"The wrongness in the air. The way the stars don't match the maps. The sound in the walls when no one else is home."
Lena's fingers trembled.
"There are things waking up beneath this town," Elias continued. "Things that should never have been disturbed. And your father—he knows."
A deep, pulsing silence stretched between them.
Then, barely audible: "If you don't believe me, check the book."
Lena's breath hitched. "What book?"
But when she wrenched the door open, Elias was gone.
The mist had swallowed him whole.
---
Lena didn't sleep.
Elias's words gnawed at her, burrowing into her thoughts like worms in damp soil. Her father knew something. Something about the shifting stars, the creaking noises in their bookstore, the stranger who claimed to have been dead.
And then there was the book.
The only locked drawer in the entire shop was in her father's desk. She had never seen him open it, never even seen him acknowledge it. If there was something he didn't want her to find, it would be there.
By dawn, she had made up her mind.
The morning fog was thick as she hurried to the bookstore. The streets were empty. It was always like this before the town woke, as though Ashenreach itself held its breath.
The store smelled of dust and ink. The silence was heavy.
Lena moved to the desk and knelt before the locked drawer. She tried the handle. No luck. But there was a loose floorboard beneath the counter. She had seen her father tuck things away there before.
Her fingers slipped into the gap. Something cold and metallic brushed against her skin—a small key.
Her pulse quickened.
She slid the key into the lock and turned it. The drawer creaked open.
Inside, wrapped in cloth, was a book.
It was bound in leather, its surface uneven, as though something beneath the skin strained to break free. There was no title. No markings at all.
Lena hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, she flipped it open.
The pages were brittle, filled with cramped, spidery handwriting. Diagrams of constellations—except they didn't match any she had ever seen. Sketches of something massive coiling beneath the earth. Symbols that made her vision blur if she stared too long.
And then she found the last entry.
The ink was fresh.
"They are moving beneath Ashenreach. I hear them in my dreams. The Hollow Sky is waking, and soon, it will know my name. I have kept it from Lena as long as I could, but time is running out. If I do not return, she must not look for me. If she finds this book—she must burn it."
The door creaked behind her.
Lena spun, heart slamming against her ribs.
A shadow loomed in the doorway.
Not her father.
Not anyone she recognized.
And then, slowly, deliberately, it stepped inside.
And shut the door.