The compass pulled me forward.
I had no idea where I was going. No map, no signposts, just the steady twitch of the needle as it spun and settled, urging me toward a road I didn't know existed.
And yet… I walked.
The dirt path twisted through thick forests, the trees pressing in like silent watchers. The deeper I went, the quieter the world became. No wind. No birds. Just the sound of my boots crunching against the earth.
Something about this felt wrong.
Or maybe… maybe it felt too right.
The compass led me down a slope, through a stretch of wild grass, until—
I saw it.
A village.
I stopped at the edge of the treeline, gripping the compass tightly. The houses were clustered together, their rooftops dark with age. A few people walked the narrow dirt paths, going about their lives.
But something was off.
It wasn't just that I had never heard of a village in this area. It was the way it was hidden—like the world had forgotten it existed.
And the strangest part?
The villagers didn't look surprised to see me.
I stepped forward, walking into the village's heart.
No one stared. No whispers behind my back. No curious glances. It was like I had always been here, like my presence didn't change anything.
A woman carrying a basket walked past without hesitation. A group of old men repairing a fence didn't even pause their conversation.
That was the first warning sign.
The second came when I tried asking for directions.
I stopped an elderly woman near a well. "Excuse me," I said. "What is this place?"
She blinked at me, confused. Then she smiled.
"You already know, don't you?" she said gently, as if she were reminding me of something I had forgotten.
I frowned. "No. I don't."
She only kept smiling before walking away.
I turned, scanning the village again. That strange, sinking feeling in my chest grew heavier.
And then a voice broke through the quiet.
"You followed it, didn't you?"
I turned sharply.
An old man sat on a wooden bench, his sharp eyes watching me. He was different from the others—his gaze had weight, like he could actually see me.
His wrinkled hands rested on a wooden cane, but something told me he was stronger than he looked.
I swallowed. "Followed what?"
He smirked. "The compass, boy."
My grip tightened around the object in my palm. "How do you know about it?"
The old man chuckled. "Because no one comes here unless the compass brings them."
I sat across from him, my mind racing.
"What is this place?" I asked.
The old man exhaled. "A place that shouldn't exist."
That wasn't an answer.
I clenched my jaw. "That doesn't make any sense."
"It does," he said, tapping his cane against the ground. "If you've walked enough roads, you'll find places that don't belong—places hidden between choices, where those who don't belong anywhere else end up."
I felt a shiver run down my spine. "So this village is one of those places?"
He nodded. "A sanctuary. A prison. A forgotten corner of the world. It depends on who you ask."
I looked around again, this time noticing the small details. The houses weren't new, but they weren't falling apart either. The villagers spoke in low voices, their movements careful, like they were waiting for something.
"…What happens here?" I asked quietly.
The old man's smirk faded.
"They disappear," he said.
The words sent ice through my veins.
"…Who?"
"The villagers," he said simply. "Every full moon, people vanish."
I gripped the compass tighter.
No one had told me that.
And now, I wasn't sure if I could leave.