I didn't sleep that night.
Even after the whispers faded. Even after the last villager disappeared without a trace.
I sat by the window, gripping the compass so hard my fingers ached.
I didn't understand what I had just seen.
No screams. No struggle. Just people stepping out into the night… and vanishing.
And worse—
The ones left behind didn't react.
No mourning. No searching. By morning, the village carried on like nothing had happened.
I clenched my jaw.
I needed answers.
I stepped out into the morning air, the weight of what I had seen pressing against my chest.
The old man sat on his usual bench, watching me with tired eyes.
"You didn't disappear," he said.
I tightened my grip on the compass. "Why would I?"
He chuckled dryly. "If it wanted you, you wouldn't be standing here."
I didn't like the way he said that.
"…What is 'it'?" I asked.
The old man exhaled, rubbing his temples. "We don't know. Some call it a curse. Some say it's just fate."
I shook my head. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer we have."
Frustration burned in my chest. This wasn't normal. This wasn't right.
And then—
The compass moved.
The needle, which had been still all morning, suddenly spun.
Not wildly. Not randomly.
It pointed.
Straight ahead.
At the forest beyond the village.
I swallowed.
"What's in there?" I asked, nodding toward the trees.
The old man's expression darkened. "Nothing."
The compass twitched in my hand, almost as if pushing me forward.
He was lying.
And I was going to find out why.
I followed the compass.
The village disappeared behind me as I stepped into the forest. The trees loomed overhead, casting long shadows across the ground.
The compass needle remained steady, pulling me deeper.
The further I walked, the heavier the air became.
And then, I saw it.
An altar.
Old. Broken. Covered in moss and vines.
But more importantly—
It was covered in names.
I stepped closer, my breath caught in my throat.
Dozens, hundreds, of names carved into the stone. Some old, barely visible. Others fresh, like someone had just added them.
And then I saw the last name.
One of the villagers from last night.
A cold chill ran down my spine.
The compass trembled in my palm, the needle spinning wildly.
This altar—whatever it was—was connected to the disappearances.
But how?
A rustling sound.
I turned sharply, heart pounding.
Someone was watching me.
A figure stepped out from behind the trees—a woman in tattered robes, her eyes hollow, sunken.
"You weren't supposed to find this," she whispered.
I took a step back. "Who are you?"
Her gaze flickered to the compass in my hand, and her expression darkened.
"…It still exists," she murmured.
She knew what the compass was.
Before I could say anything, she turned and disappeared into the trees.
I had no choice.
I followed.