The darkness of the night was slowly descending upon the land. A deep indigo and violet mist stretched across the sky, as if the sun's lingering glow had been trapped in the air even after its descent. As far as the eye could see, there was only the vast, desolate forest—withered, ancient trees lining both sides of the winding, empty road, their brittle leaves rustling softly in the breeze.
Rayen walked ahead, his black cloak swaying with each measured step. Behind him, Elara followed with her usual air of indifference, absentmindedly twirling a small, gleaming dagger between her fingers.
"How much farther?" she asked, her tone laced with boredom.
Rayen didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out an old map—one that had never been recorded in any known archive. As if this place only existed for those who sought it. And now, they were nearly there.
Below them, a valley stretched out, and nestled within it was a small village. Elara glanced at the map, then back at the settlement below. "So, our haunted house tale turned out to be real?" she mused with a smirk.
Rayen silently folded the map and tucked it away in his pocket. Something didn't feel right.
From a distance, the village looked perfectly ordinary—old wooden houses, a few dimly lit windows, a worn-out well in the center, and a single road running through the heart of the town. But the air was unsettlingly still. No animals. No birds. No movement. No sound. As if the village itself was holding its breath.
Rayen and Elara began their descent. The entire way down, Elara's dagger spun effortlessly between her fingers, a habit so ingrained that it seemed almost unconscious. Rayen, on the other hand, had only one focus—keeping a sharp watch on their surroundings.
The moment they crossed the village's boundary, an unsettling sensation settled over them. The air here felt heavier, as if it carried an unseen weight, and time itself seemed to move a fraction slower. Every corner, every shadow whispered of something unseen, something just beneath the surface—a quiet, suffocating dread.
The village's narrow dirt paths were so small and uneven that, from a distance, this place could have been mistaken for abandoned ruins, untouched for years. And yet, there were people here. Only a handful. Wrapped in tattered clothes, their heads bowed, their gazes flickering with silent fear, they moved through the streets like ghosts. No one approached them. No one asked their names or where they had come from. As if this village was not used to visitors.
Elara cleared her throat softly. "What do you think? Are they going to chase us out or—" Her words trailed off.
Because an old man, seated on a worn-out cot near the well, was watching them intently. His weathered skin was cracked and dry, stretched thin over his frail bones like parchment left too long in the sun. His eyes—small, sunken, and devoid of light—held a quiet, unsettling stillness as he studied them.
Rayen took a step forward, but before he could speak, the old man slowly raised a trembling hand and gestured for them to come closer.
Elara smirked slightly and glanced at Rayen. "See? I told you, the villagers *do* want to meet us."
But Rayen wasn't looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the old man's face—and in his eyes, he saw it.
Fear.
Not of them.
But of something else.
As if they had already been expected. As if the old man knew that whatever was about to happen… would not end well.
Rayen and Elara stepped forward cautiously, closing the distance between them and the old man. The cold stone of the well pressed against his back, and his wrinkled fingers—once strong, now frail and trembling—rested limply on his knees.
Rayen leaned slightly forward and asked, "You called us?"
A quiet, weary sigh escaped the old man's cracked lips. His gaze lingered on Rayen for a long moment before flicking to Elara—but not for too long. As if there was something else he feared more than them. His throat was dry, but when he finally spoke, his voice was rough, like shattered glass scraping against stone.
"You shouldn't have come here."
Elara smirked, tilting her head. "I hear that in every new town I visit. Yet, no one's ever stopped me."
The old man didn't react. He simply kept staring at Rayen, as if he was the only one who could truly understand what he was saying.
Rayen's tone remained calm. "Are you saying this place isn't meant for visitors?"
The old man gave a slow, deliberate nod. But then his lips moved again, and this time, his words were even stranger.
"When the sun sets… the village ceases to exist."
Elara's smirk faded, just for a fraction of a second.
Rayen planted both feet firmly on the ground, his expression unreadable, but a single question echoed in his mind.
What is he trying to say?
The old man raised a trembling finger toward the sky—toward the sun, which was now slipping behind the distant hills, casting the land in long, creeping shadows.
"Staying here after dark is foolish," he said, not in the tone of a storyteller, but as someone stating a simple, undeniable fact. "The night here… does not belong to humans."
Before Rayen could respond, another voice cut through the growing tension.
"Kaka, are you scaring strangers again?"
Rayen and Elara turned sharply. A tall woman had emerged from a small bakery at the edge of the village. Her sharp eyes held no trace of fear—only the blunt honesty of someone who had no patience for superstition.
"Let them be," she told the old man before shifting her gaze to Rayen and Elara. "These are just old stories. This village doesn't take well to outsiders, that's all."
Elara, for once, didn't throw out a witty remark. Instead, she exchanged a glance with Rayen, a silent question in her eyes. Just an old man's paranoia… or something more?
Rayen inhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving the old man's face. There was nothing but fear in them.
Then, as if the weight of something unseen had pressed down on him, the old man's shoulders slumped further. A deep weariness settled into his bones. And in a voice barely above a whisper, he uttered the words that sent a chill down their spines.
"This village… will not let you leave."