Story 6: What Followed Only One of Them
Aryn landed hard.
Not on stone.
On earth.
Cold soil pressed against his cheek, damp and alive, smelling of rain and roots. He groaned and pushed himself up, blinking against a pale grey light filtering through twisted branches overhead.
Trees.
He was in a forest.
Alone.
“Mira?” His voice vanished between the trunks. “Kesh?”
Nothing answered.
The silence here was different from the chamber’s silence. This one breathed. Leaves shifted without wind. Shadows leaned inward, curious.
Aryn sat up fully—and froze.
Footprints.
One set.
His.
And another.
He stood slowly, heart hammering.
The second set of footprints was lighter. Careful. As if whoever made them knew exactly where to step.
“I know you’re there,” Aryn said, forcing his voice steady.
A pause.
Then clapping.
Slow. Polite.
A figure stepped out from behind a tree.
Tall. Cloaked. Face half-hidden beneath a hood woven with thread that shimmered faintly, like moonlight trapped in cloth.
“Well done,” the stranger said. “Most of them scream first.”
Aryn’s hand moved instinctively to his wrist.
The mark burned.
“You chose the left path,” the stranger continued. “The sensible one. The responsible one.”
“Where are my friends?” Aryn demanded.
The stranger tilted their head. “Safe,” they said. Then smiled slightly. “For now.”
Aryn’s stomach dropped.
“You followed me,” he said.
“No,” the stranger replied. “I was waiting.”
They walked.
Not side by side. Not behind.
The forest opened as they moved, paths forming only when needed, then closing again. Birds watched from branches without singing.
“This place wasn’t meant for you,” the stranger said casually. “It’s a corridor. A consequence.”
“Of what?”
“Of choosing the many.”
Aryn clenched his fists. “I didn’t abandon them.”
The stranger stopped.
Turned.
“Didn’t you?”
The forest darkened.
Aryn swallowed. “Why are you here?”
“To see if you are worth the cost,” the stranger said. “Because what you stopped… noticed you.”
Aryn’s breath caught. “Stopped what?”
Something moved behind the trees.
Not fast.
Not loud.
Heavy.
Patient.
The shadows stretched, stitching themselves together, forming a shape that refused to stay whole—horns dissolving into smoke, limbs folding into nothing, eyes blinking open and shut in the dark.
Aryn stepped back.
“That,” the stranger said softly, “is what follows those who interfere.”
The thing advanced.
Aryn’s legs felt rooted to the ground. His thoughts scattered. Planning—his strength—fractured under the weight of fear.
“Run,” the stranger said calmly.
Aryn didn’t.
He reached into his cloak instead.
Pulled out the torn map.
It burned his hands—but the lines shifted, trembling, as if uncertain.
“You lie,” Aryn whispered. “But you still react.”
The thing roared—soundless but crushing.
Aryn tore the map again.
The forest bent.
Roots surged upward, tangling around the shadow’s limbs. Light flared briefly—then dimmed.
Aryn collapsed to one knee, gasping.
The thing recoiled.
Not defeated.
Curious.
The stranger laughed softly. “Oh,” they said. “You’re more dangerous than I hoped.”
When Aryn looked up, the stranger was closer now.
“Your friends are on their own paths,” they said. “Each learning what your choice cost them.”
Aryn’s voice shook. “And me?”
The stranger leaned down, close enough that Aryn could see one eye beneath the hood.
Ancient. Tired. Interested.
“You,” they said, “will learn what it means to be followed.”
The forest dimmed.
The shadows lengthened.
And behind Aryn, something began to move again.
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