The door creaked open, breaking the heavy silence of the corridor. Finnian peeked into the small dressing room where the choir boys usually prepared for services. Thin rays of light streamed through a cracked window, casting soft beams on the dust that hung in the air. Despite the light, the room felt cold, empty.

Finnian hesitated in the doorway. Something wasn’t right. The air inside was stale, lacking the faint hum of Ether he’d grown used to. Even in places devoid of life, objects like books or clothes still carried a subtle energy. But here, it felt like everything had been drained—hollow and flat.

Pushing the strange thought aside, Finn stepped back and quietly closed the door.

“Not here either,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

The faint sound of chanting drifted from the church’s main hall, distant but steady. It reminded him of a heartbeat, quiet yet persistent. He tightened his grip on the fabric of his robe and moved to the next door.

This one was different. The handle was worn, and the wood looked older, like it had weathered years of use. The air around it felt dense, heavy enough that it made Finn pause. It reminded him of the baptisms, where the atmosphere near the altar felt like it was pressing down on his skin.

Finnian’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know why he was hesitating. Steeling himself, he grabbed the handle and pulled.

The door opened with a low groan, revealing a dark, cramped space. A shelf dominated the back wall, stacked with dusty books, old boxes, and unmarked jars. The air was damp, carrying the faint smell of mildew. Finnian stepped inside cautiously, letting the door fall shut behind him.

His gaze swept across the room. The shelves were coated in a thick layer of dust, cobwebs draped over the corners like an afterthought. He reached out to touch the nearest shelf, his fingers brushing the smooth, varnished wood. The dust clung to his skin, leaving streaks on the surface.

As he moved his hand, his fingers caught on something etched into the wood. He leaned closer, squinting at the faint carving.

It was a symbol.

Finn traced it with his eyes, but the longer he looked, the more it seemed to shift. The lines twisted and blurred, almost as if they were alive. His stomach churned as a wave of nausea washed over him. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides. His hand recoiled as though burned, and he stumbled backward, taking a few unsteady steps.

“What the…” His voice was barely a whisper, and he felt his lips move without control. It was as though the very air itself was stealing the words from him.

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The room felt darker now. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, as if the dim light from the cracked window was being pulled into the corners. Finnian’s breath quickened, his chest tightening with unease. His heart pounded in his ears, louder than the distant chanting.

It was too much. He had to leave.

His feet moved without thought, back toward the door, but the weight of the room pressed on him, slowing him down. A shiver crawled up his spine, and the sensation of something watching him—something that shouldn’t be here—nearly sent him into a panic. Finn’s hand fumbled for the door handle, his fingers slipping with each pass.

Finally, the door opened. He stepped out into the hallway, gasping for air. The weight in his chest lifted instantly, and the chill that had seeped into his bones began to fade.

He closed the door behind him, exhaling shakily as he stood in the quiet of the corridor, the distant chanting once again filling his ears. It sounded so much more comforting now, grounding him back in the familiar. Yet, the unease lingered at the edges of his mind.

Finn rubbed his hands together, his body still tense. What was that symbol? And why had it felt so… wrong? He’d been in plenty of strange places, but nothing had ever made him feel like that.

The knot of worry in his chest remained. Rancent was still missing, and the longer he searched, the more the church seemed to play tricks on him. It felt like a maze, shifting and changing to keep him lost, to keep him from finding what he needed. His gaze darted down the hallway. He had to keep moving. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

But something else tugged at the back of his mind—a small whisper that he couldn’t quite shake. What if whatever Rancent had gotten himself into was connected to this? This strange, unnerving presence in the air that seemed to follow him wherever he went? Finnian shuddered. He had to find Rancent, no matter what.

With renewed resolve, he pushed forward down the corridor, his footsteps quick and purposeful.

——————————

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[Throb… Throb… Throb…]

The sound was almost rhythmic, like the beat of a drum, but it felt wrong. Rancent’s consciousness slowly pulled him from the depths of sleep, the darkness around him lingering like a thick fog. His eyelids fluttered, but the weight of his lashes kept him from fully waking. His vision swam in the pitch black, his senses scrambled. The faint glow of the string-like connection that had tethered him to whatever strange world he’d just visited still pulsed against his body.

“Ugh…” Rancent groaned, lifting a hand to his forehead. His head felt like it was full of needles, each pulse sending a fresh wave of pain through his skull. His chest tightened, the weight of his body pressing him further into the cold, unyielding floor.

The strange sensation in his gut returned—the feeling that had been there… That had..

…

He hadn’t been able to remember much of it.. But whenever he tried to focus on it, the memories slipped further away, and his stomach twisted in protest.

As he moved himself, he realized the string was still attached to his body..

”Alright.. I gotta get out of here.”