The first sign that Ryan wouldn’t die a normal death came when his horse’s shadow moved—independently of its body.

It wasn’t subtle. One moment, the shadow stretched long and true across the forest floor; the next, it twisted and rippled like black water. Ryan reined in Thresh, the horse’s hooves skidding on loose dirt, and watched as the shadow peeled itself from the ground. It stretched taller than a man, shifting like smoke against the blood-red light of the setting sun.

Years as a Boundary Rider had taught Ryan to trust his instincts, and right now, every nerve in his body screamed the same thing: turn back.

Instead, he reached for the spirit-steel medallion at his throat. The runes etched into its surface thrummed cold against his fingers, an ancient warning he’d come to rely on. But tonight, its pulse was erratic—offbeat, like a heart struggling to find its rhythm. It had been like this since Gabriel disappeared, along with any answers Ryan might’ve had about its true purpose.

"Easy, Thresh," he murmured, though the horse was already trembling beneath him, ears pinned flat. The wrongness in the air was palpable. Around them, the Boundary Forest had gone utterly still. No birdsong. No wind. Even the trees—the ancient oaks and silver birches that made up this cursed forest—seemed frozen, their branches twisting into unnatural arches overhead.

Ryan’s gut twisted, even as his training kept him calm. He knew these woods better than anyone—every trail, every weathered stone, every creature that called this space between worlds home. For fifteen years, he’d ridden the same routes, keeping the balance between worlds intact. In that time, the forest had come to recognize him. The horned owl in the lightning-split oak bowed its head as he passed. The foxes near the creek sometimes followed, yipping in cautious curiosity. Even the dangerous things—the ones that could strip flesh from bone—kept their distance, wary of the scars he bore.

But this... this was something else.

The shadow coalesced into a form that made his eyes water and his mind recoil. It wasn’t just wrong—it was impossible. Its fur, if that’s what it was, shimmered like bronze and drank the light instead of reflecting it. Its eyes were wells of something ancient, something vast. And when it moved, it moved as though the rules of the world bent to accommodate it.

Thresh reared, screaming, and bolted down the trail. Ryan made no move to stop him.

He was alone now. Just him and the thing.

“Boundary Rider,” it said, and though its mouth didn’t move, Ryan felt the words as much as heard them. They sank into his bones like the tolling of a distant bell. “Your watch ends here.”

In the distance, a bell began to toll. Ryan’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t heard that sound since the night Gabriel vanished—a sound that, according to old stories, only rang when the veil between worlds grew thin enough to tear.

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The scars along Ryan’s arms and chest—maps of battles he’d fought and survived—began to glow faintly. The massive slash across his back burned brightest of all, a searing reminder of the night he’d saved Gabriel from a shadow-walker. The memory rose unbidden: Gabriel’s eyes wild with fear, the creature’s claws cutting deep into Ryan’s flesh, and the whispered words that had driven the thing back. Words Ryan didn’t understand, even now. Words Gabriel had begged him to forget.

The creature prowled closer, its form rippling as though it couldn’t quite decide what to be. “The Crossing awaits,” it said. “And this time, Rider, you will learn the truth.”

Ryan’s hand tightened around the medallion. “What do you know about Gabriel?”

The creature’s laugh was soft and dry, like wind through dead leaves. “More than you do. More than he ever wanted you to. He’s waiting for you, you know—beyond the Crossing. But he’s not the man you think he is. He never was.”

The words struck harder than they should have. Ryan had spent months searching for Gabriel, following every lead, every whisper of his name. He’d told himself it was duty, nothing more. Gabriel had been his best friend, his mentor. But the truth was more complicated. Gabriel had been... everything. And losing him had left a hole Ryan still didn’t know how to fill.

“You’re lying,” Ryan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

The creature tilted its head, regarding him with something that might’ve been pity. “You humans,” it said. “Always so certain of what’s real, what isn’t. Tell me, Rider—how many lies have you swallowed to stay sane? How many truths have you ignored because they didn’t fit the world you thought you knew?”

Ryan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because deep down, he’d felt it too—the cracks in the stories he’d built his life around. The way his wounds healed faster than they should. The way the creatures of the Boundary responded to him, not with fear, but recognition. The way the medallion had burned against his skin the night Gabriel disappeared, as though it knew something he didn’t.

“What am I?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

The creature’s form stilled, its shifting edges smoothing into something almost solid. “You’re becoming,” it said simply. “The question is, will you let yourself?”

The bell tolled again, louder this time, though Ryan knew it was impossible. The bell tower was miles away, back in town. And yet, the sound surrounded him, reverberating through the air like a physical force. The forest began to change. The trees bent inward, their branches weaving together into a dome of living wood. The ground softened beneath his boots, becoming less real with every passing second.

The creature extended what might have been a hand, or a paw, or something in between. “Come with me,” it said. “Cross the veil. Find Gabriel. Learn the truth of what you are—and why the Boundary exists at all.”

Ryan hesitated, his fingers brushing the medallion. Behind him, Thresh’s hoofbeats had faded into silence. He thought of the search parties that would come when he didn’t return. They’d find nothing. Eventually, he’d become another story—a warning about the dangers of the Boundary Woods.

Or he could step forward. Into the unknown. Into the truth.

The medallion grew warm against his palm—not a warning, but something else. An encouragement.

“Will I find him?” he asked.

“You’ll find answers,” the creature replied. “The rest depends on you.”

Ryan took a deep breath and stepped forward, his hand closing around the creature’s. The world dissolved into light and shadow, and the last thing he heard before everything changed was the creature’s voice, soft and amused:

“Welcome to the true side of the Boundary, Rider. Try not to die too quickly.