The forest was steadily plunging into darkness, the faint remnants of sunlight fading into a deep gray haze. Zach’s legs ached, his chest burned, and every breath he took felt like dragging air through a sieve. He could feel Markinson’s small hands clinging to his shoulders, the boy’s fear palpable even without words.

“We’re… almost there,” Zach muttered, though he wasn’t sure if it was true. He just needed to believe it.

The shadows between the trees thickened, forming shapes his tired mind threatened to turn into something sinister. He paused to catch his breath, leaning against a rough tree trunk, his body trembling from exertion. The knife wound on his arm throbbed, and his shirt was damp with sweat.

“Move move move!” Markinson’s voice broke the silence, a mix of panic and exhaustion.

“I know,” Zach said, sucking in a breath. “I know. I'm just... tired.”

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Zach started moving again. Each step felt heavier than the last, but then he saw it—through the thinning trees, a cluster of rooftops silhouetted against the dim horizon.

“There!” Zach exclaimed, his voice breaking with relief. He stumbled forward.

The trees gave way to an open clearing, revealing a small settlement of about fifty to sixty wooden houses. A tall wooden wall encircled the village, its sharpened stakes pointing upwards. Torches flickered along the top, their faint light cutting through the growing gloom.

Zach laughed breathlessly, unable to stop himself. “We made it,” he said, more to himself than to Markinson. He felt a flood of gratitude as if the village had appeared just for them.

But his relief was short-lived. The gate was closed, and there were no guards in sight. Zach approached, his heart still racing, and banged his fist against the thick wooden gate.

“Hey!” he shouted, his voice echoing. “Let us in! Please! There’s a kid here!”

The gate remained silent. Zach pounded again, desperation rising in his chest.

“Come on! Open up!”

For a long, agonizing moment, there was no response. Then, finally, a creak broke the silence. Inside the village, a door opened, and a faint light spilled into the clearing. An elderly man and woman emerged, the man holding a flickering oil lamp. They hesitated, their expressions cautious as they raised the lamp to get a better look at the commotion.

“Who’s there?” the woman called, her voice both wary and curious.

Zach stepped closer, his hands raised. “I’m Zach,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse. “Please, let us in!”

The couple exchanged a glance. The woman’s face softened, but she turned and disappeared back inside their house.

“No,” Zach muttered, his chest tightening. “No, no, no!”

He nearly collapsed against the gate in despair when the woman returned, holding a large iron key. The man approached the gate, carefully unlocking it.

“What are you doing out here?” the man asked, his voice gruff but not unkind. “And at this hour?”

Zach hesitated, his mind scrambling for an explanation. “We got lost,” he said finally, his voice shaking. “I don’t remember much. But when I was wandering, I found the boy. He needed help.”

Markinson, still on Zach’s back, suddenly shouted, “We have to save my mom and dad!”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The elderly man froze, his hand lingering on the gate. The woman’s eyes darted to Zach, her expression questioning.

The gate opened just wide enough to let them in. Zach stepped through, relief washing over him as the heavy door shut behind them.

Markinson wriggled free of Zach’s grasp and spun to face the couple. “My parents!” he cried, pointing back toward the forest. “They’re out there! In a clearing! We need to help them!”

The elderly couple exchanged another glance, their faces grim.

Zach leaned closer to the man and whispered, “They’re dead. Bandits killed them before I found the boy. I had to lie to him—to convince him to leave their bodies so we could get away.”

The man’s lips tightened into a thin line. He gave a solemn nod, his gaze flicking back to Markinson with pity.

The woman crouched beside Markinson, her voice soft. “We’ll… we’ll do something about that, sweetie. But not right now, okay?”

Markinson’s face crumpled. “Why not now? They’re out there! They need help!”

Before anyone could respond, a strange sound filled the air. It was faint at first—a low, guttural scraping, like claws against stone—but it grew louder, more guttural. A thin mist began to creep toward the gate, its pale tendrils curling like fingers.

“What’s that?” Zach asked.

The man’s face turned grim. “GroundSleepers.”

Zach’s blood ran cold. “How can you tell I’m not one of them?”

The man didn’t even look at him. “No fog around you.”

Villagers began to emerge from their homes, drawn by the sounds, their faces marked with weariness and suspicion. A burly man with a thick gray beard stepped forward, narrowing his eyes at Zach and Markinson.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“Found them outside the gate,” the old man replied. “The boy needed help.”

“And you just let them in?” a woman with a shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders interjected. “We’ve been warned about strangers before.”

Zach raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We mean no harm. We were lost..”

The burly responded, “Lost, huh? And you just happened to find your way to our village? That’s convenient.”

“Look at him,” the elderly woman said, stepping closer to the villagers. “He’s barely standing, and the boy… he’s terrified. Do you think they’re a threat?”

“It’s not about what I think,” the man shot back. “It’s about what we know. And we know trouble follows strangers.”

There was a murmur among the gathering crowd, skepticism etched on their faces. The couple exchanged uneasy glances before the old man spoke up again.

“Enough. They’re coming with us. If they’re lying, we’ll deal with it then. But for now, they need shelter.”

The villagers muttered amongst themselves.

The couple motioned for Zach to follow them. As they moved through the village, Zach glanced back toward the gate.

The fog thickened further, swirling like smoke against the wooden barrier, its pale fingers curling and spreading almost deliberately. Shapes began to form within it, faint outlines that shuffled unnaturally, their movements erratic and disjointed. Zach squinted, his breath hitching as he caught a clearer glimpse—two figures stood out among the others, their features disturbingly familiar. His heart skipped. Could it be? Markinson’s parents?

His throat tightened, and he forced himself to look away. Turning sharply, he felt a wave of nausea rise as unease settled heavily in his chest. The couple was already moving ahead, the old man gesturing toward an open doorway. Zach followed.

When the man pushed the door open. He glanced back, unable to resist one last look toward the fog-shrouded gate.

The figures were closer now, their movements jerky. He let the door close behind him, sealing out the haunting scene.

Inside, Markinson was crying again, his face buried in his hands, the elderly woman crouched beside him, trying to soothe him with soft words. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” she said, but the boy shook his head violently.

“No, it’s not!” he sobbed. “They’re out there! The GroundSleepers will get them! We have to save them!”

Zach sank to the floor, his entire body feeling like it was made of lead.

“No!” Markinson screamed, his voice breaking. “You can't just leave them out there! We need to go back for them!”

The elderly woman reached out to comfort him, but Markinson pulled away, his sobs growing louder. “They’re my mom and dad! They needed me!” he wailed.

Zach said nothing.

The man’s eyes lingered on the wound. “What happened to you?” he asked.

“Bandits,” Zach replied. “They looked like they were going to kill the boy.”

The man frowned. “Why would they kill him? Wouldn’t they just take what they wanted?”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Zach said. “I guess they had other motives.”

The man’s expression darkened, but he didn’t press further. He sat down, studying Zach closely. “Where are you from?”

Zach hesitated. “I… don’t remember much,”.

The man raised an eyebrow, but before he ould reply, Markinson broke free of the woman’s grip and stormed toward Zach, his small fists pounding against him.

“You lied to me!” Markinson shouted, tears streaming down his face. “You’re not going to save them! You left them to die!”