Chapter 2: Shadows of the Past

Year: 2024

Location: Hallowcroft Police Station

Elara sat in the dimly lit interrogation room, her hands clutching the scorched journal. The words *“She is the key”* echoed in her mind, the sketch of her face haunting her thoughts. Across the table, Alec stood with his arms crossed, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for twenty minutes,” Alec said, his voice breaking the oppressive silence. “What does it mean? Why you?”

“I don’t know,” Elara said, her tone sharper than she intended. She placed the journal on the table and leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Maybe it’s a warning. Maybe it’s a misdirection. Hell, maybe it’s a coincidence.”

“Do you really believe that?” Alec asked, raising an eyebrow.

Elara didn’t answer. Deep down, she knew there were no coincidences in Hallowcroft—not in a town where secrets ran as deep as the roots of the Black Thorn. The journal was a message, and whoever left it wanted her to find it. But why? And how was she connected to the ritual?

Dr. Thorne entered the room, a tablet in his hands. “I’ve cross-referenced the symbols from the body, the tree, and this journal,” he said, setting the device on the table. “It’s as I suspected. These are binding sigils, but they’re incomplete. Whoever’s performing this ritual isn’t trying to bind something—they’re trying to break the seal entirely.”

Alec’s expression darkened. “And let what out, exactly?”

Thorne hesitated, his eyes meeting Elara’s. “The journal calls it ‘The Bound One.’ But the descriptions are... vague. Some passages describe it as a sentient force, others as an entity older than the town itself. Whatever it is, the Seaburys clearly feared it.”

Elara tapped the journal with her finger. “If they were afraid of it, why keep it here? Why not destroy the tree, the seal?”

Thorne shook his head. “You don’t destroy something like this, Detective Voss. You contain it. And if the seal is breaking, that containment is failing.”

Alec swore under his breath. “So we’ve got a psycho using ritual murders to crack open some ancient evil. Fantastic.”

Elara stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “Then we stop them before they finish the job. The Black Thorn might be the centre, but there are other pieces to this puzzle—like who left this journal for us and why.”

Thorne cleared his throat. “There’s something else. The symbols on the body? They weren’t just carved; they were burned into the flesh. That requires a specific technique—and tools.”

“Meaning our killer has resources,” Alec said.

“Exactly,” Thorne replied. “And access to knowledge most people wouldn’t even know existed.”

Hallowcroft Historical Society, Afternoon

The small, ivy-covered building sat on the edge of the town square, its weathered sign creaking in the breeze. The Historical Society was a repository of Hallowcroft’s past, a labyrinth of dusty shelves and forgotten tomes. Elara and Alec entered, greeted by the faint smell of old paper and varnished wood.

Behind the front desk, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and a warm smile looked up from her reading. “Detectives,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Elara placed the journal on the counter. “We’re looking for information on this. Specifically, anything about the Black Thorn or rituals tied to it.”

The woman’s smile faltered. “Ah. That’s... quite the subject. I can tell you what I know, but much of it is wrapped in folklore and conjecture.”

“Folklore’s a good place to start,” Alec said. “We’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

The woman led them to a small reading room at the back of the building. She pulled several leather-bound volumes from the shelves, each one filled with faded handwriting and brittle pages. “The Black Thorn has always been central to Hallowcroft’s history,” she began. “Some say it predates the town itself. Legends speak of a pact—an agreement made to protect the town during a time of great strife.”

Elara frowned. “A pact with who?”

“No one knows,” the woman admitted. “The stories vary. Some say it was with an old god, others a spirit of the land. But the price was steep. Blood, sacrifices... the kind of things most people prefer to forget.”

“Sounds like the Seaburys didn’t forget,” Alec muttered.

The woman’s gaze darkened. “No. They didn’t. They were the keepers of the pact—or the curse, depending on how you see it. Generations of the family guarded the Black Thorn, ensuring the rituals were maintained. But as the family dwindled, so did their influence. By the time the last Seabury died, most people had dismissed the stories as superstition.”

Elara glanced at the journal. “Someone didn’t dismiss them. They’re trying to finish what the Seaburys started—or undo it.”

The woman hesitated before speaking again. “There is one other thing. The Black Thorn is said to have roots that stretch far and wide, connecting it to other places of power. If the seal is breaking, it’s possible the disturbances aren’t confined to the tree itself.”

“Other places?” Alec asked. “Like what?”

The woman retrieved another book, flipping to a map of Hallowcroft. Several locations were marked with faded ink: the old church, the cemetery, and an abandoned estate on the outskirts of town. “These sites have long been associated with strange occurrences. They might be worth investigating.”

Elara studied the map, her mind racing. Each of these sites could hold another clue—or another danger. Either way, they couldn’t afford to ignore them.

Abandoned Estate, Night

The estate was a crumbling relic of a bygone era, its once-grand facade now cloaked in ivy and decay. Moonlight cast eerie shadows across the overgrown grounds as Elara and Alec approached, their footsteps muffled by the thick undergrowth. Dr. Thorne had stayed behind to analyse the journal further, leaving the two detectives to investigate alone.

“This place looks like it belongs in a horror film,” Alec muttered, shining his flashlight over the cracked windows and sagging roof.

Elara ignored him, her attention focused on the faint symbols carved into the stone gateposts. They matched the ones in the journal, their lines glowing faintly under the flashlight’s beam.

“They’ve been here,” she said, her voice low.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mildew and rot. The grand foyer was a hollow shell, its chandelier hanging precariously from a cracked ceiling. Elara’s flashlight swept over faded murals and shattered furniture, each piece a testament to the estate’s former glory.

“This place screams cult hideout,” Alec said, his voice echoing off the walls. “If we find a secret passage, I’m out.”

Elara smirked despite herself. “Noted.”

They moved deeper into the house, their steps careful and deliberate. In the dining room, they found a table covered in wax drippings and ritual markings. At its centre was another doll, identical to the one they’d found at the Black Thorn.

As Elara reached for it, a low, guttural sound froze her in place. It came from the shadows at the far end of the room—a rasping, inhuman growl that sent chills down her spine.

Alec raised his gun, his flashlight trembling as he pointed it toward the noise. “What the hell was that?”

Before Elara could answer, the shadows seemed to shift, coalescing into a hulking, misshapen form. Its eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, and its presence exuded a malevolence that made the air feel heavy.

“Elara,” Alec whispered, his voice tight with fear. “Tell me that’s not real.”

The creature stepped into the light, its twisted features half-hidden by the shadows. It raised one clawed hand, pointing directly at Elara.

And then it spoke, its voice a guttural rasp that made her blood run cold:

“You are the key.”

The words hung in the air like a physical force, pressing down on Elara and Alec. The creature’s voice, deep and resonant, seemed to reverberate inside their very bones.

Elara tightened her grip on her flashlight, the beam trembling slightly as she shone it directly at the creature. Its body was grotesque, shifting unnaturally as though it were both solid and shadow. She forced herself to stand firm, even as every instinct screamed at her to run.

“What the hell does that mean?” Alec demanded, his gun trained on the figure. His voice cracked under the weight of his fear, but his aim didn’t falter.

The creature took a step forward, its twisted limbs creaking like old wood. “The key to what was... and what must be.” Its glowing eyes locked onto Elara. “The seal is broken. The Black Thorn calls for you.”

Elara’s breath caught in her throat. “Why me? What do you want from me?”

The creature tilted its head, as if pondering her question. “Not I,” it rasped. “They. They have chosen. And the time has come.”

Alec fired his weapon, the gunshot shattering the oppressive silence. The bullet hit the creature square in the chest, but instead of recoiling, it seemed to absorb the impact. A ripple of shadow passed through its form, and it turned its glowing gaze to Alec.

“Your weapons are useless,” it said, its tone almost amused. “You fight against forces you do not understand.”

Elara grabbed Alec’s arm, pulling him back toward the door. “We’re leaving. Now.”

But as they moved, the shadows in the room seemed to come alive, twisting and writhing as though trying to block their path. The creature raised one clawed hand, and the air grew colder, a bitter chill that made their breath visible.

“You cannot run from this,” it said. “The Black Thorn has roots in your past, Detective Voss. You will return... or they will come for you.”

Elara’s mind raced. The creature’s words made no sense—or maybe they made too much sense. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was personal, that whatever was happening was tied to something she’d buried long ago.

“Let’s go!” Alec barked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

They bolted for the door, the shadows clawing at their heels. Elara stumbled on a loose floorboard, her flashlight clattering to the ground. Alec grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet just as the shadows began to close in.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the oppressive force lifted. The air outside was crisp and clear, and the creature’s voice faded into silence. Elara turned back toward the house, her chest heaving, but the windows were dark, the interior still and lifeless.

“It’s gone,” Alec said, his voice laced with disbelief.

“For now,” Elara replied. She retrieved her flashlight, her fingers trembling as she clicked it off. “But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.”

Hallowcroft Police Station, Later That Night

Elara paced the small office, the creature’s words looping in her mind. The Black Thorn has roots in your past... They will come for you. What did it mean? She felt like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, an interloper in a story she was only beginning to understand.

Alec sat at his desk, his face pale and drawn. “What the hell was that thing? And how are we supposed to fight something that can’t even be hurt?”

“We don’t fight it,” Elara said. “Not yet. First, we figure out what it wants and why it thinks I’m the key.”

“And how do we do that?” Alec asked. “Interrogate the tree? Hold a séance?”

Elara ignored his sarcasm, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the journal on her desk. “We start with the Seaburys. If they were the keepers of this... whatever this is, then they’ll have answers. Or at least clues.”

Alec frowned. “The Seaburys are all dead, remember? And the records we’ve got are spotty at best.”

“Then we find someone who knew them,” Elara said. “There has to be someone in this town who can tell us more.”

Before Alec could respond, the phone on Elara’s desk buzzed. She snatched it up, her heart pounding. “Detective Voss.”

A voice crackled on the other end, low and urgent. “Detective, you need to come to the cemetery. Now.”

“Who is this?” Elara demanded.

“It’s... It doesn’t matter,” the voice replied. “Just get here. There’s something you need to see. Something... unnatural.”

The line went dead.

Elara lowered the phone slowly, her mind racing. “We’ve got a lead,” she said, grabbing her coat.

“Do I even want to ask?” Alec muttered, rising to his feet.

“Probably not,” Elara replied. “But you’re coming anyway.”

Hallowcroft Cemetery, Midnight

The cemetery was shrouded in mist, the gravestones casting long, ghostly shadows under the pale light of the moon. Elara and Alec approached the gate, their flashlights cutting through the gloom.

The figure who had called them stood near the centre of the graveyard, a hood pulled low over their face.

“You made it,” the figure said, their voice the same low rasp as on the phone.

“Who are you?” Elara asked, her hand hovering near her weapon.

The figure hesitated, then pulled back their hood, revealing the lined face of an elderly man. His eyes were sharp, his expression grim.

“My name is Silas Greaves,” he said. “I was the caretaker of the Seabury estate.”

Elara’s breath caught. “You worked for them?”

“For decades,” Silas replied. “And I know the secrets they tried to bury. The secrets they died to protect.”

“What do you mean?” Alec asked, his tone skeptical.

Silas gestured toward a mausoleum at the far edge of the cemetery. “The answers you seek are in there. But be warned—once you see what’s inside, there’s no turning back.”

Elara exchanged a glance with Alec, her heart pounding. She didn’t know what awaited them in the mausoleum, but one thing was certain: the mystery of the Black Thorn was far deeper—and far darker—than she’d ever imagined.

The mist clung to the ground like a restless spirit as Elara and Alec followed Silas toward the looming mausoleum. The ancient structure seemed to pulse with an unspoken menace, its stone facade cracked and weathered by time. Elara’s breath hitched as she noticed the faint etchings of twisted vines snaking across the entrance—Black Thorn, she thought.

“This mausoleum,” Silas began, his voice low, “was built long before the Seaburys came to Hallowcroft. It belonged to an order... a group of people who believed they could control the darkness that seeps through this land.”

“What kind of darkness?” Alec asked, his flashlight slicing through the gloom.

Silas stopped before the iron gates, his hand trembling as he gripped the rusted latch. “A darkness older than memory. The Seaburys were its guardians, but even they underestimated its reach. What you’ll find inside will answer some questions. But it will raise others. Are you ready for that?”

Elara nodded, her jaw set. “We don’t have a choice.”

With a groan of metal against metal, Silas pushed the gate open, revealing a steep staircase that descended into shadow. The cold air wafting up carried a faint, metallic tang.

“Stay close,” Silas warned as he produced a kerosene lantern and lit it. The warm glow flickered against the damp stone walls, casting eerie shapes that danced like spectres.

The stairs creaked underfoot as they descended, the weight of the mausoleum pressing down on them. Elara’s heart thudded in rhythm with her cautious steps. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, half expecting the shadows to come alive again.

The air grew heavier as they reached the bottom. The narrow staircase opened into a cavernous chamber, its walls lined with niches holding ancient urns and crumbling stone tablets. At the centre of the room stood a raised dais, upon which rested a weathered wooden chest bound with iron bands.

“What is this place?” Elara whispered, her voice barely audible.

Silas stepped forward, his lantern casting long shadows across the room. “This is where they hid the truth. The Seaburys called it the Vault of Echoes. Every guardian before them added to the knowledge stored here. But no one dared open that chest—not until the seal was broken.”

“The seal,” Alec said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You’re talking about that tree, aren’t you?”

Silas nodded gravely. “The Black Thorn was not just a symbol; it was a barrier, a binding spell to contain what lies beyond.”

“What lies beyond what?” Elara pressed, stepping closer to the chest.

Silas hesitated, his expression darkening. “Something that should never be unleashed.”

Before Elara could respond, a low rumble echoed through the chamber. The ground beneath their feet trembled, and dust rained from the ceiling.

“Time is running out,” Silas said urgently. “Open the chest.”

Elara hesitated, her hands hovering over the iron-bound lid. The air around her seemed to hum with energy, a force that pushed and pulled at her in equal measure. “What if it’s a trap?”

“It’s not a trap,” Silas said. “It’s a warning.”

Summoning her courage, Elara unlatched the chest and slowly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among faded silk, was a black leather-bound book, its cover marked with the same thorned emblem that had been carved into the mausoleum’s entrance.

Elara reached for the book, her fingers tingling as they brushed the cold, worn leather. The moment she touched it, a wave of nausea swept over her, and the room seemed to tilt. She steadied herself, forcing the sensation away, and opened the book.

The pages were filled with intricate drawings and cryptic notes written in a language she didn’t recognise. But one image stood out: a sprawling tree with roots that twisted like claws, its branches reaching for a blood-red moon.

“What does it say?” Alec asked, peering over her shoulder.

Elara frowned, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar text. “I don’t know. It’s not English. Maybe Latin... or something older.”

Silas stepped closer, his expression grave. “That book contains the history of the Black Thorn and the rituals used to control it. But it also contains something else—something that could destroy us all if it falls into the wrong hands.”

Before he could elaborate, the rumbling intensified, and a deafening crack split the air. One of the walls crumbled, revealing a tunnel that stretched into impenetrable darkness. A cold wind rushed through the chamber, carrying with it the faint sound of whispers.

“Time’s up,” Silas said, his voice urgent. “We need to leave. Now.”

“But the book—” Elara began.

“Take it,” Silas interrupted. “You’ll need it to understand what’s coming. But if we stay here, we won’t live to see the sunrise.”

Elara clutched the book to her chest as they scrambled up the stairs, the whispers growing louder with each step. By the time they reached the surface, the mausoleum trembled as though the earth itself was rejecting it.

They staggered into the cemetery, gasping for air. Behind them, the mausoleum groaned and collapsed inward, sealing whatever lay within.

“What the hell was that?” Alec demanded, his eyes wide with shock.

Silas turned to them, his face pale but determined. “That was just the beginning.”

Hallowcroft Police Station, Hours Later

Back at the station, Elara spread the book’s pages across her desk, trying to make sense of the symbols and cryptic notes. Alec sat nearby, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

“We need a translator,” Elara said, her voice tight.

“Or a priest,” Alec muttered.

Elara ignored him, her focus narrowing on one particular page. It depicted a circle of figures surrounding the Black Thorn, their hands raised in what appeared to be a ritual. At the base of the tree lay a body, its features obscured but its pose unmistakably lifeless.

“Sacrifice,” Elara whispered.

Alec looked up. “What?”

“These rituals... they involve sacrifices. Blood sacrifices.”

Before Alec could respond, her phone buzzed. She picked it up, her stomach twisting as she read the message:

“You’ve seen the book. Now you must see the truth. Midnight. The old Seabury chapel. Come alone.”

Elara’s hands tightened around the phone. She didn’t recognise the number, but she didn’t need to. The sender’s intent was clear—and so was the danger.

“You’re not seriously thinking of going,” Alec said, reading her expression.

“I don’t have a choice,” Elara replied, her voice steady. “Whatever’s happening, it’s bigger than us. And if we don’t figure it out, more people are going to die.”

Year: 2024 | Location: Old Seabury Chapel, Hallowcroft

The chapel stood on the outskirts of town, a forgotten relic of Hallowcroft’s past. Its once-pristine stone walls were now streaked with moss and decay, the bell tower leaning precariously as if bowing to the weight of time. The moon hung low, casting a pale, ghostly light over the crumbling structure.

Elara parked her car a short distance away, her headlights off to avoid drawing attention. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 11:57 PM. She was early, but only just.

The cryptic message replayed in her mind. She knew this was likely a trap, but she couldn’t ignore it. If the book was as important as Silas claimed, whoever sent the message might hold the key to unlocking its secrets—or be the next step in this unfolding nightmare.

Elara slid her gun into her holster and tucked the leather-bound book under her arm. She stepped out of the car, the night air biting at her skin. Each step toward the chapel felt heavier than the last, as though the ground itself was reluctant to let her pass.

The wooden doors of the chapel creaked open with a light push, revealing an interior bathed in shadows. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and rot, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the hollow space.

“Hello?” Elara called, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the faint moonlight streaming through the broken stained-glass windows.

“Detective Voss,” the man said, his voice calm and measured. He was tall and gaunt, his features sharp and angular. His dark eyes seemed to pierce through her.

“Who are you?” Elara demanded, her hand hovering near her holster.

“My name is Gabriel Caine,” he replied. “And I believe we share a common enemy.”

Elara narrowed her eyes. “You sent the message?”

“I did,” Gabriel said, nodding. “Because if we’re to stop what’s coming, you’ll need answers. And I have them.”

“Why should I trust you?” Elara asked.

Gabriel stepped closer, his movements deliberate and unthreatening. “Because the Black Thorn doesn’t just threaten you—it threatens us all. And if we don’t act, Hallowcroft will become its first victim, but not its last.”

Elara studied him, her instincts torn. Gabriel’s calm demeanour was unnerving, but there was no malice in his tone—only urgency.

“Start talking,” she said finally.

Gabriel gestured toward the altar at the front of the chapel, where a tattered map lay unfurled. Elara approached cautiously, her eyes scanning the map’s intricate markings.

“This,” Gabriel began, pointing to a black mark at the centre, “is the heart of the Black Thorn’s power. It’s buried beneath Hallowcroft, deep in the catacombs that stretch beneath the town.”

“Catacombs?” Elara asked, incredulous.

“Hallowcroft wasn’t always a quiet town,” Gabriel explained. “Centuries ago, it was a stronghold for an ancient order—those who first encountered the entity we now know as the Black Thorn. They built the catacombs to contain it, but they failed. The Seaburys tried to maintain the balance, but...”

“But they’re dead now,” Elara finished. “And the seal is broken.”

Gabriel nodded gravely. “The seal was never meant to last forever. The tree was a temporary solution, a way to buy time until a permanent one could be found.”

“And what’s the permanent solution?” Elara pressed.

Gabriel hesitated, his expression darkening. “That’s where it gets complicated. The book you carry contains the rituals and knowledge we need, but performing those rituals requires... sacrifices.”

Elara’s stomach churned. “What kind of sacrifices?”

“Blood,” Gabriel said simply. “But not just any blood. The blood of those tied to the Black Thorn’s history. The Seabury lineage.”

“They’re all dead,” Elara said, her voice sharp.

Gabriel met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Not all of them.”

Elara felt the weight of his words settle over her like a physical blow. “What are you saying?”

Gabriel reached into his coat and pulled out a weathered photograph. He handed it to Elara, who stared at the image with growing disbelief.

It was a picture of her mother.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Elara said, shaking her head. “My family has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re wrong,” Gabriel said. “Your mother was a Seabury by blood, though she distanced herself from the family before you were born. She knew the dangers, and she tried to protect you. But now, her bloodline makes you a target—and a key.”

Elara’s legs felt unsteady. She leaned against the altar for support, her mind racing. Her mother had always been secretive about her past, but this? It felt impossible.

Before she could respond, the air in the chapel grew cold. A low, guttural sound reverberated through the walls, like the growl of some unseen beast.

“They’re here,” Gabriel said, his voice tight.

“Who?” Elara demanded, her hand going to her gun.

“The Thorn’s servants,” Gabriel said, his eyes scanning the shadows. “They’ll do anything to stop us.”

The growling grew louder, and from the corners of the chapel, dark figures began to emerge. Their forms were humanoid but twisted, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Stay behind me,” Gabriel said, producing a long, silver dagger from his coat.

Elara ignored his command, drawing her gun and taking aim at the nearest figure. The creature lunged, and she fired. The bullet struck it, but instead of falling, it dissolved into a cloud of ash, its shape reforming moments later.

“They can’t be killed with conventional weapons,” Gabriel shouted, slashing at another figure with his dagger. The silver blade seemed to burn the creature, and it retreated with an unearthly screech.

“Good to know,” Elara muttered, her heart pounding as she fired again, this time aiming to slow the creatures rather than destroy them.

Gabriel moved with precision, his dagger cutting through the air in a blur. The creatures recoiled from him, their movements becoming more erratic.

“We need to leave,” he said, his voice urgent. “We can’t fight them all.”

Elara hesitated, her gaze flicking to the book still clutched in her hand. She felt the weight of the secrets it held, the knowledge they would need to survive.

“Come on!” Gabriel shouted, grabbing her arm.

Together, they bolted for the chapel doors, the creatures close on their heels. As they burst into the open air, the night seemed to close in around them, the growls fading but not disappearing entirely.

“We’re not safe yet,” Gabriel said, leading her toward a narrow path that wound through the trees. “But we have what we need to start fighting back. If you’re ready to face the truth.”

Elara’s grip tightened on the book. She wasn’t sure if she was ready, but one thing was clear—there was no turning back now.

Year: 2024 | Location: Gabriel Caine’s Hideout, Hallowcroft

The hideout was not what Elara expected. It was a converted cellar beneath an old bakery on the edge of town, its entrance hidden behind a rusted metal hatch barely visible beneath overgrown ivy. Gabriel had guided her there swiftly, glancing over his shoulder at every sound, his paranoia palpable.

As they descended the narrow staircase, the air grew colder and thicker, carrying the faint scent of damp stone. Gabriel flicked a switch, and a dim, flickering bulb cast weak light over the room.

It was cluttered, a chaotic blend of old books, maps, and strange artifacts. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with journals, jars of what looked like preserved herbs, and tools that Elara couldn’t even begin to identify. In one corner, a corkboard was pinned with photographs, newspaper clippings, and hand-drawn diagrams connected by strands of red thread.

“Welcome to my sanctum,” Gabriel said, his voice tinged with dry humour as he locked the hatch behind them.

Elara scanned the room, her eyes landing on a faded map of Hallowcroft tacked to the far wall. It was marked with circles, arrows, and notes written in a hurried scrawl.

“This is where you’ve been hiding?” she asked, setting the book down on a rickety wooden table.

“It’s not much, but it’s safe,” Gabriel replied. He moved to a small stove in the corner and began lighting it, his movements deliberate. “The creatures you saw back there can’t enter this space. Too many wards in place.”

“Wards?” Elara raised an eyebrow.

Gabriel glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Call them what you want. Protection spells, barriers, ancient symbols—they keep the Thorn’s influence out. For now.”

Elara felt a pang of scepticism but held her tongue. After what she’d seen in the chapel, dismissing his claims outright felt reckless.

“So,” she said, crossing her arms. “What’s next?”

Gabriel turned to face her, his expression serious. “We decipher the book. Everything hinges on understanding what’s in those pages.”

Elara glanced at the leather-bound tome, its cover worn and unassuming, belying the danger it seemed to hold. “And you’re sure this thing will tell us how to stop the Black Thorn?”

Gabriel hesitated, then nodded. “It’s our best chance. The rituals, the history—it’s all in there. But the language is... difficult.”

“Difficult how?”

Gabriel pulled a chair to the table and opened the book, revealing its aged, yellowed pages. The text was written in a script Elara didn’t recognize, its characters flowing and looping in ways that seemed almost alive.

“This is an old dialect of Archaic Latin,” Gabriel explained. “Not many can read it, but I’ve spent years studying fragments of similar texts.”

“You’ve seen other books like this?”

“Pieces,” he clarified. “Pages recovered from archaeological sites, remnants passed down through secretive families. But nothing as complete as this. The Seaburys must have gone to great lengths to protect it.”

Elara leaned over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the text. The symbols seemed to shift subtly as she looked at them, as if resisting her gaze. She blinked and stepped back, unnerved.

“Did it just... move?”

Gabriel didn’t look up. “The language is tied to the Thorn’s power. It resists those who aren’t attuned to it.”

“Attuned?”

Gabriel finally met her eyes. “Bloodlines matter, Detective. You’re connected to this in ways even I don’t fully understand. That connection might be the only reason we can unlock this book at all.”

Elara felt a cold knot form in her stomach. “You’re saying I have to read it?”

“I’ll guide you,” Gabriel said. “But yes. The book might respond to you in ways it won’t to me.”

Elara opened her mouth to protest, but a sudden noise interrupted her. It was faint but distinct—the sound of something heavy scraping against the metal hatch above them.

Gabriel froze, his eyes darting to the ceiling. “They’ve found us,” he whispered.

Elara drew her gun instinctively, her pulse quickening. “I thought you said this place was protected.”

“It is,” Gabriel said, his voice low. “But the wards only keep them out. They can still try to break in.”

The scraping grew louder, followed by a deep, guttural growl that sent shivers down Elara’s spine.

“Get ready,” Gabriel said, pulling a second dagger from his belt. He moved to the centre of the room, where a circle of symbols had been etched into the stone floor.

“What are you doing?” Elara asked, her grip tightening on her gun.

“Activating the failsafe,” Gabriel replied. “If they breach the hatch, this circle will buy us time.”

Elara wasn’t sure what was more unsettling—the creatures above them or the fact that Gabriel seemed to have planned for this exact scenario.

The scraping turned into pounding, the metal hatch buckling under the force. Dust rained down from the ceiling as the room trembled.

“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast,” Elara said, aiming her gun at the hatch.

Gabriel began chanting in a low, steady voice, his words a mix of Latin and something older. The symbols on the floor began to glow faintly, their light growing stronger with each syllable.

The hatch gave way with a deafening crash, and the creatures spilled into the room. Their forms were even more grotesque in the confined space, their eyes glowing like embers.

Elara fired, her bullets slowing them but doing little to stop their advance. Gabriel’s chant reached a crescendo, and the glowing symbols erupted into a barrier of light that forced the creatures back.

“They won’t stay out for long,” Gabriel warned, sweat dripping down his face.

Elara glanced at the book, still open on the table. The symbols on its pages were glowing faintly now, as if responding to the chaos around them.

“What do we do?” she shouted.

Gabriel looked at her, his eyes blazing with determination. “We run. But first, we take the book. It’s the only weapon we have.”

Elara grabbed the tome, its warmth startling her. It felt almost alive in her hands, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

“Let’s go!” Gabriel shouted, leading her toward a hidden door at the back of the room.

The creatures howled in fury, their claws scraping against the barrier as it began to weaken. Elara followed Gabriel into a narrow tunnel, the book clutched tightly to her chest.

As they ran, the sound of the creatures faded, replaced by the oppressive silence of the underground passage.

“Where does this lead?” Elara asked, her voice echoing.

“To the catacombs,” Gabriel replied.

Elara’s stomach dropped. The catacombs—the heart of the Black Thorn’s power.

The place where this nightmare truly began.

The air in the tunnel was thick, damp, and suffocating. Each step they took echoed ominously, the sound bouncing off the narrow stone walls. Gabriel led the way, his dagger drawn and his eyes scanning the shadows ahead.

Elara’s grip tightened on the book as she followed, her nerves frayed by the tension in the air. The tunnel’s walls were carved from ancient stone, etched with faint, indecipherable markings. A shiver ran down her spine as she passed one of the symbols—it looked disturbingly similar to those in the book, the lines seeming to pulse faintly in the dim light.

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice low but urgent. “How much farther?”

“Not far,” he replied, his tone clipped. “The catacombs are just ahead. But stay alert—this passage hasn’t been used in decades.”

“Why do I feel like that’s not a good thing?”

He didn’t answer, his focus on the path ahead.

The tunnel grew narrower, forcing them to move in single file. The air became colder, carrying a faint, metallic scent that made Elara’s stomach churn. She tried to shake off the growing unease, but her instincts were screaming at her to turn back.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Positive,” Gabriel said. “This is the only safe route to the catacombs. The main entrances are heavily guarded—by both the Thorn’s followers and worse.”

“Worse?”

He glanced back at her, his expression grim. “Let’s just say there are things down here even the Thorn can’t fully control.”

Before Elara could press him further, a faint sound reached her ears. It was distant at first, barely audible over their footsteps, but it grew louder with each step. It was a low, rhythmic chanting, carried on a cold breeze that seemed to come from nowhere.

“Do you hear that?” she asked, her hand instinctively going to her gun.

Gabriel stopped, his head tilting slightly as he listened. His jaw tightened. “Yes. And it’s not good.”

The chanting grew louder, the words unintelligible but dripping with malice. It seemed to echo from all directions, making it impossible to pinpoint its source.

“What is it?” Elara asked, her pulse quickening.

Gabriel hesitated, then said, “A ritual. They’re summoning something—or someone.”

“Summoning? You mean like—”

“Not now,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “We need to keep moving.”

They quickened their pace, the chanting growing louder with each step. The tunnel widened abruptly, opening into a cavernous chamber that made Elara stop in her tracks.

The space was enormous, its walls lined with ancient, crumbling statues that seemed to watch them with hollow eyes. In the centre of the chamber was a massive stone altar, its surface stained dark with what Elara could only hope wasn’t blood.

The chanting was deafening now, and it was clear it was coming from beyond the chamber, through an archway on the far side. Faint, flickering light spilled through the archway, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

“We’re not alone,” Elara said, her voice barely audible over the chanting.

Gabriel nodded, his grip tightening on his dagger. “Stay close. And whatever you do, don’t touch anything.”

They moved cautiously through the chamber, their footsteps silent on the dusty floor. The oppressive atmosphere pressed down on Elara, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

As they approached the archway, Gabriel held up a hand, signaling her to stop. He peered through the opening, his body tense.

“What do you see?” Elara whispered.

Gabriel didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Trouble.”

Elara edged closer, careful to stay in the shadows. Through the archway, she could see another chamber, smaller but just as ominous. A group of hooded figures stood in a circle around a glowing sigil etched into the floor, their hands raised as they chanted in unison. The air around them seemed to shimmer, distorting their forms like a heat mirage.

In the centre of the circle was a figure bound in chains, their face obscured by a burlap hood. They struggled weakly, their movements growing fainter with each passing second.

“We have to stop them,” Elara said, her hand going to her gun.

Gabriel grabbed her wrist, his grip firm. “Not yet. We need to understand what we’re dealing with first.”

“And let them finish whatever they’re doing?”

“Rushing in blind will get us both killed,” he said, his eyes locked on the scene. “These rituals are precise. Interrupting them at the wrong moment could unleash something far worse.”

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Gabriel studied the ritual for a moment longer, then said, “We need to disrupt the sigil. It’s the source of their power. Without it, the ritual collapses.”

“And how do we do that?”

“I’ll handle the sigil,” he said. “You focus on the cultists. Try to keep them off me without killing them—if they die while connected to the sigil, it could amplify the energy instead of dispersing it.”

Elara raised an eyebrow. “No pressure, then.”

Gabriel managed a faint smirk. “You’ll do fine.”

Before she could respond, he moved into the chamber, sticking to the shadows as he circled toward the sigil. Elara took a deep breath, steeling herself, then followed his lead.

The chanting seemed to intensify as they approached, the air growing thick with an almost tangible malice. Elara’s heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to stay focused.

As Gabriel reached the edge of the circle, he turned to give her a quick nod. Elara drew her gun, aiming for the nearest cultist.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath.

She stepped out of the shadows, her voice cutting through the chanting like a knife. “Nobody move!”

The cultists froze, their heads turning in unison to face her. Their faces were obscured by their hoods, but Elara could feel their eyes boring into her, cold and unfeeling.

“Step away from the circle,” she commanded, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins.

For a moment, it seemed like they might obey. But then, as one, they raised their hands, and the sigil flared with blinding light.

“Elara, now!” Gabriel shouted.

She fired, her bullets striking the floor near the cultists’ feet, forcing them to scatter. Gabriel darted into the circle, his dagger flashing as he began carving through the glowing lines of the sigil.

The cultists screamed in unison, their voices merging into an inhuman wail that made Elara’s blood run cold. The room trembled, the light from the sigil growing erratic as Gabriel worked.

One of the cultists lunged at him, a dagger in hand. Elara fired, the shot grazing the cultist’s arm and sending them sprawling.

“Almost there!” Gabriel shouted, his voice strained.

But before he could finish, the bound figure in the centre of the circle let out a piercing scream. The air exploded with energy, sending Elara and Gabriel flying backward.

When Elara opened her eyes, the chamber was eerily silent. The cultists were gone, the sigil reduced to faint scorch marks on the floor.

But the figure in the centre was still there, their hood gone to reveal a face that made Elara’s breath catch in her throat.

It was someone she knew.

Someone she thought was dead.

Year: 2024

Location: Lower Catacombs beneath Blackthorn Estate, Ravengrove

The moment lingered, suspended in a deafening silence that weighed heavier than the air itself. Elara’s pulse thundered in her ears, her wide eyes fixed on the figure bound in the now-ruined sigil.

The face staring back at her was one she never thought she’d see again.

“Adrian?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The man—her brother—looked at her with an expression that was a twisted mix of recognition and horror. His features were gaunt, his skin pale as if it hadn’t seen sunlight in years. Dark veins traced their way along his temples, and his eyes, once a warm hazel, now glowed faintly with an otherworldly light.

“Elara…” Adrian rasped, his voice raw and strained. He coughed violently, blood splattering the floor beneath him.

Gabriel stirred nearby, groaning as he pushed himself up on one arm. “What… happened?” he muttered, blinking to clear his vision.

Elara rushed to Adrian, ignoring the searing pain in her side from where she’d landed. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she reached for the chains binding his wrists.

“Adrian, it’s me,” she said, her voice breaking. “What… how are you here?”

He flinched at her touch, as though her hands burned him. “No… you don’t understand,” he croaked. “You shouldn’t have come…”

“Stop talking,” Elara said, her voice firm despite the tears welling in her eyes. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Gabriel staggered to his feet, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. “Elara, wait.”

She shot him a glare. “Not now, Gabriel.”

“Elara,” he said, his tone sharper. “Look at him.”

Her heart sank as she turned back to Adrian. His breathing was shallow, his body trembling violently as though he were fighting something unseen. His lips moved, forming words she couldn’t quite catch, but his eyes locked onto hers with a desperate intensity.

“Leave me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s… too late.”

“Don’t say that,” Elara snapped, her hands fumbling with the chains. “You’re coming with us, Adrian. I’m not losing you again.”

Gabriel stepped closer, his dagger still in hand. “Elara, listen to me. That energy—whatever was in the sigil—it’s inside him now. If we move him, it could trigger—”

“I don’t care!” she shouted, cutting him off. “This is my brother, Gabriel. I’m not leaving him here to die!”

Adrian’s body convulsed, his back arching as a guttural scream tore from his throat. The sound echoed through the chamber, sending a chill down Elara’s spine.

The faint glow in his eyes flared, becoming a searing light that forced her to look away. The ground beneath them trembled, cracks spiderwebbing out from the ruined sigil.

“Elara, get back!” Gabriel shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her away just as a surge of energy erupted from Adrian’s body.

The force of it threw them both to the ground. When Elara looked up, Adrian was slumped against the altar, his body eerily still.

“No!” she cried, scrambling to her feet.

Gabriel grabbed her wrist, holding her back. “Wait!” he said, his voice firm.

Elara struggled against his grip, her eyes locked on Adrian’s lifeless form. “Let me go!”

“Look,” Gabriel said, nodding toward the altar.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Adrian’s body was dissolving—no, melting—into a dark, viscous substance that pooled around the altar. The black liquid shimmered unnaturally, pulsing as though it were alive.

“What… what is that?” Elara whispered, her voice trembling.

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. But we need to leave. Now.”

Before they could move, the liquid began to shift, rising from the ground in sinuous tendrils. They writhed and twisted, forming an indistinct shape that loomed over the altar.

“Elara…” Gabriel said, his voice low.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the figure. It was humanoid, but wrong—its limbs too long, its movements too fluid, like a shadow come to life. Its featureless face turned toward them, and a voice echoed in the chamber, deep and resonant.

“You have meddled in forces beyond your understanding,” it said, the words reverberating in Elara’s chest.

“What do you want?” Gabriel demanded, stepping in front of Elara with his dagger raised.

The figure tilted its head, as though studying him. “What I want is irrelevant. What you seek will destroy you.”

“Not if I destroy you first,” Gabriel said, his voice cold.

The shadow creature let out a low, rumbling laugh. “You cannot destroy what you do not understand.”

Before Gabriel could respond, the creature dissolved into a plume of black smoke, which swirled around them before disappearing into the cracks in the floor.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Elara sank to her knees, her eyes fixed on the spot where Adrian had been. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

“He’s gone,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

Gabriel placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression grim. “We need to leave. Whatever that thing was, it’s not finished with us.”

Elara didn’t move. She couldn’t.

“Elara,” Gabriel said, his voice softening. “We’ll figure this out. But we can’t do it from here. Come on.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to help her to her feet.

As they made their way back through the tunnel, Elara’s mind raced. Adrian was alive—or had been. The cult, the ritual, the shadow creature… it was all connected.

And she was going to find out how.

Year: 2024

Location: Blackthorn Estate Grounds, Ravengrove

The heavy oak door slammed behind them as Elara and Gabriel stumbled out of the estate’s catacombs. The brisk night air hit them like a wall, clearing their senses but doing little to erase the lingering dread clinging to their skin.

Elara doubled over, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her mind replayed the image of Adrian—his face, his voice, the horror etched in his every movement—over and over like a broken record.

“Elara, keep moving,” Gabriel urged, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. He scanned the shadow-drenched grounds, his dagger still in hand.

The estate loomed behind them, its towering silhouette a dark monolith against the starlit sky. From the shattered windows, faint tendrils of black smoke curled outward, dissipating into the night like a whisper of the chaos they’d left behind.

“I can’t—” Elara’s voice broke as she straightened, her fists clenched at her sides. “Gabriel, what just happened?”

Gabriel didn’t respond immediately. His sharp gaze darted to the treeline bordering the estate, his stance tense and alert. “Not here,” he said finally. “We’re too exposed. If that… thing decides to follow us—”

“It won’t,” Elara interrupted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. “It already made its point. It’s playing with us.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the dense woods. “We need to get to the safehouse. We can regroup there.”

Elara hesitated, her gaze lingering on the estate. A part of her wanted to storm back inside, to demand answers from the darkness that had swallowed Adrian whole. But she knew Gabriel was right. They weren’t prepared for whatever this was. Not yet.

With a reluctant nod, she followed him into the woods.

Location: The Ravengrove Forest, En Route to Safehouse

The forest was alive with sound. Leaves rustled in the night breeze, their whispers blending with the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional snap of a twig beneath their boots. Despite the natural chorus, the air felt unnaturally heavy, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

“Do you think it’s watching us?” Elara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gabriel glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know. But until we understand what we’re dealing with, assume we’re never alone.”

Elara shivered, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her thoughts drifted to Adrian—how he had looked at her, the fear in his eyes. “Gabriel, if that thing is connected to the cult, then Adrian… he must’ve been involved with them. But why? He would’ve told me.”

“Would he?” Gabriel countered, not unkindly. “People do desperate things when they’re backed into a corner. Maybe he thought he was protecting you.”

She shook her head. “No. Adrian wouldn’t have kept something like this from me. Not unless…”

Her voice trailed off, a sickening thought taking root in her mind.

“Not unless what?” Gabriel prompted, his tone cautious.

Elara swallowed hard. “Not unless he knew it would put me in danger.”

Gabriel didn’t respond, but the grim set of his jaw told her he was thinking the same thing.

As they trudged deeper into the forest, the path ahead grew narrower, the trees pressing in on either side like silent sentinels. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally, their shapes forming fleeting images that made Elara’s heart race.

She stopped abruptly, her hand flying to Gabriel’s arm. “Did you see that?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Gabriel froze, his grip tightening on his dagger. “See what?”

“There.” She pointed toward a cluster of trees just off the path. “Something moved.”

He followed her gaze, his body tensed like a coiled spring. “Stay here.”

“Gabriel—”

“Stay,” he said firmly, stepping off the path.

Elara watched as he disappeared into the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest. Every second felt like an eternity as she strained to hear any sound—a rustle of leaves, a muffled footstep, anything.

When Gabriel reappeared moments later, his expression was grim. “Nothing,” he said, his voice low.

“But I saw—”

“I believe you,” he interrupted. “But whatever it was, it’s gone now. We need to keep moving.”

Reluctantly, Elara nodded, though the uneasy feeling in her gut remained.

Location: The Safehouse, Outskirts of Ravengrove

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

By the time they reached the safehouse, the first hints of dawn were beginning to creep across the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of grey and pink.

The safehouse was a modest, weathered cabin nestled deep within the woods. Its exterior was unassuming, blending seamlessly with its surroundings. But as Gabriel unlocked the heavy door and ushered Elara inside, it became clear that this was no ordinary hideout.

The interior was meticulously organized, with maps, documents, and photographs pinned to the walls. A table in the centre of the room was covered in files and handwritten notes, while shelves lined with books and equipment hinted at years of preparation.

“This is where you’ve been hiding out?” Elara asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Not hiding,” Gabriel corrected, shutting the door behind them. “Planning.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he said simply, gesturing to the chaotic array of information.

Elara stepped closer to the table, her eyes scanning the documents. Newspaper clippings, surveillance photos, and handwritten reports—all tied together by a single, unifying thread: the cult.

“You’ve been tracking them,” she said, realization dawning.

Gabriel nodded. “For years. Long before we crossed paths.”

She turned to face him, her expression a mix of anger and confusion. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?” he asked, his tone calm but firm.

Elara opened her mouth to respond but stopped short. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right.

Gabriel stepped forward, his gaze intense. “Elara, I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But right now, we need to focus. That thing we saw tonight—it’s just the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

Gabriel hesitated, as though weighing how much to say. “The cult… they’re not just playing with rituals and symbols. They’re trying to breach something. Something that should never be opened.”

Elara’s stomach turned. “Breach what?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, Adrian was their key.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, from somewhere outside the cabin, came a faint sound—a low, guttural growl that made Elara’s blood run cold.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and he moved toward the window, his dagger in hand. “Stay here,” he said quietly.

Elara’s heart raced as she watched him disappear into the shadows once again.

But this time, she didn’t wait.

Grabbing the nearest weapon—a rusted but sturdy hatchet—she followed him out the door, determined to face whatever horror awaited them together.

Year: 2024

Location: The Safehouse, Ravengrove Forest

The chill of the pre-dawn air bit at Elara’s skin as she stepped outside, gripping the hatchet tightly. Shadows stretched and danced across the clearing, the faint glow of the rising sun barely piercing the thick canopy above. Her breaths came shallow and quick, her ears straining to catch any sound beyond her own footsteps.

“Gabriel,” she called softly, her voice trembling.

The growl came again, deeper this time and closer. It reverberated through the stillness, sending a shiver down her spine.

Elara moved cautiously, her gaze darting between the trees. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves, made her grip the hatchet tighter.

“Gabriel!” she hissed, louder this time.

A shadow shifted to her left, and she spun toward it, her heart pounding.

“Elara!” Gabriel’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and urgent.

She turned to see him emerging from the treeline, his dagger held at the ready. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a brief moment, relief flooded through her.

Then his expression changed.

“Behind you!” he shouted.

Elara didn’t think—she swung the hatchet blindly, the blade cutting through the air. A guttural snarl erupted as something heavy collided with her, knocking her to the ground.

Pain shot through her as she hit the dirt, the hatchet slipping from her grasp. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes widening as she took in the creature before her.

It was unlike anything she’d ever seen—a hulking, shadowy mass that shifted and writhed as though it were made of living smoke. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and its jagged maw dripped with a dark, viscous substance that sizzled where it touched the ground.

The creature lunged at her, and Elara stumbled back, her hands scrabbling for the hatchet. Gabriel was suddenly there, stepping between them with a ferocity she hadn’t seen before.

“Get back!” he barked, slashing at the creature with his dagger.

The blade met resistance, sparks flying as though it had struck stone. The creature let out a furious roar, swiping at Gabriel with a clawed appendage. He dodged narrowly, his movements precise and calculated.

“Elara, the salt!” Gabriel shouted, his voice strained.

She blinked, her mind racing. Salt? What salt?

“Inside!” he yelled, gesturing toward the cabin.

Elara turned and ran, her body aching with every step. She burst through the door, her eyes scanning the room frantically. There—a small pouch on the table, its contents spilling onto the surface.

Grabbing the pouch, she ran back outside, her hands trembling as she pulled it open. Gabriel was still fighting the creature, his movements slowing as exhaustion set in.

“Now, Elara!” he shouted, his voice desperate.

She didn’t hesitate. Pouring the salt into her hand, she flung it at the creature with all her strength.

The effect was immediate. The salt hit the creature’s shifting form, and it recoiled with a deafening screech. Its shadowy body writhed and twisted, parts of it disintegrating into the air.

Gabriel seized the moment, plunging his dagger into the creature’s core. A burst of light erupted from the blade, and the creature let out one final, ear-splitting roar before collapsing into a pool of black liquid.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Elara stood frozen, her chest heaving as she stared at the remnants of the creature. The black liquid shimmered faintly before seeping into the ground, leaving no trace of the battle that had just taken place.

Gabriel turned to her, his face pale and drenched in sweat. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head, though her body ached in a dozen places. “What… what was that thing?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. “A fragment,” he said quietly. “A shadow left behind by whatever we encountered in the catacombs.”

“A shadow?” Elara echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “It’s not the whole of it. Just a piece. But even a piece is dangerous.”

Elara’s mind raced, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. If this was just a fragment, what kind of power did the cult’s rituals truly wield? And more importantly, what had they done to Adrian?

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice trembling. “If that thing followed us, does that mean…”

“It means it knows we’re a threat,” he said grimly. “And it won’t stop until we’re out of the way.”

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the distant sound of birds beginning to stir in the forest.

“We can’t keep running,” Elara said finally, her voice firm despite the fear gripping her. “If we’re going to stop this, we need to find out what they’re planning—and how to end it.”

Gabriel studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Agreed. But first, we need to regroup. Get some rest, plan our next move.”

Elara glanced back at the cabin, its modest appearance suddenly feeling woefully inadequate against the forces they were up against. But she knew Gabriel was right.

As they made their way back inside, Elara’s mind was already racing with questions—and a growing determination to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

Elara sat on the edge of the worn leather couch in the safehouse, her fingers idly tracing the deep cracks in its surface. A steaming mug of tea sat untouched on the table before her. Gabriel had insisted on making it, his way of grounding them after the chaos, but the warmth of the cup hadn’t reached her hands.

The events of the night replayed relentlessly in her mind: Adrian’s terrified eyes, the suffocating presence in the catacombs, the shadowy creature that had nearly killed her. She glanced at Gabriel, who was seated across from her, sharpening his dagger with deliberate, rhythmic strokes. His expression was calm, but his tense shoulders betrayed him.

“We need answers,” Elara said finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was firmer than she felt. “No more shadows, no more fragments. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Gabriel paused, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Agreed,” he said, his tone measured. “But charging in blind will get us killed—or worse.”

“Then we don’t go in blind,” she countered. “You’ve been tracking the cult for years. There must be something in all this—” she gestured to the disarray of maps and documents strewn across the safehouse “—that tells us where to start.”

Gabriel set the dagger down, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a place,” he said after a moment, his voice tinged with reluctance. “The Blackthorn archives.”

Elara frowned. “I thought the Blackthorn estate was abandoned.”

“The estate, yes,” Gabriel said. “But the archives are beneath it. Sealed off decades ago. If there are records of the cult’s rituals, their history, anything—it's there.”

Elara’s heart quickened. “Then that’s where we go.”

“It’s not that simple.” Gabriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The archives are dangerous. Traps, wards, defenses—you name it. The Blackthorns weren’t just collectors of occult knowledge; they were protectors of it. They didn’t want anyone, not even their descendants, accessing what’s down there without paying the price.”

“Have you been there before?” Elara asked.

Gabriel hesitated. “Once. And it nearly killed me. I only made it out because I wasn’t alone.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Elara didn’t press him for details; his haunted expression said enough.

“Then we’ll prepare,” she said firmly. “We’ll take everything we have and go in together. You said it yourself, Gabriel—we can’t keep running.”

For a moment, Gabriel didn’t respond. Then he nodded, his jaw set with resolve. “Fine. But we go at dusk. The wards are weaker then.”

Location: Ravengrove Forest, Hours Before Dusk

The hours leading up to their departure were a flurry of preparation. Gabriel sifted through his meticulously organized supplies, selecting items Elara barely recognized: talismans etched with intricate runes, vials of thick, dark liquid, and a set of aged keys that looked like they belonged in a museum.

Meanwhile, Elara pored over the maps and notes Gabriel had collected, trying to familiarize herself with the layout of the Blackthorn estate and its treacherous underground labyrinth. Her gaze lingered on a faded sketch of a doorway, its frame adorned with arcane symbols that seemed to shift when she looked at them too long.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding up the sketch.

Gabriel glanced at it and frowned. “The threshold to the inner sanctum,” he said. “If the archives hold what we’re looking for, it’ll be behind that door.”

“And the symbols?”

“They’re a lock,” Gabriel explained. “But not one you can open with a key. It requires a sequence, a ritual. I’ve pieced together parts of it, but…”

“But what?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I got it right. If we get it wrong, the door won’t just stay closed—it’ll activate a failsafe. And that failsafe could be anything.”

Elara swallowed hard. “Great. No pressure, then.”

Gabriel allowed himself a faint smirk. “If it makes you feel better, I’m usually lucky under pressure.”

It didn’t make her feel better.

Location: Blackthorn Estate Grounds, Dusk

The estate looked even more foreboding under the fading light of the sun. The crumbling facade of the mansion loomed ahead, its broken windows like dark, empty eyes. The surrounding grounds were eerily silent, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

Gabriel led the way, his movements silent and purposeful. Elara followed closely, clutching a lantern in one hand and a small pouch of salt in the other.

“Stay close,” Gabriel murmured, his voice barely audible. “The wards might still be active on the grounds. Step where I step.”

Elara nodded, her heart hammering in her chest.

As they approached the mansion’s grand entrance, Gabriel paused, his eyes scanning the doorway. He muttered something under his breath—a string of words Elara didn’t recognize—and a faint shimmer appeared in the air before them.

“A ward,” he explained. “Weak, but still active. Give me a moment.”

He pulled out a talisman from his pocket, pressing it against the shimmering barrier. The air seemed to ripple, and with a soft crackle, the ward dissolved.

“Come on,” Gabriel said, stepping through the now-cleared doorway.

The interior of the mansion was even more oppressive than the exterior. Dust hung thick in the air, coating every surface. Faded portraits lined the walls, their subjects’ eyes seeming to follow Elara as she passed.

“This way,” Gabriel said, leading her down a narrow corridor.

At the end of the hallway, they reached a spiral staircase that descended into darkness. Gabriel lit a torch, its flickering light casting eerie shadows on the walls as they began their descent.

The air grew colder with every step, and Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She clutched the salt pouch tighter, her eyes darting nervously around the stairwell.

When they reached the bottom, they found themselves in a cavernous chamber. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes and artifacts, their significance lost to time. At the far end of the room stood the doorway from Gabriel’s sketch, its symbols glowing faintly in the torchlight.

“This is it,” Gabriel said, his voice low.

Elara took a step closer, her breath catching in her throat. The air around the doorway felt charged, as though the room itself was alive.

Gabriel knelt before the door, pulling out a small vial of black liquid. “This is the binding agent,” he explained, pouring it into a shallow groove at the base of the door. “It’ll activate the symbols.”

As the liquid spread, the symbols began to glow brighter, their shifting patterns growing more erratic.

“Now the sequence,” Gabriel muttered, reaching into his pocket for another talisman.

Elara watched in tense silence as he carefully pressed the talisman against the first symbol. The door shuddered, emitting a low hum.

“Almost there,” Gabriel said, moving to the next symbol.

But before he could touch it, a loud crash echoed from above, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

“They’re here,” Elara whispered, her voice trembling.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Keep them off me,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “I need to finish this.”

Elara’s grip on the lantern tightened as the footsteps grew louder. She turned toward the staircase, her heart pounding.

The hunt was on.

Year: 2024

Location: Blackthorn Estate Grounds – Subterranean Chamber

The thundering footsteps above reverberated down the stone staircase, mingling with the echoes of something heavier—a scraping, dragging sound that seemed to reverberate in Elara’s chest. She swallowed hard, gripping the salt pouch like a lifeline as her eyes darted toward the shadowy corridor leading to the staircase.

Gabriel was already back at work, his fingers moving with precision as he traced symbols with the talisman. Each completed stroke caused the glowing patterns to shift, forming what Elara could only assume was the correct sequence.

“Elara,” Gabriel said without looking up, his voice calm but urgent. “The wards on this place—if they’re triggering, someone breached the estate’s perimeter. Likely not alone.”

Elara tightened her grip on the pouch, her voice trembling. “What kind of someone?”

Gabriel’s lips pressed into a grim line. “If we’re lucky? Mercenaries working for the cult.” He hesitated. “If we’re not—”

A deafening roar interrupted him, resonating through the chamber like a physical force. Dust rained down from the arched ceiling, and Elara stumbled back, clutching the lantern to keep it steady.

“What the hell was that?”

“Not lucky,” Gabriel muttered, standing briefly to assess the sound before dropping back to his work. “Stay sharp. If they get to us before I finish this, we’re done.”

Another roar—closer this time—was followed by a series of rapid, guttural clicks. It was a sound that didn’t belong in the human world, a primal, predatory noise that made Elara’s skin crawl.

Her gaze snapped to the darkened staircase as a faint light appeared. Torches. Several of them. Shadows danced across the walls, growing larger as the intruders descended.

“Gabriel,” Elara hissed.

“Two more symbols,” he replied tightly, not taking his eyes off the glowing doorway.

Elara’s breathing quickened as she watched the first of the torchbearers appear—a tall, broad-shouldered figure clad in dark, tattered clothing. His face was obscured by a mask carved with grotesque, animalistic features. Behind him, two more figures emerged, their masks equally menacing.

They moved with unnerving precision, their eyes scanning the chamber with predatory intent.

“Elara,” Gabriel said softly, “don’t engage unless they get close. Just keep them distracted.”

Her throat felt dry as she nodded, though she wasn’t sure he could see her.

The lead figure raised his torch higher, his gaze locking onto Elara. He tilted his head, the movement almost curious, before letting out a low, guttural laugh.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” the man said, his voice distorted through the mask. “This place doesn’t forgive trespassers.”

Elara took a shaky step back, raising the lantern as if it could shield her. “Neither do I,” she shot back, trying to keep her voice steady.

The man laughed again, this time louder. He turned to his companions, gesturing toward Elara with the torch. “Secure the girl. Leave the man to the Hollowkin.”

“What the hell are Hollowkin?” Elara asked aloud, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

The question was answered for her. A massive shape emerged from the darkness behind the masked men, its hulking form barely fitting within the confines of the stairwell. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of twisted flesh and shadow, its glowing eyes fixed on Gabriel.

“Elara!” Gabriel shouted, his voice sharper now. “Buy me time!”

The masked men surged forward, the lead figure dropping his torch as he drew a long, curved blade. Elara’s instincts kicked in, and she threw the salt in a wide arc before retreating toward the far wall.

The effect was immediate. The lead man screamed as the salt hit him, clutching his face as smoke rose from the mask. His companions hesitated, their movements faltering.

Gabriel seized the moment, slamming the talisman into the final symbol. The doorway shuddered violently, the glowing patterns flaring so brightly that Elara had to shield her eyes.

The Hollowkin roared, charging toward Gabriel with terrifying speed.

“No!” Elara screamed, hurling the lantern at the creature.

The glass shattered on impact, flames licking at the monster’s grotesque form. It howled in fury, its momentum faltering just enough for Gabriel to dive out of its path.

“Elara, get down!” Gabriel shouted.

She barely had time to react before the doorway exploded in a burst of light and sound. The force knocked her off her feet, and for a moment, the world was a blur of noise and chaos.

When the dust settled, she found herself lying on the cold stone floor, her ears ringing. She pushed herself up slowly, her body aching.

The masked men were gone, their torches extinguished. The Hollowkin lay motionless near the shattered remnants of the lantern, its twisted body smoldering.

Gabriel was on his knees before the now-open doorway, his breathing laboured. Beyond him, a narrow passage stretched into the darkness, lined with more of the shifting symbols.

“Is it over?” Elara asked, her voice shaky.

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, his face pale but determined. “Not even close.”

He rose unsteadily, extending a hand to help her up. “This is just the beginning,” he said grimly, his gaze fixed on the dark passage ahead.

Elara took his hand, her resolve hardening despite the fear still coursing through her.

“Then let’s finish it,” she said.

Together, they stepped into the darkness.

Year: 2024

Location: Blackthorn Estate Subterranean Passage

The passage exuded a suffocating sense of dread, as if the walls themselves were alive and watching. The flickering light from Gabriel’s torch cast grotesque, dancing shadows that seemed to shift of their own accord. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint, metallic tang of old blood.

Gabriel moved ahead of Elara, his focus razor-sharp as he scanned the walls for any signs of traps. His movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as though the passage demanded respect.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “These tunnels were designed to confuse intruders. It’s easy to get lost.”

Elara tightened her grip on the small hunting knife Gabriel had handed her earlier. She wasn’t sure how much use it would be against the horrors they’d faced so far, but its weight in her hand was reassuring.

“What exactly are we looking for?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Gabriel paused, glancing back at her. “The Blackthorns hid their most dangerous knowledge deep within these passages. Rituals, artifacts, records—anything they deemed too powerful or corrupting to leave unguarded. If the cult’s origins are tied to this place, there’ll be something here to confirm it.”

“And if it’s not here?”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ll keep looking.”

The tunnel soon widened into a cavernous chamber, its walls lined with ancient, crumbling bookshelves. Most of the volumes were decayed beyond recognition, their pages reduced to dust, but a few still stood intact, their leather bindings marked with faded glyphs.

Elara approached one of the shelves, running her fingers lightly over the spines. “These books must be centuries old,” she said, awe creeping into her voice.

“Careful,” Gabriel warned. “Some of them are bound with more than just leather. The Blackthorns didn’t rely on conventional security measures.”

Elara withdrew her hand quickly, eyeing the books with a newfound wariness.

At the centre of the chamber was a pedestal, its surface engraved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and shimmer in the torchlight. Resting atop it was a small, obsidian box.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not supposed to be here.”

Elara frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This pedestal—” Gabriel stepped closer, his voice tense. “It’s a containment altar. The Blackthorns used them to imprison things—entities, cursed objects, knowledge too dangerous to be read.”

“Do you think the cult put it here?” Elara asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “No. This predates them.” He hesitated, his hand hovering over the box. “But whatever’s inside could be connected to them. It’s worth the risk.”

Elara bit her lip. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? The last time we opened something sealed—”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Gabriel cut her off. “And we don’t now, either.”

Before she could protest further, he placed his hand on the box. The moment his fingers made contact, the chamber seemed to inhale, the air around them growing impossibly still.

Gabriel muttered something under his breath—a chant, perhaps—and the engravings on the pedestal began to glow. The box emitted a low hum, growing louder until it was almost unbearable.

Then, with a sharp click, it opened.

Inside the box was a single object: a small, intricately carved dagger. Its blade was black as night, its surface shimmering like liquid. Strange symbols were etched into the hilt, their shapes almost hypnotic.

Gabriel’s face darkened as he examined it. “This is bad.”

“What is it?” Elara asked, peering over his shoulder.

“The Blade of Nyx,” Gabriel said grimly. “A sacrificial dagger. The cult uses it in their rituals—blood offerings to their patron.”

Elara felt a chill run down her spine. “Their patron?”

“A forgotten god,” Gabriel explained, his voice tight. “Or something pretending to be one. The Blackthorns must have stolen this from them centuries ago, locking it away to keep it out of their hands.”

“And now we’ve just handed it back to them,” Elara said, her voice trembling.

Gabriel closed the box with a snap, his movements abrupt. “Not yet. If we can destroy this blade, we might be able to weaken their hold.”

A sudden noise interrupted him—a low, guttural growl that echoed from the tunnel they’d come through.

“They’re here,” Gabriel said, his voice low. He tucked the box into his pack and drew his dagger. “We need to move. Now.”

They ran, their footsteps echoing through the labyrinthine tunnels. The growls behind them grew louder, joined by the sound of claws scraping against stone.

“What the hell is chasing us?” Elara shouted, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Hounds,” Gabriel replied grimly. “The cult uses them as trackers. They’re not fully… natural.”

Elara didn’t need further explanation. The sound alone was enough to convince her that whatever was behind them was far worse than any ordinary dog.

They rounded a corner, entering a narrow passage that forced them to slow their pace. The walls were closer here, the air colder. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, his expression tightening.

“They’re gaining on us,” he muttered.

Elara’s pulse raced as she heard the unmistakable sound of claws scraping on stone, growing closer with every second.

Gabriel suddenly skidded to a halt, grabbing her arm. “Here,” he said, pulling her into a small alcove hidden behind a curtain of hanging roots.

They pressed themselves against the cold stone, holding their breath as the growling grew deafening.

The first hound appeared in the tunnel, its form barely distinguishable in the flickering torchlight. Its body was skeletal, its flesh rotting in patches, and its glowing red eyes scanned the passage with unnerving precision.

Elara gripped her knife tightly, willing herself to stay silent as the creature sniffed the air, its growls reverberating through the narrow space.

Another hound joined it, then a third. They prowled the passage, their movements fluid and predatory. One of them paused near the alcove, its head tilting as though it sensed something.

Elara’s heart pounded in her chest, the sound deafening in her ears. She barely dared to breathe.

Gabriel’s hand closed over hers, steadying her trembling grip on the knife. He gave her a slight nod, his eyes locked on the hound nearest to them.

Just when it seemed the creature would discover them, a distant sound echoed through the tunnels—a faint, rhythmic tapping.

The hounds froze, their ears twitching. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, they turned and bounded toward the source of the sound.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, releasing Elara’s hand.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“Not us,” Gabriel said, his expression dark. “But whatever it is, it just bought us time.”

Year: 2024

Location: Blackthorn Estate Subterranean Passage

Gabriel eased out of the alcove, his movements deliberate and silent. Elara followed, her heart still hammering in her chest. The rhythmic tapping that had drawn the hounds away was now faint and irregular, echoing like a distant heartbeat through the twisting corridors.

“We need to keep moving,” Gabriel whispered, his voice taut with urgency.

“What if whatever made that noise is worse than the hounds?” Elara asked, gripping her knife tightly.

Gabriel paused, turning to look at her. In the dim torchlight, his face was pale but resolute. “Then we stay ahead of it, too.”

The passageways twisted and branched, each turn an exercise in calculated risk. Gabriel consulted the faintly glowing runes etched into the walls, muttering under his breath as he traced their patterns with his fingers.

“What are you looking for?” Elara asked, her voice low.

“These runes are a map of sorts,” Gabriel explained, his focus unwavering. “The Blackthorns used them to mark safe paths and dangerous ones. I’m trying to find the quickest route to the central chamber.”

“And what happens when we get there?”

Gabriel hesitated, his gaze flickering toward her. “We find out if the Blackthorns left us any weapons against what’s coming.”

Before Elara could press further, a sudden, piercing scream echoed through the tunnels. It was distant but unmistakably human, its raw terror cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.

Elara froze. “That’s not the hounds.”

“No,” Gabriel said grimly. “That’s someone who didn’t make it out.”

The scream faded into a series of choked sobs before vanishing entirely. For a moment, the only sound was the faint drip of water from the cavern walls.

Gabriel gestured for Elara to follow, quickening his pace. “We’re not alone down here.”

The narrow tunnels eventually opened into a vast, circular chamber. The air here was colder, carrying the faint scent of decay. The walls were adorned with more of the shifting glyphs, their eerie glow casting a pale, flickering light across the room.

At the centre of the chamber stood a massive stone dais, its surface carved with intricate symbols that seemed to writhe and pulse as though alive. Surrounding the dais were several stone pedestals, each bearing an object: a tarnished mirror, a cracked chalice, a bundle of ancient scrolls, and a broken chain.

Gabriel approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the room. “This is it. The Blackthorns’ reliquary.”

Elara stepped closer, her gaze drawn to the objects. “These don’t look like weapons.”

“They’re not,” Gabriel said, his voice tight. “They’re anchors—objects tied to powerful rituals. The cult could use any one of these to amplify their reach.”

Elara frowned, stepping toward the dais. “So what do we do? Destroy them?”

Gabriel hesitated, his brow furrowing. “It’s not that simple. Destroying them might unleash whatever they’re holding back.”

Before he could elaborate, the rhythmic tapping resumed, louder now and accompanied by a faint, wet slithering sound.

Elara’s stomach turned as the sound grew closer, echoing down the passage they had just emerged from. “Gabriel,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I hear it,” he replied, already moving toward the pedestals. “Whatever’s coming, we can’t face it head-on. Help me look for anything that might give us an edge.”

Elara nodded, forcing herself to focus. She approached the pedestals, her eyes scanning the objects for anything that seemed remotely useful.

The tapping grew louder, joined by a low, guttural growl.

“Elara!” Gabriel’s voice snapped her out of her trance. She turned to see him holding a small, rune-inscribed medallion. “Take this. It’s a ward—might keep whatever’s out there at bay long enough for us to figure out our next move.”

She grabbed the medallion, clutching it tightly as the first shadow appeared in the passageway.

The creature that emerged from the tunnel was unlike anything Elara had ever seen. Its body was a grotesque fusion of flesh and shadow, its limbs elongated and twisted. Its face—or what passed for a face—was a writhing mass of tendrils, each one tipped with jagged, claw-like appendages.

The medallion in Elara’s hand grew warm, its runes glowing faintly. The creature paused, its tendrils twitching as though sensing the ward’s presence.

Gabriel stepped forward, his voice steady despite the terror etched on his face. “It’s a guardian. The Blackthorns must have left it to protect the reliquary.”

“Then why is it attacking us?” Elara demanded, her voice shaking.

“Because we’re not Blackthorns,” Gabriel said grimly.

The creature let out a low, resonant growl, its tendrils flaring as it advanced toward them.

“Stay behind me,” Gabriel ordered, raising his dagger.

Elara hesitated, the medallion’s warmth spreading through her palm. “Gabriel, wait—maybe this thing can be reasoned with.”

“Reasoned with?” Gabriel shot her a disbelieving look. “It’s a construct—it only understands one thing.”

The creature lunged, its tendrils whipping through the air with terrifying speed. Gabriel dodged, his movements fluid and precise, but the force of the attack sent him sprawling.

Elara reacted instinctively, raising the medallion and shouting, “Stop!”

To her astonishment, the creature froze, its tendrils retracting slightly. Its glowing eyes fixed on the medallion, and for a moment, the air grew impossibly still.

Gabriel scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. “What did you do?”

“I—I don’t know,” Elara stammered.

The creature let out a low, rumbling growl, its gaze shifting between Elara and Gabriel. Then, slowly, it retreated, disappearing back into the shadows of the tunnel.

Elara lowered the medallion, her hands trembling. “What just happened?”

Gabriel approached cautiously, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. “I think you just convinced it that we’re not its enemies.”

Before they could process further, a deafening crash echoed from the tunnel behind them. The air grew colder, and the glyphs on the walls flickered erratically.

Gabriel’s face darkened. “Whatever you did, it’s drawn something else. Something worse.”

The atmosphere in the chamber shifted abruptly, growing colder by the second. The flickering runes on the walls dimmed, casting an unsettling twilight across the stone floor. A low hum, almost imperceptible, began to reverberate through the air, sending a chill down Elara's spine.

“We need to move,” Gabriel hissed, his eyes darting toward the dark tunnel from which the crash had come.

Elara gripped the medallion tightly, feeling its warmth pulse faintly in her palm. “What was that sound?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel replied, his gaze never leaving the shadows. “But whatever it is, it’s coming fast.”

Without another word, he turned and began sprinting down the corridor. Elara followed closely, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence in the tunnel felt suffocating, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something terrible to emerge.

As they rounded a sharp corner, the air seemed to grow thicker, the shadows longer. The ground beneath their feet was slick with moisture, and the distant echo of the creature’s retreating footsteps had been replaced by an eerie, unnatural stillness.

Gabriel stopped suddenly, his body going rigid. “It’s here.”

Elara didn’t need to ask what he meant. The oppressive sense of danger was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm before it broke.

From the depths of the tunnel, a shape emerged—large and inhuman. At first, it was just a silhouette, a shifting mass of blackness, but as it drew closer, Elara’s breath caught in her throat.

The creature was unlike anything she had imagined. It was massive, towering over them by at least seven feet, with limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Its skin—or what passed for it—was a mottled blend of grey and black, covered in jagged, bone-like protrusions. Its face, if it could be called that, was a hideous amalgamation of sharp teeth, glowing red eyes, and a gaping maw that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly hunger.

Gabriel stepped in front of her instinctively, his dagger gleaming in the torchlight. “Stay back,” he ordered, his voice steady, though his hands shook slightly.

The creature’s eyes flickered toward them, its gaze penetrating and unsettling. Then, with a swift, jerking movement, it lunged forward.

Gabriel threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike. The creature’s massive claw swiped through the air, narrowly missing him and scraping the stone wall behind them. Elara gasped, the sound of its claws scraping against the rock reverberating in her chest.

“Move!” Gabriel shouted, scrambling to his feet.

Elara didn’t hesitate. She sprinted down the tunnel, not daring to look back. The creature’s low growl rumbled behind them, growing louder as it gave chase.

They rounded another bend, and Gabriel yanked open a heavy, rusted door hidden in the stone. Elara ducked inside just as the creature’s claws raked the entrance, narrowly missing them both.

The door slammed shut behind them, and they found themselves in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with shelves, cluttered with strange objects—arcane trinkets, dusty books, and cracked pottery.

Gabriel leaned against the door, his chest heaving. “It’s not going to give up,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Whatever it is, it’s tied to the Blackthorn legacy.”

Elara looked around the room, her mind racing. “So what now?”

Gabriel’s eyes scanned the shelves. “We’re going to find out what that thing is, and how to stop it.”

Suddenly, a voice rang out—low and sibilant, though unmistakable in its malice.

“Why do you run, Gabriel?”

Elara’s blood ran cold as she spun toward the source of the voice. A figure stood in the far corner of the room, cloaked in shadow. Its features were obscured, but the voice... she knew that voice.

Gabriel’s face twisted in recognition. “No.”

The figure stepped forward, its movement fluid and predatory. “You’ve forgotten me, Gabriel? How... disappointing.”

Elara’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Who are you?”

The figure’s head tilted, as if amused. “I am someone from your past. Someone who knows your secrets... and your fears.”

Gabriel took a step forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The figure laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that sent a shiver down Elara’s spine. “You think you can escape this, Gabriel? You think you can bury the past and pretend it never existed?”

Gabriel’s hand tightened around the dagger, but he didn’t move any closer. “What do you want?”

The figure’s smile widened, revealing teeth sharp as knives. “I want you to remember. I want you to see what happens when you don’t.”

With that, the figure stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

Elara was left speechless, her heart racing. “What was that? Who was that?”

Gabriel stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where the figure had been. “A ghost from my past. One I thought I’d never see again.”

He turned slowly to face Elara, his eyes filled with a mixture of dread and determination. “We need to move. There’s no time to waste. Whatever’s coming—whatever’s tied to that thing—it’s only going to get worse from here.”

Just as he turned toward the door, a loud crash echoed from the hall. The creature was back.

But this time, it was not alone.

Elara’s pulse quickened as another form materialized from the darkness—just as twisted, just as monstrous. She could hear its heavy breath, feel the suffocating weight of its presence.

“We’re not getting out of here alive unless we stop them,” Gabriel said, his voice strained.

Elara didn’t reply. She had no words, only the gnawing realization that they were well beyond any chance of escape. The Blackthorn legacy was more than a family of secrets—it was a curse, and they were now fully entangled in its web.

The creature’s growl was followed by the sound of dragging claws. Elara tightened her grip on the medallion and looked to Gabriel.

“This is it,” she said quietly. “We fight.”

Gabriel nodded grimly. “For what it’s worth, I’m with you.”

As the beasts closed in, the air grew colder still, and the darkness around them thickened. The weight of the Blackthorn curse was pressing in, and the only thing left was to face it head-on.

And then, the silence broke.

The air felt like it had thickened to an almost unbearable pressure, pushing down on Elara’s chest. Her breath was shallow, and every instinct in her screamed to run—yet her feet remained rooted to the cold stone floor. Gabriel had already drawn his dagger, a thin sliver of silver gleaming in the dim light, his knuckles white from the tight grip he had on it.

The creature’s growl reverberated through the corridor, followed by the scraping sound of claws dragging against the stone. The sound was rhythmic, methodical, as though it were savouring every step, taking its time to savour the fear that hung thick in the air.

“We won’t last if we don’t act now,” Gabriel murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a sharp blade.

Elara’s heart thudded in her chest. She looked at the walls of the chamber, desperate for anything that might give them an advantage. The shelves were filled with dusty relics, cryptic symbols etched into their surfaces. None of it looked particularly useful in the face of such a monstrous foe.

But then something caught her eye—a book, half hidden behind an ancient iron mask that hung precariously on the wall. It was thick, bound in dark leather, its spine cracked with age.

“Elara, we need to move!” Gabriel snapped, his tone urgent, but his eyes darted toward her, sensing her hesitation.

She didn’t respond. The book. It seemed to pulse with an energy that she couldn’t ignore.

With a sharp motion, she yanked it from the shelf, feeling the weight of it in her hands. The pages were brittle, but they held strange, arcane writings that were not from any language she recognised. The further she flipped, the more unsettled she became, as though the very ink on the pages was shifting under her gaze.

“Gabriel,” she whispered, “I think I’ve found something.”

Before he could respond, the screech of claws on stone sounded from the hallway, a bone-chilling sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The creature was drawing closer.

Gabriel’s grip tightened on his dagger. “Whatever it is, hold onto it. We’re not going to die here.”

The door creaked ominously as the creature slammed into it from the other side, shaking the entire room. The ancient wood groaned under the assault, threatening to give way to whatever monstrosity was lurking just beyond.

“I can’t wait for this to hold forever,” Gabriel muttered. He turned, making a quick decision. “We need to find a way out. Now.”

Elara’s heart raced. She felt the pulse of the medallion against her chest, as if it, too, could sense the growing danger. “We can’t leave. Not without knowing what’s in this book. I think it’s the key to stopping them.”

Gabriel’s expression faltered for a moment, as though the weight of her words had finally registered. His gaze flickered back to the door, where the creature’s growl had deepened into an unsettling rhythm.

“It’s not the only key, Elara,” Gabriel said, his voice low, the urgency clear in his tone. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. And if we’re not careful, we might make it worse. That book—it could be a trap.”

Elara felt a pang of fear deep in her gut, but she held the book tighter, as though it could offer her protection. There was something she couldn’t shake, some instinct telling her that it held the answers they desperately needed.

Her fingers traced the arcane symbols, and suddenly the room grew colder. The air became thick with the stench of decay, and the shadows seemed to twist around them like living things. The pulse in her chest quickened, and she realized, with dawning horror, that the shadows were moving closer.

Without warning, the door burst open, and the creature lunged into the room, its massive body filling the doorway. It was faster than she had anticipated, its eyes glinting like molten red coals in the darkness. Elara stumbled back, instinctively clutching the book to her chest.

Gabriel lunged forward, slashing at the beast with his dagger, but the creature barely flinched. Its jagged claws reached for him, narrowly missing as he ducked and spun to avoid the swipe.

“Elara!” Gabriel shouted, barely dodging another strike. “Do something!”

Desperation clawed at Elara’s insides. She flipped through the pages, her fingers trembling, until they stopped on a particular passage.

The writing was in a language she couldn’t fully comprehend, but as her eyes scanned the symbols, she felt a connection, a strange energy growing around her. The book was alive in her hands. The words seemed to pulse with an ancient rhythm.

Suddenly, a soft whisper filled the air, as though the book itself was speaking to her, guiding her.

“Say the words,” the voice whispered, growing louder, more insistent. “Say the words, and end it.”

Her mouth moved before she could fully understand what was happening, her voice trembling as she recited the words. The room shook, and the shadows writhed violently, as though the very fabric of reality was tearing apart.

Gabriel looked back at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Elara, stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

But it was too late. The book flared with a blinding light, casting a sickly glow across the room. The creature let out a blood-curdling scream, its massive body writhing in agony as the light enveloped it. It howled in pain, clawing at the air, but it could not escape.

Elara felt a rush of power—terrifying, overwhelming power—as the book pulsed in her hands. The light from the book began to take shape, coalescing into tendrils that snaked out and wrapped around the creature. The monster screeched louder, its body disintegrating into nothingness as the light consumed it whole.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the creature was gone.

The room fell silent, the oppressive weight of the darkness lifting. Elara stood there, trembling, the book still clutched tightly in her hands.

Gabriel’s voice was hoarse as he stepped forward. “What... what did you just do?”

Elara could barely answer. Her head was spinning, her body drained of energy. She dropped to her knees, the book slipping from her grasp and landing with a soft thud on the stone floor.

“I think I just... I think I just sealed it away,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But as the silence stretched on, a new, deeper fear settled over them.

In the distance, a sound began to grow louder—the unmistakable rumble of something ancient and terrible stirring.

A low, guttural growl, coming from deeper within the estate.

And this time, it wasn’t just one creature. It was a chorus.

The Blackthorn curse had only just begun to awaken.

Year: 2024

Location: Blackthorn Estate, Hidden Chamber Beneath the Vaults

The rumbling continued to reverberate through the walls of Blackthorn Estate, a deep, almost primordial sound that made Elara’s heart race in her chest. Her vision was blurred, her head spinning from the sheer intensity of what had just happened—the book, the light, the creature’s annihilation. But there was no time to catch her breath.

Gabriel knelt beside her, his face pale, eyes wide with disbelief and fear. “Elara… did you—did you just unleash something?” His voice cracked, the weight of the moment crushing the edges of his usual composure.

She barely heard him. Her mind was still reeling, trying to grasp what she had just done. The book’s power had overwhelmed her, guiding her, yet she could feel it—something in the air had shifted. The estate wasn’t the same as it had been moments ago. It was as if the very ground beneath them was waking from a long, suffocating slumber.

“I... I don’t know,” Elara whispered, her voice trembling. “I—It felt like I had to… stop it. Whatever that thing was… it’s gone now, isn’t it?”

Gabriel glanced toward the door, where the creature had fallen moments before. There was nothing left but the faint scent of charred air, and the remnants of the unnatural energy that still clung to the room. Yet, despite the immediate silence, there was something insidiously wrong. The shadows seemed thicker now, more oppressive, pressing in on them from every corner of the chamber.

“The beast is gone,” Gabriel muttered, though his voice held no conviction. “But something else is coming. Something worse.”

Elara’s breath caught in her throat as she stood shakily, her legs unsteady beneath her. She glanced at the darkened doorway, her mind struggling to make sense of the overwhelming sense of dread that had settled like a fog over the estate.

“We need to leave. Now,” Gabriel said, his hand gripping her arm with surprising urgency. “We’re not safe here. Whatever that book triggered... it’s not finished. This place is crawling with things we don’t understand, Elara. You’ve unleashed something far worse than that creature.”

Elara’s gaze moved back to the book, still lying on the floor, its pages fluttering as though caught by an invisible wind. The arcane symbols on the pages still glowed faintly, as though alive. There was something insidious about it, like the words were still calling to her, urging her to unlock the next stage. But she couldn’t—she couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen if she did.

“We can’t leave yet,” she said, her voice firm, though doubt clawed at her insides. “Not without understanding what we’ve done. If we run, this—whatever this is—will just keep following us. We need to know what we’re up against.”

Gabriel was silent for a moment, his grip loosening, but only just. His gaze flickered to the darkened passage beyond, then back to her.

“We don’t have the luxury of time, Elara,” he warned, his voice hardening. “You might have stopped one threat, but this is bigger than that book. This estate—it has a history, a past that’s tied to things far darker than we can comprehend. If we stay here, we’re already lost.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, Elara hesitated, her mind torn between the need for answers and the primal instinct to flee before it was too late. The rumbling had stopped, but the air still felt charged, alive with some unseen malevolent force. The shadows were no longer just shadows—they seemed to have form, edges that moved with purpose, like something was watching them from the corners of the room.

“Elara…” Gabriel’s voice was softer now, though the urgency was still there. “Please.”

The desperation in his tone snapped her from her thoughts. He was right—they didn’t have the time. The answer was not here, not in this room or in the book. There was something more to this estate, more to the curse that had bound it. They had only scratched the surface.

Elara took one last look at the book. “Alright,” she said, her voice resolute. “Let’s go.”

Gabriel nodded sharply and motioned for her to follow. As they moved toward the narrow passage that led deeper into the estate, the air grew heavier, more oppressive. The low hum of the estate, once a faint background noise, now seemed to vibrate through the very walls. It was as if the house was alive, breathing with them, watching them.

But even as they descended further, a chilling thought occurred to Elara—this place was not just a building. It was a tomb.

A tomb that had been waiting for them.

Location: Blackthorn Estate, Hidden Vaults

The deeper they ventured, the more the estate seemed to close in around them. The passageways had become narrower, the walls slick with dampness that reeked of age and decay. The faintest sound echoed through the corridors, but it wasn’t just the creaking of the house—it was something else. Something more... insistent.

Elara could feel the temperature drop as they approached an ancient set of iron-bound doors. They were much older than the rest of the estate, covered in thick layers of dust, their surfaces inscribed with intricate symbols. Symbols she recognized from the book.

Her stomach churned with dread as she stepped closer. Gabriel hesitated, his expression shadowed with uncertainty.

“Elara,” he said softly, “We should turn back. This... whatever is behind these doors, it isn’t going to answer your questions. It’s not going to give you the closure you’re hoping for.”

But Elara was already reaching for the door’s cold handle.

“I don’t have a choice.” Her voice was steady, though her heart hammered in her chest. She turned the handle, the metal scraping against the old wood with a low groan.

The door creaked open, revealing a vast chamber beyond. The sight that met them was enough to freeze Elara’s blood.

There were no bodies. No blood. But the room was filled with strange, cryptic artefacts—each one pulsing with a sickly, greenish glow. Symbols, the same ones from the book, adorned the walls in jagged, spiraling patterns. And in the centre of the room, illuminated by an eerie light, was a pedestal. Upon it rested something—something that seemed to hum with dark power, as if it had been waiting for them to arrive.

“Elara, no—” Gabriel’s voice broke as he stepped back, his eyes wide with disbelief.

The object on the pedestal seemed to be… breathing.

It was a small, intricate box, covered in the same symbols. It looked almost… alive. And Elara knew, without a shadow of doubt, that this was the source of the curse. This was what had begun to stir within the estate.

She stepped forward, unable to resist. Her hand reached for the box.

And then, just as her fingers brushed against its surface, a voice—a voice so deep, so ancient, that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the estate—rumbled from the shadows.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The words seemed to come from all around them, the walls, the floor, the very air itself.

“Elara…” Gabriel’s voice was low, fearful. “We’ve made a grave mistake.”

And then the shadows surged forward.

The room seemed to pulse with a sinister energy as Elara’s hand hovered over the box, its surface humming under her fingertips. The voice that had echoed from the shadows—low and menacing—still lingered in the air, wrapping around her like a suffocating fog.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” the voice had said. It was deep, ancient, and impossible to place. The words weren’t just heard; they seemed to crawl under her skin, vibrating through her bones.

For a brief moment, Elara hesitated. Her heart pounded, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though the room had suddenly closed in on her, the walls pressing tighter with each passing second. But then she steeled herself, determined to understand what had been set in motion.

“We don’t have a choice,” she whispered to herself, more as a reassurance than a declaration.

Her fingers brushed the box. The moment they made contact, a sharp jolt of cold surged through her, as if the box itself had become an extension of the darkness in the room. The humming intensified, vibrating against her palm, and a sudden rush of images flooded her mind—flashes of long-forgotten rituals, faces twisted in agony, and eyes that stared from the depths of a long-forgotten past.

And then, a deafening crack echoed from behind her. Elara spun around, heart racing, to see the doorway they had entered from slowly closing on its own, the shadows thickening like a tangible wall. She heard Gabriel’s frantic voice from behind her.

“Elara—!” he shouted. But before he could reach her, the room went completely dark.

A feeling of weightlessness swept over her. She tried to call out, but no sound emerged. It was as if the entire world had gone silent, frozen in time. In the stifling blackness, she reached blindly for Gabriel, but her hands met only air.

Suddenly, a blinding light shot from the box, illuminating the entire vault. The light was cold, blue and unnatural, casting twisted shadows along the walls. And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light flickered out, leaving them in the same oppressive darkness—but something had changed.

The room was no longer as it had been.

The walls were now covered in ancient runes, glowing faintly, pulsating with a rhythm that felt alive. And standing in the middle of the room—right in front of Elara—was a figure, cloaked in black, its face obscured by shadows.

“You should not have opened it,” the voice spoke again, this time from the figure, its words so soft, yet laden with a threat.

“Elara, get away from it!” Gabriel’s voice broke through the silence, panic creeping into his tone.

But Elara couldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the figure. Her pulse thundered in her ears, each beat drowning out the world around her.

And then, the figure raised a hand, pointing directly at her.

“You are the key,” it whispered, its voice a sibilant hiss that sent chills crawling down Elara’s spine. “You’ve awakened it. And now… it will not rest until you are claimed.”

Before Elara could respond, the ground beneath her feet trembled, and the vault began to collapse. The walls cracked open, and the cold air surged around them, like the breath of something ancient stirring to life.

And then, just as everything seemed to fall into chaos, the figure spoke one last time:

“You are not the first.”

In that instant, the vault collapsed entirely, plunging the room into blackness.