Ziria didn’t remember falling asleep.

She had been sitting on the floor of her cottage, her back against the cold wall, the cursed book about the boy clutched to her chest. Her lantern flickered beside her, casting jagged shadows across the chaos of books scattered around her feet. The last thing she remembered was the tugging in her chest, that terrible, insistent pull, squeezing and dragging—and then darkness swept her under.

But this was not sleep.

The air around her felt thick, chocking and too heavy to breathe. Her feet touched nothing, yet she moved—drawn forward by an invisible thread, tugging from her chest. The landscape flickered around her, coming into focus like a smudged painting slowly sharpening, everything looked unnatural but real. Nowhere and everywhere.

She was standing in a clearing.

The moon hung low in the sky, bloated and unnaturally crimson, painting the earth with blood and shadows. The trees felt taller than they should have been, with twisted limbs reaching out like long skeleton fingers. The air was damp and sticky, clinging to her skin, and the quiet was loud, oppressive, and thick.

Except she wasn’t alone. She felt a presence around her.

Ahead of her, two figures stood in the clearing. One was tall, shrouded in a cloak that seemed to devour the light around it, the ground covered in smoky shadows. The other being was small, no more than a young boy, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. He didn’t seem scared, but wary.

Ziria tried to move closer, but her legs felt sluggish, as if she were wading through molasses, like she was not supposed to be there. The figures remained just out of reach with each step, their voices a whisper she couldn't quite hear no matter how hard she tried to move.

But then the man turned.

His face was obscured, a void where features should be, its features smudged, but his presence was suffocating. It gave her a nod, like he saw that she was there.

Its heavy presence pressed against her, heavy and cold, rooting her to the spot. He bent down, his shadow stretching impossibly long, and whispered something to the boy.

The boy flinched.

Ziria strained to hear, her heart pounding in her ears. The man reached into his cloak, and when he withdrew his hand, it was holding something—a small, flickering light, barely more than a spark. It pulsed weakly, as though fighting to stay alive. A heart.

The boy hesitated, his hands trembling as he reached out to take it, his curiosity getting the better of him. The moment his fingers brushed the light, it flared violently, flooding the clearing with blinding white, the brightness burning her eyes as she tried to watch what became before her.

And then the boy screamed.

Ziria stumbled backward, her hands flying to her ears, but the sound was everywhere, nowhere, tearing through her like shards of glass. It was drilling deep into her head making her every thought press against its edges. The boy writhed as the light burrowed into him, his silhouette twisting and convulsing. The man stood still, like the dead, unmoving, his void-like face tilted slightly as though watching with detached curiosity.

When the light finally faded, the boy crumpled to the ground. His body shook violently as he laid on the ground.

For a long moment, nothing moved. Not the shadows, not the boy. And she didn’t move. Then the boy stirred, his thin frame shuddering as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. But something was different.

Ziria’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the boy’s shadow. It wasn’t his. It was too large, too jagged, too long and its edges writhing like black flames. The boy stood, his silhouette flickering as though it couldn’t decide what shape it wanted to take. What had he done?

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And then he turned.

She couldn’t see his face—only the empty void where it should have been. His features smudged like a discarded painting. But she could hear his voice, soft and broken, echoing in the stillness.

“Why did you give it to me?” he whispered. “Why me?” The boys voice sounded small and weak.

The man’s shadow loomed behind him, silent.

The boy’s voice grew louder, more frantic. “I didn’t want this! You should’ve kept it! You—”

His words broke off into a choked sob, and he staggered forward, clutching his chest as though trying to tear something out. His heart. He clawed at himself, trying to dig deeper.

Ziria wanted to move, to run to him, to do something, but her body wouldn’t obey. Her feet stuck to the ground. She looked at her feet trying to make them move. As she lifted her gaze… The ground started to move without her.

The scene shifted fast suddenly, the clearing dissolving into a blur of motion and sound. Ziria was running now, though she didn’t remember starting. She followed the boy as he stumbled through the woods, back to the village, his silhouette flickering like a dying candle.

The forest around them seemed alive, the trees creaking and groaning as if whispering secrets to one another, it followed him too. Shadows darted between the trunks, too fast to see, but she felt their eyes on her. They could see her even though she wasn’t there.

The boy grew older as he ran. His hunched shoulders broadened, his thin frame filling out with the weight of years. His movements became heavier, more labored, as though he carried something unseen, She watched him wither away with every step and his presence seemed to die out.

She followed him through time, feeling like minutes and years, watching as he passed through village after village, his shadow twisting and bending in ways it shouldn’t. People stared at him with fear and pity, their whispers following him like dark ghosts.

“Did you see his eyes?”

“Stay away from him.”

“He’s cursed.”

The words clung to Ziria like cobwebs, sticking in her mind. Parents hid their children when he walked by, “Don’t look at him or he will take you” They said. He never touched or spoke to anyone, never bothering or looking in their direction.

The boy—now a man—retreated deeper into the forest, his shadow growing darker, more fragmented. Ziria followed him to the edge of a clearing that looked disturbingly familiar.

It was her village.

No, not hers. Not yet, it seemed. The cottages were older, smaller, but the layout was the same. She walked here practically everyday, visiting her clients. She could see the graveyard in the distance, the crooked headstones barely visible in the dim light and the crooked gateway that always seemed to have teeth whenever she entered.

The man disappeared into the woods beyond, and Ziria hesitated to follow him. Something cold and sharp twisted in her chest, warning her not to follow. But she couldn’t stop, this wasn’t a dream, yet she wasn't awake. She tried to summon her magic but she was empty, like a shell wandering in an empty world.

The trees closed in around her as she moved deeper into the forest, their gnarled branches tangling together above her like a cage. The air grew colder, wetter and each breath burned in her lungs.

And then she saw him.

The man was kneeling in a small hollow, his back to her. His shadow stretched out before him, jagged and unnatural, writhing like a living thing, like a dark smoke coming from a thick fire. He was whispering to himself, his voice low and frantic, each word tumbling over the next. He sounded desperate, like he was not one. He was more than a man, two beings.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this enough? No, it’s never enough. Never enough...”

He laughed suddenly, a harsh, grating sound that sent a shiver down Ziria’s spine.His voice sounded similar, one deep och shrieking sound came out of his mouth.

“They don’t see it, do they?” he murmured, his voice softer now. “But you see. Don’t you? You see me. I want you to see me”

Ziria’s breath hitched as he turned slightly, his silhouette sharp against the darkness. He spoke to her. She still couldn’t see his face, but his eyes burned like twin embers, piercing and unrelenting. The glow in his chest, his heartbeat steady in the same rhythm as hers.

“Do you see me?” he asked, his voice rising, cracking. “Do you see what I’ve become?” She had seen him, all of it. She knew his story from before, from the book and she had followed him here, all his life.

She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came.

The man tilted his head again, his voice changed and something darker came out, his gaze cutting through her like a blade. “You will,” he whispered. “Soon.”

Soon.