Carol sprinted through the endless corridor, the golden light in her hand pulsing in rapid time with her racing heart. She had no idea what fate awaited her once she saved her son—but she didn’t care. She clutched the glowing thread more tightly, lips set in a determined line.

“I’m a mother,” she puffed between laboured breaths, her voice echoing off the corridor walls. “A mother’s duty to her children… it surpasses everything.”

She pushed her exhausted body harder, feet pounding against the worn floor as a bright light came into view in the distance. It called to her, beckoning with an almost painful intensity. Yet as she closed the gap, she found that memories—Noah’s memories—began spilling out along the hallway’s edges. Their voices swirled around her like ghosts, making each step heavier.

A familiar tone—Noah’s—surfaced above the rest, pulling her attention:

“Mum, I visited Dad’s grave yesterday. The groundskeeper hasn’t been doing his job again. He was half drunk, mumbling at me to—told me to just… ‘fuck off already.’”

A wave of sadness hit Carol, nearly tripping her stride. She pressed forward, anger flaring in her chest. That can’t be allowed, she thought fiercely, tears pricking her eyes. Noah didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect—none of them did.

Noah’s sigh echoed in the corridor, the tone so heavy with resignation it made Carol’s throat tighten.

“I tried cleaning up Dad’s headstone myself. Pulled some weeds, and cleared the trash. I just… I wish you were there, Mum. You always knew how to make things seem okay.”

Carol’s steps faltered momentarily, grief crashing over her. I should’ve been there, Noah. I’m sorry. But the glowing thread in her palm tugged hard, drawing her forward. She inhaled sharply, forcing her legs to keep moving.

She had to keep going—keep running—until she reached Noah. Bright shards of memories crackled in the air, tearing at her senses: flashes of the lonely graveyard, the battered headstone lying at a weary tilt, the slumped and apathetic groundskeeper lifting a beer can in a half-hearted greeting. Each fragment of her son’s suffering only sharpened her protective instinct, fanning the flames of her determination.

The golden thread pulsed in her hand like a living heartbeat, guiding her onward through the endless corridor. The walls themselves seemed to ripple with each breath she took, as though the memories were warping the very fabric of this dreamlike place.

Then, as she kept running, a younger echo of Noah’s voice drifted around her, so vivid it almost felt as though he were whispering right into her ear:

“Mum… I’ve been having nightmares—really bad ones. Sometimes I wake up screaming for you. Other nights…”

There was a waver like he was mustering the courage to continue.

“Other nights I see Dad’s face, half-melted—burning flesh, the smell… I miss you, Mum.”

Her steps faltered for the briefest moment. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and her throat tightened until it ached. A raw, primal anger flickered beneath her sadness, hot as a forge. Her little boy had suffered too much already, and yet this relentless universe insisted on piling more onto his fragile shoulders.

A distant rumble echoed through the hallway—maybe the sound of doors slamming in other memories, or perhaps the corridor reacting to her surging emotions. Carol’s grip on the golden thread grew fierce, her knuckles whitening. She refused to let her anguish paralyze her. She would find him. She would save him.

She felt the sting of tears trailing down her cheeks. “You’re so young, Noah,” she murmured into the silence, her voice cracking. “You shouldn’t have to bear these nightmares alone.” The golden light pulsed as if in agreement, and a surge of warmth spread through her fingers, fortifying her resolve.

Another echo of Noah’s voice rippled through the air, weaker this time, almost lost in the storm of other flickering memories:

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Mum… I’m scared.”

Carol’s heart lurched, a fresh wave of fury chasing away her weariness. No one—no memory, no twisted force—would keep her from him. Muscles burning, she forced her legs to move faster. Each footfall resonated through the corridor, carrying her closer to the blinding glow at its far end.

She clenched her jaw, tears mixing with the sweat on her brow. “Just hold on, Noah,” she whispered again, the words a trembling promise. “I’m coming.”

Her voice echoed back to her, a reminder that she was not powerless—no matter how imposing this labyrinth of memories seemed. She would break through every barrier, unlock every door, and banish every nightmare if it meant reaching her son.

With that vow hammering in her chest like a drumbeat, Carol hurled herself into a sprint. The corridor’s walls warped and blurred at the edges of her vision, as though the dreamscape itself strained against her resolve. Ahead, the bright light grew steadily nearer, a beacon guiding her toward whatever challenge awaited. Though fear coiled like a serpent in her gut, her maternal rage and devotion blazed hotter still.

She drew closer to the source—a golden veil of brilliance stretching across the corridor. Its glow shimmered and shifted, almost tangible, as though it were a living barrier she had to break through. Carol squinted against the glare, her heart pounding with the twin forces of hope and anxiety. This had to be the threshold to Noah.

Just as she was about to pass through the luminescent sheet, a faint whisper slithered into her ears. It was quiet, yet unmistakably cruel, laced with a darkness that turned her blood to ice.

“You will fail, for he is already mine.”

A chill crawled down her spine, and her breath caught in her throat. The words carried a malevolence that felt ancient, predatory—like a serpent hissing from the shadows. For a heartbeat, her steps faltered under the weight of dread.

But then she recalled Noah’s trembling voice, Claire’s desperate pleas, and the anguish etched into their lives without her. A searing anger reignited in her chest, fueling her onward.

“Never,” she snarled, her voice hoarse with emotion. She tightened her grip on the golden thread still wrapped around her hand and surged forward, plunging straight into the dazzling light

----------------------------------------

The libary

As she stepped into the light, the corridor vanished behind her. The shifting glow swirled and streaked past, colours blurring like shooting stars. Carol didn’t understand what was happening, but she kept pushing forward, every muscle screaming in protest. The whirl of colours quickened until they became a dizzying cascade.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the light faded. She staggered forward, nearly losing her balance as she emerged from a shimmering veil into a new space. Panting heavily, she rested her hands on her knees, fighting for air. Her chest burned, each breath ragged from the strain of her sprint and the disorienting transition.

After a few moments, she forced herself upright, blinking sweat from her eyes. The room around her was a striking contrast to the dreamlike corridor she’d just left. Tall shelves lined every wall, filled with countless books stretching up toward a high, arched ceiling. The soft amber glow of lamps cast warm pools of light on the polished floor, creating an almost reverent hush—like knowledge itself slumbered between the shelves, waiting to be awakened.

That was when she noticed a dark, massive oval—an orb of sorts—hovering in the centre of the room. From where Carol stood, it looked as though the orb enveloped someone—a man—his silhouette obscured by thick, shifting shadows. The faint hum emanating from the darkness was low and rhythmic, reminiscent of a distant heartbeat. Wiping sweat from her forehead, Carol felt every nerve in her body thrumming with tension.

She squinted, barely making out a man’s features through the swirling gloom. His mouth seemed contorted with pain, though she couldn’t see enough to know why. A shiver ran down her spine.

Then, a small ball of light drifted toward her, illuminating the polished floor in a gentle glow. As it came closer, Carol realized the light wasn’t just a ball of energy; there was a tiny figure inside—someone with wings, fluttering like a miniature fairy.

“My name is Luma,” the figure said softly, her voice carrying a mournful, musical quality. “And you must be Carol… Noah’s mother.”

Carol inhaled, her heart clenching at the mention of Noah’s name. “Yes, I’m Carol,” she replied, her gaze flicking around the room, searching for any sign of her son. She saw only the hovering orb concealing the anguished man, the countless shelves full of books, and this glowing, winged figure. “Who are you, and… where is my son?”

She waited, breath bated, hoping for an answer that would lead her to Noah. Yet her eyes kept drifting back to the shadowy figure in the orb, the man seemingly trapped within that swirling darkness. Confusion and dread twisted inside her stomach, an uneasy knot as she steeled herself for whatever came next.

Luma paused, her tiny glow wavering as though she hesitated to speak. When she finally did, her voice was barely more than a whisper, a gentle wind brushing against the hush of the library.

“That is him,” she said, pointing to the dark orb. “He’s inside there.”

Carol’s gaze snapped back to the massive oval. Her hand curled into a tight fist, a wave of raw anger surging through her veins. Noah… He was so close and yet locked in something sinister, unreachable within the dark, pulsing shape. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding with the force of her determination.

“I’m going to get him out,” Carol murmured, her voice tight with resolve. She took a tentative step toward the dark orb.

“Wait.” Luma’s plea caused Carol to pause, a flicker of golden light hovering at her shoulder.

“If you go in there…” Luma began softly, her glow pulsating with unease. “You might become lost in his memories. You’re not really here, remember? Your real body is still lying in a bed—you’re just a fragment of your mind standing in this realm.”

Carol turned, locking eyes with the tiny fairy. Her grip on the golden thread remained firm, a testament to the promise she’d made. “I don’t have a choice. He’s my son. He needs me,” she said, each word brimming with fierce determination. “No matter what happens, I’ll always have his back.”

Without waiting for Luma’s response, she walked forward, heart hammering as she pushed into the swirling darkness. The orb’s shadowy tendrils clung to her skin, resisting her passage with a sinister hiss. Luma hovered behind, her light trembling like a candle in a draft.

Then Carol disappeared fully into the blackness, leaving Luma alone in the echoing silence of the chamber—stunned, worried, and undeniably impressed by the lengths a mother would go to save her child.

----------------------------------------

Echo

She emerged into a realm of gentle light and soft grass, the world a sudden tapestry of vivid greens and golds. For a moment, she simply lay there, blinking at the sky. Wispy clouds drifted overhead in a slow parade, and beneath her fingertips, the grass felt warm—too warm, perhaps, for a place that couldn’t be real.

Children’s laughter rolled in on the breeze, distant at first, then growing clearer as her senses adjusted. Carol pushed herself upright with a groan, her muscles aching from her previous sprint through the corridor. The sky seemed unending above her, a flawless blue that felt almost staged, like a backdrop.

A short distance away, she spotted a modest playground ringed by simple metal fencing. A bright red slide, a pair of swings, and a small jungle gym beckoned to the cluster of kids scattered around. Some raced one another in a lively game of tag, their voices echoing with carefree excitement. Others clung to the swings, pumping their legs to soar higher and higher.

Closer to the fence, a few adults mingled—parents, presumably—chatting in muted tones. Their words were just out of earshot, an unintelligible hum punctuated by the occasional laugh or sigh. Then, one figure turned slightly, the sunlight catching her face—and Carol’s stomach knotted. She recognized that face. Younger. Brighter-eyed. Herself. A pang of confusion ripped through her chest.

“What…?” Carol mumbled under her breath, squinting. There she was, maybe ten years younger, a warm smile gracing her lips as she spoke to someone by her side—a face Carol couldn't fully see from this angle. But her heart hammered at the sight all the same. Is this one of my memories? she wondered. Or something else entirely?

A soft breeze carried the smell of freshly cut grass and sun-warmed metal from the playset. Carol exhaled slowly, forcing herself not to panic. She took a step closer, her shoes sinking into the plush green lawn, wanting to investigate—but then she noticed something off in her periphery.

Black lines crawled across the grass in faint, spiderweb patterns—dark veins that appeared and vanished in an instant, leaving no mark behind. The effect was subtle yet deeply unsettling, as though the idyllic scene were being eaten away at its edges by shadows. A hollow chill tightened around Carol’s chest, even as the sunshine beat down on her skin.

Then it happened: everyone in this dreamlike place froze in unison. The children mid-sprint, arms flung out, grins stretching across their faces. A girl on the swing halted in midair, her hair caught in an impossible wave. The parents near the fence stopped their low chatter, heads tilting as one to face Carol.

Her breath caught, the silence roaring in her ears. The sky, the breeze, even the distant traffic noise that might have been there—everything seemed to mute at once. Carol felt the weight of a hundred eyes on her, yet no one moved.

She forced herself to swallow against her dry throat. The black lines flickered again, a pulse of darkness creeping across the lawn in a ragged spiral before disappearing into nothingness. What is this place? her mind screamed, but no words came out.

A movement drew her attention. At the edge of the playground, a figure broke away from the others—Noah. Young, perhaps only seven years old, wearing that old Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt he’d loved, paired with gray cargo shorts. His hair, shorter then, curled just above his ears. Each step he took across the grass sent a spike of emotion through her. She wanted to run to him, but her feet felt rooted in place.

He walked with a calm that belied his youth. The other children, still frozen, seemed oblivious to his movements. His eyes locked onto Carol, a flicker of sadness hidden behind them, as if he recognized her and yet…didn’t.

“You’re not supposed to be here… hmm, that’s interesting,” her young son mumbled, his gaze drifting over her. Then he tilted his head, speaking almost to himself. “You’re not part of his memory. You’re the real mother, somehow inside his mind… Are you here to help him?”

Carol’s breath caught. The way he spoke—older, more detached—didn’t match the innocent child she remembered. Yet there was a trace of Noah’s sweetness lingering at the edges, a quiet yearning in his posture that tugged at her heart. She reached out, wanting to close the distance.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m here to help. I promise.”

Something flickered in his eyes—hope, perhaps, or a vestige of trust—and then the hush of the playground pressed in, as though the entire memory was waiting to see what she would do next. Carol glanced around, her heart pounding, unsure how to break the eerie stillness.

“How can I help him? Where is he?” she asked, pushing herself upright. Her gaze swept across the frozen children and silent adults, then back to the young boy who resembled Noah in ways both familiar and unsettling.

He cocked his head, his expression strangely calm. “Help him?” he echoed softly, as though tasting the words. A slight breeze stirred the grass, and Carol blinked—had all these onlookers taken a step closer? The children remained frozen mid-laugh or mid-run, yet the air felt charged, as if they were all listening.

Suddenly, a cracking sound reverberated through the scene. The memory of the playground began to rumble, and the treeline flickered like an old photograph fading with time.

“What’s happening? Why is this memory breaking apart?” Carol called out, grabbing hold of the younger Noah. He simply stared at the treeline as it vanished inch by inch.

“It’s the fake mother,” he said, his tone subdued but urgent. “The thing pretending to be you—she’s killing him slowly, draining his energy and his memories. She wants to break him. So Noah split parts of himself into what was left of his memories, to protect himself. But now she’s furious he hasn’t given up willingly.”

He paused, then looked down at Carol, eyes filled with a kind of resigned sadness. “I’m a part of him, the little voice in the back of your mind telling you right from wrong. But we’re running out of time. This memory is being devoured. We have to move now.”

He tugged at her hand, pulling her along, but Carol couldn’t help glancing back. The playground was dulling, its colors leaching away. The last image she caught was her own younger self, talking to her husband. He turned—not toward the memory version of her, but right at her—and offered a small, knowing smile. Then he, too, vanished, leaving empty space where a once-sweet memory had stood. It felt colorless, numb, like a black-and-white painting stripped of life.

They walked for a while, their footsteps echoing through a tunnel of twisting roots. Damp earth and ancient bark formed a winding passage overhead, as if they were strolling through the veins of some colossal tree. Soft, filtered light seeped in from unseen cracks, lending the space an otherworldly glow.

Carol glanced at the child who looked like Noah, her anxiety simmering just below the surface. “Where are we going?” she asked quietly, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. The boy kept moving, his gaze fixed forward, his expression set.

“We need a guide to help find the pieces,” he replied after a moment, his voice resonating through the root-bound tunnel. “There are at least two I know of—that’s where we’re headed.”

Carol’s heart pounded in her chest. Pieces of her son? She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but the mention of gathering fragments of Noah’s mind—or soul—sent a shiver down her spine. Still, she forced down her confusion and followed the clone’s lead, each step carrying her deeper into the unknown.

The tunnel felt different from the other spaces Carol had passed through. The gnarled roots were smoother here, their bark lacking the deep fissures or darkened patches she’d come to expect. There was a faint, fresh smell to the air, like newly overturned soil after a light rain. It struck her that this place might be… recent. Like a new growth on a tree that had not yet been weathered by time or decay.

She ran her hand along one of the thick roots, surprised at how it felt soft, even warm, beneath her fingers. “Is this a new memory?” she asked, voice soft with a fragile hope.

The clone of Noah walked beside her, his footsteps calm and sure. He gave a slight nod, though he did not turn his head. “Yes,” he said quietly, “it’s one he’s only just created—a place he can hide. He’s holding onto it with everything he has.”

Carol’s throat constricted. A swirl of relief and melancholy swam together in her chest. Even while under attack, she thought, Noah is still fighting, still forging small pockets of safety. A wave of pride mingled with her desperation to save him.

She glanced up, noticing how the roots overhead formed a protective arch. Rays of gentle light leaked through in thin beams, catching dust motes and illuminating a path forward. “He’s protecting it,” she murmured, “like a sanctuary.”

The boy’s faint smile carried a sadness too adult for his young face. “For now,” he replied, laying a hand on the knotted bark. “But the rest of the memories are collapsing faster than he can create new ones. We have to move quickly—before this too is lost.”

A chill prickled at Carol’s arms as she pictured the black lines devouring everything they left behind, the memory collapsing into voids of nothingness. Her steps quickened, urgency tugging at her with every thought of Noah’s fractured mind.

When they finally exited the root tunnel, Carol froze, her breath hitching at the sight before her. A sprawling field stretched endlessly in every direction, the lush green grass blanketed with vibrant wildflowers. Groupings of trees dotted the landscape, their branches swaying gently in an unseen breeze, each patch of the forest an oasis of life and colour.

But it was the massive tree at the centre of the field that truly stole her breath. It towered above everything, its colossal trunk rooted deep into the earth as though anchoring the entire world. Its branches stretched skyward, disappearing into the clouds, as if they could touch the heavens themselves. Golden light filtered down from its canopy, dappling the ground in shifting patterns. The air here felt alive—pulsing, warm, and thrumming with an energy she couldn’t name.

“This is one of his memories?” Carol asked, her voice soft with awe. She turned to the young Noah beside her, wondering how on earth her son had ever encountered something so breathtaking. “Where did he even see a tree like this?”

The boy shook his head slowly, his expression solemn as he gazed at the massive tree. “This isn’t a memory of his,” he said quietly. “It’s a given memory.”

Carol frowned, her brow creasing. “A given memory? What do you mean?”

The boy lifted his arm, pointing toward the base of the massive tree, where its roots coiled like sleeping serpents around the lush grass. “This isn’t something Noah lived. This memory was placed in him—a fragment of something greater. This is the spark of a World Tree.”

Her breath caught, the words heavy with meaning she didn’t fully understand. She took a hesitant step forward, her gaze locked on the massive trunk and the glowing light that seemed to radiate from its very being. “The World Tree,” she echoed, barely above a whisper. “Why would this… be in Noah?”

The boy’s voice remained calm, though his tone carried an edge of urgency. “The memories of the World Tree were given to him to protect, to hold safe within himself. In time, they’ll transfer to their true vessel—a new world seed.”

Carol turned to him, confusion and worry twisting in her chest. “A new world seed? What does that mean for him? What does that do to him?”

“It’s a burden,” the boy admitted, his small frame seeming to sag slightly. “But one he accepted, even if he didn’t fully understand what it meant. The World Tree entrusted its spark to him, knowing he’d do whatever it took to protect it.” He glanced at her, his young face grave. “But if the fake mother breaks him, this memory—this spark—will be consumed, just like the others.”

Carol’s heart tightened, her gaze snapping back to the tree. The thought of something so ancient, so vast, and so alive being lost to the void shook her to her core. More than that, though, was the realization that this sacred trust had been placed on Noah—her boy—who was already carrying so much.

She took another step forward, the golden light growing warmer against her skin. “Then we won’t let her,” she said firmly, resolve hardening in her chest. “Whatever it takes, we’re going to stop her.”

The boy gave a faint smile, but his eyes remained wary. “The tree will show us the way to the first piece,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “But we need to move quickly. This place won’t hold forever.”

Carol nodded, steeling herself as they approached the colossal tree. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a memory—it was a tether, fragile but essential, to something far greater.

Carol rested her hand against the tree’s rough bark. It radiated a gentle warmth, almost like body heat. Is this what a World Tree does? she wondered. Provide warmth to a world gone cold? The idea stirred both hope and awe within her.

“You mentioned fragments of Noah,” she said quietly, her gaze drifting down to the child who looked both like her son and yet somehow older. “How many are there?”

He regarded her with a calm, almost vacant expression. “Four besides me,” he answered, matter-of-factly. “So, in total… five.”

Carol’s heart clenched. Five fragments… she thought, her mind swirling with the implication. How many pieces of Noah’s spirit had he been forced to scatter, just to survive? She wanted to reach out, to pull this small figure into her arms—yet the fierce resolve in his eyes suggested he didn’t need comfort, only action.

“Let’s go. Show me the way,” Carol said, her voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and resolve. Something rustled beside her—a soft, slithering sound that sent a prickle of unease down her spine.

She turned and watched in silent awe as a section of the root-woven wall began to shift. The thick, gnarled roots moved like serpents, coiling and twisting against each other. Slowly, they pulled apart, creating a passage that led to a narrow, winding path. It reminded her of an ancient road, the kind one might find in half-forgotten fairy tales.

“This way leads to Noah’s first fragment,” the young boy said. There was no trace of fear in his tone—only a quiet determination.

Carol tightened her grip on the golden thread in her hand. First fragment, she thought, heart beating faster. One step closer to reuniting all of him.

She inhaled deeply, taking in the cool, earthy smell that wafted from the newly opened path. With a final glance at the shifting roots—still swaying like living vines—she steeled herself for whatever waited beyond. “All right,” she whispered, resolve thickening her voice. “Lead on.”

And together, they stepped onto the uncharted road, the rustling of the living walls behind them fading as they pressed forward into the unknown.

----------------------------------------

The City of Statue

They continued walking, the tunnel of tree roots far behind them now. Carol glanced back, watching as the path they’d emerged from began to crumble. The roots writhed for a moment before sinking into the ground with a low rumble, vanishing as though they had never been.

“Do you have a name… or anything you go by?” she asked, breaking the hush that had settled between them.

He tilted his head slightly, regarding her with calm curiosity. “I don’t have one,” he admitted. “But if I must choose… would you name me?”

They kept walking, Carol’s thoughts drifting as she weighed his request. When she and her husband—Morgan—had named Noah, it had been to honour Morgan’s father, who died in a terrible car crash. Now she faced another naming, for a child who both was and wasn’t her real son.

She exhaled, glancing at the boy who looked so much like Noah yet felt like something else entirely. “Echo,” she murmured, testing the sound on her tongue. “I think I’ll call you Echo.”

He blinked, as though tasting the name himself. A ghost of a smile curved across his lips. “Echo,” he repeated softly. “I… like that.”

Carol offered a nod of reassurance, her heart tinged with both sadness and hope. She pressed forward, the world around them shifting with every step, and the boy now known as Echo walked at her side—an echo of Noah, yet somehow standing on his own.

They crested a small rise in the landscape, the air growing unnaturally still as they reached the top. Carol gasped, nearly stumbling backward at the sight that met her eyes. A massive city sprawled ahead—perhaps the size of Brisbane—yet it was unlike anything she’d ever encountered. Towering buildings seemed to melt and reform, their facades shifting like molten wax, while a sickly red glow pulsed from streetlamps and windows, casting everything in a blood-tinged haze.

“Hush!” Carol hissed instinctively, pressing a hand to Echo’s shoulder. She could sense his body tense under her touch, the faint tremor of his body underneath her hand that betrayed his apprehension. A cluster of withered trees provided the barest bit of cover their skeletal branches hissing slightly in the unnatural breeze, so she tugged him behind one, heart pounding in her ears.

She risked a glance around the trunk, peering at the silent streets below. A hush wrapped around the city like a dark cloak. Figures stood along sidewalks and doorways—men, women, even children—but each one was warped, twisted by black lines branching through their flesh. None moved; they might as well have been macabre statues left to watch over a dying world.

Carol swallowed hard, her stomach churning. “Why couldn’t we see this before?” she whispered, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I had no idea something so… enormous was here.”

Echo’s gaze flicked toward her, a hint of regret in his eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be here,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “It appeared out of nowhere a while ago—like a veil or illusion.” He paused, taking in the molten buildings and the crowd of unmoving horrors. “There’s more to it than I understand.”

Carol tore her gaze from the city’s grotesque skyline, forcing herself to examine the statuesque silhouettes below. A shiver rippled through her when she noticed the black lines beneath their skin pulsing as if alive. Then a sharp, coppery smell hit her—metallic and suffocating, with a slight warmth in the air.

“They were once normal memories, or… something else,” Echo explained, his voice trembling. “Now they’re just… shells.”

A hush deeper than silence enveloped them, as though the entire world held its breath in dread. Overhead, the sky faded from a sickly grey to the same ominous red cast by the city’s lights. Each building appeared to breathe, exhaling a dull, diseased glow with every pulse.

“Is Noah’s fragment inside that… place?” Carol asked, her voice hushed.

“No. But we have to go through this city to reach it.” Echo nodded once, his jaw set with resolve. Carol could see the war of fear and determination in his eyes.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of trekking through that nightmarish city.

“Follow me,” Echo said softly, turning to guide her down the gentle slope. Together, they crept toward the city’s warped outskirts, each step bracing them for the horrors that lay beyond the scarlet haze.

In the distance, Carol caught a flicker of motion—something shifting in the crimson-lit streets. Her breath hitched. It was too far to see clearly, yet the mere suggestion of life amid the statuesque figures sent a chill rolling down her spine. Whatever it was, she felt certain it wasn’t friendly.

Her grip on Echo’s arm tightened. If that’s moving, she thought grimly, it can move toward us. But she forced herself forward, swallowing her dread as they descended into the city’s flickering gloom, each footstep echoing her rising sense of unease.

They soon reached the beginning of a battered road. The living nightmare of black, inky lines they’d seen earlier seemed to thin here, giving way to a landscape that appeared slightly more “normal,” albeit still choked with overgrowth. It was as if the city had been abandoned long ago. Parts of the pavement were buckled and raised, as though massive roots had forced them upward from beneath the ground.

As they walked, Carol spotted a signpost, some lettering catching her eye. Curious, she approached and wiped away dirt and creeping vines. Underneath, she made out an arrow pointing right, directing visitors to the “City Botanic Gardens.” Nearby, the half-collapsed ruins of buildings suggested what might once have been a campus. Everywhere, rusted metal and patches of inky overgrowth testified to the city’s decay.

Undeterred, they headed toward the gardens. The remnants of the front gates came into view—twisted metal and splintered wood, apparently knocked down by a car at some point in the distant past.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Carol as they reached what had once been the City Botanic Gardens—now reduced to twisted metal gates and a road broken by buckled earth. She paused at the threshold, inhaling the faint scent of damp soil mixed with rust and decay. In her mind’s eye, she saw how vibrant this place used to be: three proud trees arching over the entrance, their branches offering a gentle canopy that led into a spacious, grassy field on the left. People would sprawl out there on sunny afternoons, laughing and picnicking under the cool shade of the leaves.

Memory nudged her, bringing back moments she’d nearly forgotten—times she and Morgan strolled along these paths, chatting about the future or reading the plaques describing exotic plants. She recalled how Noah, still small then, would chase after butterflies near the water feature on the right, squealing in delight whenever one settled on a low-hanging palm frond. A warmth filled her chest at the memory of his bright smile, a stark contrast to the oppressive stillness around her now.

But the present scene tore at her heart. The three prominent trees once greeting visitors were gone, their trunks snapped and toppled as though devoured by whatever corruption had eaten away at the city. Weeds and black, inky vines sprawled over shattered flowerbeds, their petals long wilted. The sky overhead, tinged with a sickly grayish-red, lent the gardens a bleak cast. Even the once-sparkling water feature was choked with algae and swirling splotches of black, quietly bubbling like a pot left too long on the stove.

Carol’s steps slowed, her gaze lingering on a fallen sign that read “Welcome to the Botanic Gardens” in peeling letters. How many times had she and Noah read that sign, giggling at some inside joke she could no longer recall? Her stomach knotted with guilt. When was the last time I brought him here? she wondered. How much have I missed?

Echo glanced at her from a pace or two ahead, his expression carefully neutral, but she saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, only waited for Carol to gather herself—almost as though he sensed this place carried meaning to her she wasn’t yet ready to speak aloud. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze to the path ahead, determined not to let the sorrow immobilize her.

“It was… beautiful once,” she murmured, more to herself than to Echo. Memories of music festivals, leisurely walks, and lunch breaks in the sunshine flooded her mind, each one tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Noah would chase dragonflies around the palm trees. Morgan… he’d complain about the humidity, but always end up with a grin on his face after seeing how happy it made us.”

She hugged those recollections a moment longer, then let them drift away like petals falling from a bloom. This place, once a haven, was now a stark reminder of how fragile and fleeting even the brightest joys could be. If the creeping lines of blackness had reached here, had any part of Noah’s life escaped unscathed?

Echo shuffled closer, the soles of his shoes scraping against the cracked pavement. His voice, soft as a shadow, pulled her out of her reverie. “He loved it here,” Echo said, his gaze distant. “Some of his first memories are of this place—running around, chasing butterflies, laughing while you and Morgan watched.”

Carol’s chest tightened at the thought, but Echo frowned slightly before continuing. “His memories are hazy now. He remembers the move out of Brisbane, out toward the NT, but… he doesn’t remember why you moved.”

Carol let out a soft breath, her voice steady though tinged with regret. “We moved because Morgan got a better job out there. Higher pay, a free house from the company, and schooling near Alice Springs—it seemed like the best choice at the time. Plus, his grandmother lived nearby, and Noah hadn’t seen her since he was born.”

She trailed off, her gaze drifting toward the fractured landscape. A pang of guilt rippled through her as she thought of all the upheaval Noah must have felt, even if he couldn’t fully remember it now. Was it the right choice? she wondered. Or just the most convenient one?

Her thoughts lingered for a moment before she glanced down at Echo, his young face thoughtful and unreadable. “Echo,” she asked carefully, “do you know if this place is a memory or not? It feels like one of his memories, but… something’s off. It doesn’t feel right.”

Echo tilted his head, his expression tinged with quiet contemplation. “This place is a memory, but not his memory,” he said, his voice steady yet tinged with an edge of uncertainty. “It’s a living memory… from something else.” He paused as if searching for the right words. “It’s like how the spark of the World Tree memory. While the memory from the spark was given to Noah, and Noah was not able to access the memories of the world tree, whatever caused this one memory… was forced into him.”

Carol froze, her mind racing as his words sank in. “Forced into him?” she murmured, her voice sharp with both confusion and fear. The uneasy sensation she’d felt since entering the garden suddenly made sense. This wasn’t just a memory—it was a manipulation, a distortion. If this memory was forced into Noah, then… was something using it as a foundation for its own memory? A framework to root itself in his mind?

Her stomach churned at the implications. What kind of power could overwrite someone’s memories, forcing a foreign reality into their thoughts? And, more importantly, why Noah?

Echo seemed to sense her unease and stepped forward cautiously. “We need to keep going,” he whispered, his small hand reaching out to gently tug at hers. “We’re not safe yet.”

Carol nodded, though her heart felt heavy with questions and uncertainty. She tightened her grip on Echo’s hand, grounding herself in the small, comforting connection. Her resolve burned brighter now, driving her forward despite the fear clawing at the edges of her thoughts. Noah needs me, she reminded herself, her steps firm and deliberate. I’ll find him. I’ll protect him from whatever this is—even if it means walking through hell.

She squared her shoulders and followed Echo, her boots crunching softly against the overgrown path. The gardens loomed eerily around them, half-familiar and half-wrong, as though the place itself was trying to convince her of its authenticity while hiding a darker truth. Yet with every step, Carol clung to the bittersweet memories of what this place used to be: Noah chasing butterflies, Morgan’s laughter, afternoons spent under the gentle shade of trees. Each recollection was both a comfort and a reminder of what was at stake.

Her thoughts warred between heartbreak and determination, but she refused to falter. For the boy who once danced through these gardens without a care in the world, and for the man he’s becoming—I’ll keep going. I’ll fight for him.

As they walked, Carol glanced back one last time at the ruined garden entrance. This place, this warped echo of the past.

Navigating the twisted city proved to be a challenge all its own. Parts of buildings loomed too precariously to pass through or climb over—their walls groaning and leaning as though on the verge of collapse. Flipped cars littered the streets like discarded toys, some crushed against crumbling facades, their rusted frames stained by old fluids that had long since dried.

This memory of Brisbane was bleak, and Carol couldn’t shake the question that tugged at her thoughts: What happened here? And more unsettling still—whose memory was this in the first place?

Eventually, they came upon what looked like the remnants of South Bank. Where a lively waterfront should have been, the riverbed yawned wide and empty, its cracked mud forming a patchwork of jagged lines. The air felt hotter here, still and foreboding, as if even the wind had given up on the place.

A nearby bridge caught her eye—half-collapsed, its supports twisted. Great fissures ran along its length, and it teetered with each errant gust of wind. Carol eyed it warily, imagining the water that once flowed beneath now reduced to a dry, lifeless span of silt and dust.

She glanced at Echo, the boy at her side, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable. A soft breeze stirred the stagnant air, carrying the faint smell of rust and decay.

As they began to move again, a sudden crack rang out behind them, followed by the dull thud of something heavy collapsing. Carol and Echo spun around, hearts pounding. A cluster of those silent, statue-like figures stood in the center of the street—men, women, and children alike, their bodies threaded with inky black lines.

Carol narrowed her eyes. Were they there before? she wondered, her stomach turning. She could’ve sworn the street behind them had been empty just moments ago, and yet… there they stood, still as tombstones. The faint hiss of shifting rubble drifted through the heavy air, as though the city itself resented their presence.

“Mm…” Carol hummed under her breath, swallowing the flicker of unease that tugged at her. The figures remained motionless, twisted faces angled toward her as if waiting for her next move. A chill inched up her spine.

Carol’s gaze drifted to the hulking remains of the bridge, half-collapsed and stretching precariously over the dry riverbed. Jagged cracks ran along its surface, and chunks of concrete jutted out, revealing rusted rebar beneath. Twisted metal supports groaned in the faint breeze, and in places the railing simply dropped away, leaving gaping holes over empty air.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Echo, let’s get going,” Carol said, tightening her hold on his hand. “I want to get out of this city as fast as we can.”

Echo nodded, his eyes flicking once over his shoulder at the silent figures behind them. Without a word, he led Carol onto the broken stretch of roadway. Each step felt like treading on thin ice—she could feel the bridge tremble underfoot, as though it might give way at any moment.

A section of the railing hung by a single beam, creaking ominously whenever the wind picked up. Carol forced herself to look ahead, though her stomach churned at the sight of the yawning drop below. Fallen signage and twisted car wrecks cluttered the span, forcing them to pick a careful path through the debris. One wrong step could send them tumbling into the cracked mud of the riverbed far beneath.

Still, her anxiety ran deeper than the fear of a collapsing bridge. She kept glancing back, scanning the deserted road for any movement among the statue-like figures. They remained where they were, outlines against the hazy red sky, though she couldn’t shake the sensation that they might shift the moment she looked away.

“Careful,” Echo muttered, gently guiding her around a section of loose asphalt near a deep fissure. The black lines threaded across the concrete seemed to twitch at the corner of her vision, as though alive with some dark energy.

Carol swallowed hard, a metallic taste tangling in her throat. We have to push on, she told herself. No matter how unstable this bridge is… no matter what’s behind us. She flicked her gaze forward, scanning for any sign of threat ahead.

The far side of the bridge appeared equally battered: bent lamp posts and shattered barriers hinted at old collisions, debris scattered like confetti over the broken asphalt. But if Echo was right, crossing this bridge was their only way to the next fragment—and one step closer to Noah.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. Just keep going, keep moving. Each footfall felt like a choice between salvation and disaster. Yet Carol pressed forward with Echo beside her, unwilling to let fear—or the city’s twisted illusions—claim them.

Behind them, the still silhouettes remained fixed in place, their hollow eyes trained in Carol’s direction. Every so often she glanced back, half-expecting to see them lurch to life and begin their pursuit. But they stood as silent as statues, neither shifting nor vanishing, as though content merely to watch her and Echo attempt their perilous crossing.

Grimly, she forced her focus on each step, placing her foot on the less fractured sections of pavement, guiding Echo through the debris as best she could.

When they at last reached the far edge of the bridge, she let out a shaky breath, relief mingling with lingering dread. We’re not safe yet, she reminded herself, glancing back one final time. But the statues were still there—ominous, unmoving sentinels in this city of nightmares.

She squared her shoulders and turned away, ready to follow Echo deeper into the twisted remnants of Brisbane.

As they cleared the bridge, a thin mist began to gather at their feet, coiling around Carol’s and Echo’s ankles. With every step into the South Bank Parklands, the haze thickened, swallowing the world around them until Carol could hardly see an arm’s length away.

“What’s going on?” she asked, gripping Echo’s hand tightly. The swirling fog dulled her vision, turning every shape into a half-formed silhouette. The damp scent of wet concrete and faint traces of stagnant water teased her nostrils.

Then, just as abruptly as it had formed, the mist began to recede—evaporating in the blink of an eye. Carol blinked in confusion, finding herself back on the S.E. Busway bridge. It was as though the parkland paths they’d stepped onto had vanished, leaving them once again in the city’s harsh, twisted reality.

“It seems the first rule of this memory has come into play,” Echo said matter-of-factly.

Carol stopped short at his mention of “rules,” a flare of exasperation crossing her face. She pressed a palm to her forehead, letting out a soft groan before reminding herself to maintain her calm. She mustered her best motherly tone—the one that said, I’m not angry, just disappointed. Yet a small smile tugged at her lips as she bent down slightly to meet Echo at eye level.

“Echo, sweetie,” she said gently, “what do you mean by these ‘rules’ of the memory?” She gave him a look that managed to be both warm and firm, hoping to coax a clearer explanation out of him.

A flicker of alarm crossed Echo’s features, as though he recognized that tone from a thousand motherly scoldings. “Noah’s memories… I know that look. It usually means I did something wrong without realizing it.” He paused, frowning in thought like a child trying to recall just how he might have gotten into trouble. “I… forgot to mention the rules of memories, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, sweetie,” Carol said, still managing that gentle but pointed smile. She gestured toward a nearby bench outside of the Southbank park,—remarkably intact despite the city’s ruin—and guided Echo to sit with her some of the fog gathered around their legs as they sat down. “Care to explain these so-called rules?”

Echo glanced around nervously, as though ensuring none of the statues or blackened lines were creeping closer. Satisfied, he looked back at Carol with a sheepish expression. “Well… rule one is that if you stray too far from the memory’s central path, you get looped back. that’s what happened just now.”

Carol tilted her head, absorbing this new piece of information. So we have to follow the path this memory dictates… or risk being trapped on this endless bridge, she thought. Her pulse quickened a little, but she kept her face composed for Echo’s sake. “All right. Let’s talk about what other rules there might be.”

Echo’s small shoulders relaxed a fraction at Carol’s calm response. “There are a lot of rules, but each memory has its own set that we must follow,” he said softly. His gaze darted to the ground as if reluctant to meet her eyes. “Things like… not trying to change the memory and never straying too far from the main path. There’s always at least three rules, but we have to discover them as we go.” His voice wavered slightly as he added, “But there’s one rule I hope isn’t in play here.”

Carol’s lips pressed into a thin line, her unease deepening. “What do you mean?” she asked, leaning down to meet Echo’s eyes. “What’s this rule you’re afraid of?”

Echo shifted uneasily, his small fingers tightening around her hand. “It’s when the memory illusions and entities… can harm you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the silence that cloaked the city. Fear flickered in his young face, a stark contrast to the calm detachment he’d maintained before.

Carol’s stomach churned. She straightened, her maternal instincts kicking in full force. “Harm us?” she echoed, her voice sharp but steady. “How? This is all in Noah’s mind, isn’t it? How could something here—?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not,” Echo interrupted, his voice trembling. “Nightmares are usually where that rule comes into play. If you feel it, it’s real enough—pain, fear… even death. The memory can turn against you if we aren’t careful. And since this memory doesn’t belong to Noah, I’m not sure if it follows the normal rules at all.”

Carol exhaled slowly, struggling to keep her composure. “All right,” she said after a long pause. “We’ll be careful. We’ll follow the rules you’ve mentioned so far and figure out the rest as we go. But, Echo…” She crouched, meeting his gaze as she squeezed his hand with a reassuring but firm grip. “No more keeping things from me. If there’s something I need to know, you tell me. Promise?”

Echo hesitated, then nodded. “I promise. But…there’s only so much I can do. I can warn you when I notice a rule come into effect, but that’s all. I’ll try my best,” he whispered.

“Good.” Carol offered a faint smile, even though her heart still felt weighed down by worry. “Now let’s keep moving. We have work to do.”

They rose from the bench, their footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement as they ventured onward. The city loomed around them, dark and warped, its diseased glow pulsing faintly like some malignant heartbeat. Every corner seemed to promise lurking danger, each shadow too deep for comfort. A heavy stillness coated the air, as though the memory itself was watching, waiting for the next misstep.

Carol’s mind spun with Echo’s words, imagining the implications of a place where pain was real—and fatal.

A thin mist began to settle as they pressed on, draping the ruined landscape in an eerie haze. Carol tightened her grip on Echo’s hand each time she sensed movement in her peripheral vision. The “rules” felt like a lifeline and a threat at once—as if any violation might snap the fragile tether keeping them anchored in this half-remembered, half-constructed world. But they pressed on

After retracing their steps for a while, Carol and Echo finally arrived at Central Station. When they reached the corner of the street, they found their path blocked by towering walls of fog, rolling in thick and unyielding. It pooled around the base of the surrounding buildings, swallowing the asphalt until only a single route remained—leading down into the underground station.

“This is… confusing,” Echo muttered, frowning at the billowing fog that cut off the rest of the street like a barrier. He glanced at Carol, uncertainty stirring in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Carol asked quietly, eyeing the mist with growing apprehension. She could feel the damp chill radiating from it, as though it were a living thing.

Echo’s gaze flicked between her and the curtain of fog. “This isn’t supposed to happen. I’ve never seen this in a memory before.” The seriousness in his voice sent a tremor of unease down Carol’s spine.

She swallowed, forcing down the knot of tension building in her chest. If Echo—who was part of Noah’s psyche—didn’t recognize this phenomenon, then they were entering even more unknown territory. We’ve come too far to turn back, she thought, steeling herself.

They continued on, descending into the underground station. The walkway led them past empty ticket booths and silent corridors, each footstep echoing in the gloom. The station felt stale, with a wet undertone that made the station like a waterway, but with the evidence of old construction work was everywhere—makeshift roofing overhead filtered in only a faint trickle of light, illuminating rusted scaffolding and scattered debris with the slightly sound of dripping water up ahead from them.

“Hello?” A voice suddenly called out, echoing through the station’s deserted halls. Carol and Echo froze, Carol instinctively tightening her grip on the boy’s hand. She glanced down at him, noticing the confused furrow of his brow as he stared down the dark hallway.

“Who’s there?” Echo called back, his tone wary. His eyes never blinked, as though trying to pierce the shadows.

“I’m Alex,” the unseen speaker replied, his voice carrying a hint of tension. Footsteps shuffled in the darkness, though the figure remained out of sight.

Carol cast a quick glance at Echo, sensing his uncertainty, then took a cautious step forward. “Alex,” she said, voice calm but firm, “can you come out into the light?”

A beat of silence. “No,” came the simple reply, cold and resolute.

Carol frowned. “Why not?” she asked, then lowered her voice to whisper to Echo, Is this a memory, or something else? Echo only shrugged in response, his expression tense.

“You should know,” Alex’s voice said at last. Another pause crackled with unease before he continued, “Unless… are you living people?”

Carol’s heart skipped a beat at the odd question carol wondered what type of question was that, and then she noticed Echo’s eyes widening fractionally. “Yes,” she answered, feeling Echo’s small shoulders hitch in a shrug once more. Nothing about this felt right—but for now, she kept her doubts to herself.

Each stood silently for a moment, the station’s dim interior pressing in from all sides. The glow from above flickered, casting fleeting shadows across Carol and Echo. She could only wonder what lurked beyond the reach of that trembling light—and why Alex refused to show himself.

If he wants us to reveal ourselves first, Carol thought, then maybe… She exchanged a glance with Echo, steeling herself. “All right,” she called into the darkness, “we’re coming to you.”

They walked closer to the darkness, the faint glow from the overhead lights fading until it felt as though the shadows themselves were swallowing them whole. Carol blinked several times, her eyes struggling to adjust to the oppressive black ahead. Her grip on Echo’s hand tightened.

“You’re… living beings?” Alex’s voice came again, echoing from somewhere ahead. It was tinged with disbelief, almost awe. “I don’t understand. How are you still alive in this place? Why haven’t they gotten you yet?”

The words struck like a thunderclap, stopping Carol in her tracks. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, her thoughts racing. What is he talking about? He’s alive too, isn’t he? Only the living can talk… unless—

The realization came like a cold blade to her gut. The thought hit her so hard, her knees nearly buckled. A wave of fear coursed through her, locking her joints for a moment before she forced herself upright. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. Unless… he isn’t alive at all.

Carol cast a glance at Echo, but the boy stared resolutely into the dark, his expression unreadable. She fought the urge to pull him back, to retreat into the faint light they were leaving behind. Instead, she swallowed the knot of fear forming in her throat and pushed forward.

“What do you mean by ‘they’?” Carol asked, her voice sharper than she intended. The air between her and Alex felt thicker now, as though the darkness itself carried weight. “Who—or what—are you talking about?”

A long pause followed, filled only with the faint rustling of debris shifting somewhere out of sight. Then Alex’s voice returned, quieter this time, almost mournful. “The ones who don’t let us rest. The ones who… consume.”

Carol’s stomach turned, her unease sharpening into something closer to panic. She scanned the oppressive shadows ahead, her instincts screaming at her to turn around, to flee. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t. Not without understanding what Alex meant.

“You’re still here, though,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady, to sound as though she wasn’t trembling inside. “So… you’re alive too, right?”

Another pause. This time, the silence stretched so long, that she thought Alex wouldn’t answer.

“No,” he said, at last, his voice a hollow whisper. “Not… anymore.”

----------------------------------------

The Ghost, The Pit And The Beast Below The City.

Alex steps forward from the darkness, his skin pale and translucent—ghostly, almost see-through. He appears to be a young adult, maybe eighteen or twenty, his features contoured by the dim glow that filters through the station’s overhead lights.

“You… you’re real people? How is that possible?” Alex asked, he was somehow nervous pacing restlessly in the half-lit shadows, his eyes flicking over towards Carol and Echo as though searching for proof of their existence.

Carol, heart pounding, forced herself to maintain steady eye contact. “Yes, we’re real,” she replied quietly, studying his eerie form and frowning slightly. “But… how are you here? This is a memory—are you real?”

Alex paused, brow furrowing. The silence between them felt heavy, as though the very air in the station was bracing for his reply. His voice trembled when he finally spoke.

“I… I’m not sure how to explain,” he said, ghostly hands shaking as one passed through his hair, flickering as though it might vanish at any moment. “I—I was in a place where all you could hear was screams and pain… oh God, the pain…” He let out a soft whimper. “It felt endless. Then, out of nowhere, I found myself in this city. I remember it from before I was…” His words caught in his throat. “Before I died—or became twisted like them.” His form shuddered with the memory. “But I haven’t been able to leave, or even step into the light.”

A hush enveloped them as if the decrepit station listened in secret. Echo inched closer, his small hand gripping Carol’s for reassurance.

“When you say you just appeared in this memory of the city,” Echo ventured carefully, “is it actually your memory, or is it something else you were dragged into?”

Alex’s eyes flickered with confusion. “All I remember is standing next to Drew… a group of us had to pass through the city to reach another location past Brisbane. But while we were down in the station, I saw something leap at us. I pushed Drew out of the way, and it—” He swallowed, his skin paling even further. “It grabbed me and dragged me into a vent system.”

He shook, going visibly whiter as though reliving the horror. “I felt… pain. Hot, boiling taint flooding my veins. My bones snapped.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I died. Or… melted into that thing below.”

Carol’s stomach churned at the grim details, her heart pounding at the bleak finality in his tone. “What thing? What do you mean?” she asked, voice tight with worry.

Alex closed his eyes, his ghostly form flickering slightly. “I don’t know how to describe it,” he said, voice quivering. “It was just… endless hunger and darkness.”

A stark silence followed, broken only by the faint flicker of the overhead lights. Carol exchanged a grim look with Echo, dread twisting inside her. Whatever this “thing” was, it already sounded disturbingly similar to the black lines and twisted figures lurking in the city. If it could pull people into vents… she shuddered at the thought.

The quiet between them deepened, interrupted only by the distant drip of water echoing through the decaying station. Finally, Echo spoke, his tone soft but direct. “I think he likes you,” he said, glancing up at Carol. “But the difference is that he’s more than a memory—he feels like a soul trapped inside Noah somehow. The real question is how he got forced in here and what else might be waiting for us.”

He turned back to Alex, his youthful features set in earnest concern. “You’re a memory—or a soul—of someone named Alex,” he continued. “I think finding out more about you in this station might enlighten us… but also you.”

Carol nodded her gaze still on Alex’s flickering form. “Echo’s right,” she said, her voice gentler than before. “This might not be your memory, but if we can figure out how you were pulled into Noah, maybe we can help you—and help him.”

Alex’s faint outline quivered, uncertainty flickering in his translucent eyes. “What… do you want me to do?”

Echo’s small hand slipped into Carol’s. “Anything you remember about this place, or yourself,” he said quietly, “could make a difference. Even little details might help us piece together why you’re here—and how we can get you out.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The station’s darkness seemed to breathe around them. At last, Alex swallowed, that haunted look returning. “I’ll try,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I want… to remember.”

Carol offered him a tight but encouraging smile, her heart heavy with both compassion and determination. “Then we’ll figure it out” She tightened her grip on Echo’s hand and stepped closer to Alex, bracing herself for whatever revelations or terrors this place might hold.

With Alex in tow, they ventured deeper into the station, each echoing footstep a reminder of the fragile trust now binding them—and the horrors that could be waiting in the dark.

They walked onto the train platform, the tracks below shimmering with inky water. Carol let out a soft sigh as she peered into the bottomless depths swirling where the rails should have been. A chill rippled through her at the thought of whatever might lurk beneath that dark surface.

“We can’t follow the train lights,” she murmured, lowering herself onto a nearby bench. The structure creaked under her weight. She rubbed her hands together, eyes flicking back to the overfilled tracks. “I’m guessing that was supposed to be our route, but now…”

She trailed off, heart heavy with uncertainty. Alex and Echo stood beside her, both gazing at the flooded tracks.

“What do you mean, ‘there’s water’?” Alex asked suddenly, a puzzled note creeping into his voice. He squinted at the rails. “I see—no water at all. It’s just… normal tracks.”

Carol’s head whipped around, eyes widening. “You don’t see it? All this—” She gestured at the roiling black liquid below. When Alex simply shook his head, her stomach knotted. Different illusions? she wondered, a wave of unease washing over her.

Echo stepped forward, leaning out cautiously over the platform’s edge. He inhaled sharply, then turned to Carol, his face grim. “I see it too,” he whispered. “Which means… something is messing with our vision—and not his.”

A tense hush settled over them. The distant drip of water somewhere in the station was the only sound. Carol exhaled, forcing her mind to stay focused. “Maybe the ‘rules’ are different for each of us,” she said at last, her voice edged with worry. “Or maybe what Alex sees is tied to the fact that he’s—” She paused, glancing at him apologetically. “—ghostly.”

Alex pressed a trembling hand against the cold metal railing, confusion etched into his translucent features. “Whatever it is,” he said softly, “we need to figure out how to move on. We can’t just stay here.”

Carol rose from the bench, steeling herself. She scanned the platform for any sign of a walkway or emergency route that might bypass the flooded rails. The black lines in the water seemed to ripple hungrily, as though beckoning them to come closer.

“Alex,” Carol said, glancing at the inky water. “You’re saying you don’t see any water here, while Echo and I do?” She frowned, her eyes flicking uneasily between Alex and the rippling darkness below the platform.

“Yes,” Alex confirmed, looking up at her in clear confusion. “To me, it’s just normal lighting and some rubble on the platform—no water at all. Why is that?”

Echo tilted his head, casting Carol a curious look. “What are you getting at?”

Carol inhaled slowly, recalling the rules Echo had mentioned about memories. “Echo,” she began, fixing him with a thoughtful gaze, “didn’t you say one of the rules is that we can’t change a memory that belongs to Noah?”

Echo nodded, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, we’re not allowed to—”

He stopped short, eyes widening as realization dawned. “Oh,” he breathed. “I see what you’re hinting at.”

Carol offered a tense smile, already considering the consequences of her plan—whatever that plan might be. But one thing was clear: the discrepancy between what Alex saw and what Carol and Echo saw meant that something in this memory could be manipulated—or at least challenged. And if that went against the rules, it might be both dangerous and their only chance to move forward.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow, his flickering form shifting slightly as he glanced between Carol and Echo.

“I’ll handle it, carol,” Echo said, stepping forward with a reassuring nod. “Keep an eye out while I help Alex learn how to channel his memory of this place.”

Carol hesitated, glancing toward the shadowed stairway at the edge of the platform. Something about it unnerved her. The silhouette of a figure stood oddly still, its shape humanoid but wrong somehow. “Let me know when you’re ready,” she murmured, her voice trailing off as her eyes stayed fixed on the shadow.

“First thing, Alex,” Echo began, his small voice taking on a firm, instructive tone, “you need to picture the water flooding the train line. Visualize it clearly, as if it’s real. Then overlay your memory of what the tracks should look like onto that image.”

Carol heard Echo’s voice faintly behind her as she ascended the stairs, the shadow on the landing drawing her closer with an inexplicable pull. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just her imagination—there was a weight in the air, like a soundless call urging her forward.

“Next, you have to push that memory,” Echo continued, his tone steady as he instructed Alex. “Force it into the shared memory space so it changes what we’re seeing.”

Carol barely listened, her focus narrowing on the figure at the top of the stairs. Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, but her feet carried her forward anyway, as though driven by an unseen force. She reached the halfway point when she heard the distant sound of water draining.

“You’re doing great!” Echo called out behind her. “The memory on our side is changing—the lights are starting to turn on.”

But Carol couldn’t focus on Echo’s words. She reached the top of the stairs, and the sight before her sent icy chills racing down her spine.

Hundreds of human-like statues filled the train station, their forms contorted in grotesque poses. Limbs twisted unnaturally toward her, their frozen faces distorted with silent screams. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as though the room itself mourned their existence.

The overhead lights flickered once, casting a harsh white glow across the scene. In that brief instant of illumination, the statues moved. Their positions shifted toward her, one of them lunging forward, its claw-like hand reaching for her neck.

Carol screamed, instinctively stepping backward, her foot catching on the edge of a step. She stumbled but caught herself just as the statue’s icy grip clamped onto her wrist. Her breath hitched in horror as she watched her hand begin to turn a stony gray, the transformation crawling up her arm like a living curse. Fingers cracked and twisted at unnatural angles, sending a searing pain shooting through her nerves.

With a desperate cry, she kicked the statue in its midsection, her foot connecting with a sickening crunch. The force broke its grip, and she stumbled down a few steps, cradling her hand as the gray stone receded, her flesh slowly returning to normal. The pain lingered, sharp and raw, as if the curse had left a scar on her very bones.

“Mother!” Echo’s voice rang out, sharp with alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Carol struggled to steady her breathing, her wide eyes locked on the statues, which had returned to their frozen state. She clutched her wrist, her fingers trembling as she tried to process what had just happened. “There are… statues,” she managed to say, her voice trembling. “They moved—one of them grabbed me.”

Echo darted up the stairs, his small frame tense with worry. Alex followed behind, his ghostly form flickering erratically. “Statues?” Echo asked, his eyes scanning the landing. “They’re not supposed to be here.”

“They’re screaming,” Carol whispered, her voice hollow. “I could feel it—the pain, the desperation. And when it touched me…” She held up her hand, still shaking. “It was like it tried to pull me into whatever they are.”

Echo’s expression tightened with fear and determination. “This isn’t part of Noah’s memory,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “This is something else. Something worse.”

Alex’s form flickered uneasily, his translucent features twisting in a mix of confusion and dread. “What are they?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve seen them before, but they never came near me as long as I stayed inside the station… in the dark.”

Echo’s grip on Carol’s hand tightened. “We need to move,” he said urgently, his tone low but resolute. “We can talk about it once we’re safe. If they touched you once, they’ll try again—and next time, they might not let go.”

Carol swallowed the rising lump in her throat, pushing down the icy fear clawing at her chest. She straightened, her voice steady despite the dread bubbling beneath her composure. “Let’s go,” she said, her tone firm. She cast one last wary glance at the looming, frozen figures above before following Echo and Alex down the stairs. Their footsteps quickened, the oppressive silence pressing against their backs as if urging them forward.

As they approached the flooded train line, Carol’s mind churned with questions. She glanced back toward the stairs, her voice tight with uncertainty. “There’s something I don’t understand,” she said, breaking the tense quiet. “They didn’t move until the lights came on. So why aren’t they coming after us now that it’s dark again?”

Echo hesitated, his brow furrowing in thought as they edged closer to the flooded tracks. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe… maybe the light triggers them somehow. Or maybe they’re waiting for something.”

Alex’s translucent figure flickered slightly, his voice shaky. “If they’re waiting, then we shouldn’t stick around to find out why.”

Carol nodded, her gaze flickering between Echo and Alex. “Then let’s keep moving,” she said firmly. The faint sound of dripping water echoed in the dark, broken only by their cautious steps as they navigated toward the shadowed depths of the station. Whatever those figures were, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still being watched.

Echo turned toward Alex, his gaze steady but intense. “Alex, you need to channel your memory into this space,” he said, gesturing toward the water flooding the train line. “If you overlay your memory here, it’ll create a safe path for us to cross. But…” Echo hesitated, glancing at the shadows lingering around them. “That means they’ll come after us. We’ll need to run, and you have to keep channelling the memory while we move.”

Alex’s translucent form flickered nervously, his hands trembling slightly. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice shaky but resolute. “I’ll do my best. But as soon as it’s safe to move, we need to run—straight for the other platform.”

Carol stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. “You can do this, Alex. Just focus on what this place looks like to you. Picture the train line dry, the tracks clear, and overlay it onto what we see for us.”

Alex nodded, closing his eyes. His ghostly figure flickered like a candle in the wind as he concentrated, his breathing shallow but steady. Slowly, a faint shimmer began to ripple across the water, distorting the reflection of the station’s dim lights. The sound of dripping water softened, replaced by a strange hum as Alex’s memory began to take hold.

The air around them grew heavier, charged with an almost electric tension. Carol glanced back toward the stairs, her stomach twisting at the faint sound of movement. The shadows were stirring again.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep at it,” she urged, her voice tight. “But we have to be ready to move.”

Echo’s small hand slipped into hers, his grip firm. “They’ll notice the shift,” he said quietly, his eyes darting toward the encroaching darkness. “Once they do, they won’t stop.”

Alex’s voice wavered as he spoke, his focus never breaking. “Almost… there. Just give me… a second longer.”

The shimmer across the water grew stronger, forming what looked like a solid pathway stretching toward the opposite platform. Carol felt a surge of hope, but it was cut short by a sharp, scraping sound from the direction of the stairs.

“They’re coming,” Echo whispered, his voice laced with urgency. “Alex, we have to move now!”

The figures were no longer still. Their twisted limbs jerked and shifted, their movements erratic as they began to descend the stairs, their hollow eyes locked onto the trio.

“Now, Alex!” Carol shouted, pulling Echo toward the shimmering pathway.

“I’ve got it!” Alex replied, his voice rising with determination. “Go—run!”

Without hesitation, they bolted across the newly-formed path. The sound of splashing water and distorted screeches echoed behind them, the figures surging forward as Alex’s memory flickered, straining to hold its fragile form.

Carol’s heart hammered in her chest as they sprinted down the train line platform, her hand gripping Echo’s tightly. “Keep going!” she shouted, her voice cracking with urgency. She risked a glance over her shoulder, her stomach lurching at the sight of the figures gaining on them, their jerky, frantic movements unnerving in their intensity.

“Almost there!” Echo called out, his small legs pumping furiously, his breath ragged but determined.

Ahead, the platform loomed in the distance, bathed in the faint, flickering glow of the station’s dim lights. Their goal seemed just within reach, yet the figures were closing the gap faster than Carol had anticipated. She turned her head again, her pulse spiking as she saw some of the creatures scrambling onto the ceiling, their elongated limbs clinging to the metal beams with unnatural ease.

“Shit,” Carol muttered under her breath, her grip tightening on Echo’s hand. “They’re above us too. We’re not going to make it!” Her voice was sharp with fear.

For a brief moment, as she glanced down at Echo, she saw something strange—a faint glow enveloping his small form. The ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble reverberating through the station.

A sudden burst of light erupted behind them, and Alex’s memory shattered into ripples that spread outward like a stone dropped into a still pond. The distorted figures faltered mid-pursuit, their hollow eyes flickering as though caught in the throes of confusion. The station lights dimmed, casting the area in eerie shadows as water began to flood the train line once more, rising rapidly to submerge the path they’d just crossed.

The figures screeched in protest, their clawed hands scraping against the platform’s edge before slipping into the encroaching flood. Carol and Echo scrambled onto the platform just as the water overtook the twisted beings, the blackened forms sinking beneath the surface with one final, gurgling hiss.

Breathing heavily, Carol leaned against the wall, her hand pressed to her chest as her heart thundered. “You did it,” she said, turning to Alex. Her voice trembled with both relief and gratitude as she noticed how drained he looked, his translucent form flickering slightly.

Alex nodded weakly, his eyes downcast. “It wasn’t just me,” he said softly, his voice almost apologetic.

Carol turned to Echo, who had collapsed onto the platform beside her, panting heavily and looking pale. “Echo, what was that?” she asked, her tone firm but filled with concern. “I saw you glow for a moment back there.”

Echo wiped his brow with a trembling hand before answering. “I… I augmented the memory slightly,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t have much of a choice. They were going to catch us.” He glanced at her, guilt flickering in his tired eyes. “But it won’t last long. The memory will revert back to normal soon.”

Carol crouched beside him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You did what you had to do,” she said gently. “Don’t blame yourself for keeping us alive.”

Echo gave her a small nod, but his expression remained troubled. “Augmenting a memory like that—it’s dangerous,” he murmured. “The fake mother or whatever else is using this place will notice. We’ve drawn its attention.”

Carol’s stomach twisted at the thought, but she pushed the fear aside, determination hardening her features. “Then we’ll be ready,” she said firmly.

Alex stood quietly nearby, his form wavering as though reflecting his own internal turmoil. “I’ll do what I can to help,” he offered softly. “But this… this is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

Carol exchanged a glance with Echo, her resolve strengthening. “None of this is normal,” she said. “But we’ll get through it, but first let's take five.”

Carol took a deep breath, letting the tension in her shoulders ease as she surveyed the open platform. The wide expanse offered a clear view of the sky, streaked with the deep golds and purples of the setting sun. It was a rare moment of calm in this twisted world, and she allowed herself a brief pause to appreciate it.

“I think we’re in Roma Street Station,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. The familiar layout and the skyline beyond triggered a faint ripple of memory, though it felt distant and dreamlike.

She turned her attention to Echo and Alex, sitting on the ground nearby. “How are you both holding up?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm, scanning their faces for any sign of worsening exhaustion or distress.

Echo looked up at her, his small frame leaning against the platform’s edge. “I think I’ll be fine,” he said, though his voice wavered slightly. He shifted to sit upright, brushing his hands against his knees. “I’ve never augmented a memory like that before. Usually, it’s just small changes—helping me navigate or get around something in the way. But this…” He trailed off, glancing toward the now-flooded train line, the faint hum of water still audible in the background.

Carol nodded, concern flickering in her eyes. “We’ll rest a little longer, then,” she said firmly. “I don’t want you passing out on us. You’ve done more than enough for now.”

Her gaze shifted to Alex, whose translucent form seemed to flicker faintly in the fading light. “What about you, Alex?” she asked, studying him intently. “You look… thinner. More drained. Are you feeling all right?”

Alex lay back against the hard ground, his hands folded over his chest as he stared up at the darkening sky. “I’ll be fine,” he replied, though his voice carried a note of fatigue. “Whatever I did to channel my memory—it took a lot out of me. But I’m getting better… I think.”

Carol sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Since we’re resting for a bit longer, let’s talk,” she said, leaning against the wall. Her tone was calm, but there was a quiet urgency in her words, a need to fill the silence with something meaningful. “Alex, how long have you been here? And how much of this place have you explored?”

Alex hesitated, his flickering form almost fading for a moment before stabilizing. “Time’s… hard to track here,” he admitted, his voice low. “It feels like I’ve been stuck in this city for years. But… it’s hard to know if that’s real or just how it feels.” He paused, his translucent face furrowing in thought. “I’ve tried to look around—tried to find ways out—but the city… shifts. Paths change. And there’s always… something watching.”

Carol leaned forward, her brows knitting together. “Something watching? What do you mean?”

Alex swallowed, glancing toward the distant shadows lingering at the edges of the platform. “I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “But it’s like the city itself… doesn’t want me to leave. Every time I thought I’d found a way out, it would block me—trap me. And then there’s the thing below…” He trailed off, his voice trembling.

Echo shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at Carol. “It sounds like he’s been caught in some kind of feedback loop,” he said quietly. “Like the memory keeps resetting itself—locking him in.”

Carol’s stomach twisted at the thought. She rested a hand on Alex’s flickering shoulder, her touch warm against his ghostly form. “We’re going to figure this out,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at her. “You’re not going to stay trapped here, Alex. Not if we can help it.”

Alex gave her a faint, flickering smile, though his eyes were haunted. “I hope so,” he said softly. “Because I don’t think I can keep this up much longer.”

Carol’s eyes softened with concern, but her voice remained steady. “You mentioned something about the thing below before,” she said carefully. “Do you know what it is? Since… we haven’t seen it yet.”

Alex’s form wavered, his translucent features darkening slightly as if the mere thought of it weighed him down. He wrapped his arms around his knees, gaze dropping to the cracked platform beneath him. “I don’t know what it is,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not really. But I’ve felt it.”

Echo shifted uneasily beside Carol, his small frame tense. “Felt it how?” he asked cautiously, his tone edged with worry.

“It’s… like a presence,” Alex murmured, his words trembling. “You don’t see it—you feel it. A heaviness, like it’s pulling you down, even when you’re standing still. The air gets colder, and then… there’s this sound. A low, deep rumble, like something breathing.” He shuddered, the flicker in his form growing more pronounced. “And if you stay too long, it’s like it notices you. Like it’s… waiting for you to fall.”

Carol’s stomach turned at his description, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She exchanged a glance with Echo, whose face was pale but determined. “We haven’t felt anything like that yet,” she said slowly, trying to reassure herself as much as Alex. “Maybe it’s bound to certain areas—or certain memories.”

Alex’s flickering form wavered, his translucent eyes widening slightly at Carol’s question. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice unsteady. “I’ve never been on the surface at night. I always stay near the shadows… but I’ve felt it stronger during those times. Like the darkness makes it… easier for it to reach.”

Carol’s gaze darted toward the darkening sky, the setting sun casting long, ominous shadows across the platform. “So, the deeper we go, or the darker it gets, the closer we are to it?” she pressed, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach.

Echo frowned, shifting closer to her. “If that’s true, then staying in the light might be the only thing keeping us safe,” he said, his young voice calm but firm. “We’ll need to keep moving before the sun fully sets.”

“But what happens when the light’s gone completely, and remember those states move in light, so we will never be truly save anywhere?” Carol asked, her tone quiet but resolute. She glanced down at Echo, her protective instincts flaring at the thought of him and Alex in the face of something unseen but hungry.

Echo’s frown deepened, his small shoulders tense as he considered her question. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice laced with worry. “If the statues move in the light and this… thing thrives in the dark, then there’s no such thing as truly safe. But maybe we can find a place where we’re harder to reach—where one won’t make way for the other.”

Carol’s gaze shifted to Alex, who was staring off toward the horizon, his translucent form faintly flickering in the dim light. “Alex,” she said softly, “do you know anywhere nearby that might give us some time? Somewhere with light but… maybe not too much?”

Alex hesitated, his ethereal hands fidgeting as he thought. “There’s an old maintenance hub near the train yards,” he said finally. “It has backup lights. They’re dim, but they don’t flicker like the main ones. I’ve seen them from the tunnels before, and during the times I did travel at night, and passed through there a few times before…”

Carol nodded, determination hardening her features. “Then that’s where we’re heading.”

“It’s not perfect,” Echo said, glancing nervously at the long shadows creeping across the platform. “But it’s better than sitting here.”

Carol crouched to meet Echo’s gaze, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “We’ll keep moving,” she said, her voice steady.

The young boy gave a faint nod, his fear evident but his trust in her unshaken. Carol turned her attention back to Alex, whose expression was still tight with unease.

“Alex, do you think you can lead us there?” she asked.

“I… I can try,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “It’s not far, but we’ll have to stay alert. The paths are narrow, and the shadows… they get deeper the closer you get.”

“Then we’ll stay together and keep to the middle of the path,” Carol said firmly. “No one falls behind. And if anything happens—if we see anything—we don’t stop.”

Echo and Alex nodded in unison, their expressions mirroring Carol’s

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the trio set off toward the maintenance hub, their footsteps quick but cautious. The city around them seemed to breathe, the air heavy with the promise of something stirring just beyond the edge of sight.

----------------------------------------

The Beast Below the City makes all the music.

They kept to the shadows, moving as quietly as they could along the train path. The oppressive darkness seemed to press closer with every step, the faint hum of the city above now replaced by something far more sinister. As they walked, a haunting, lilting tune began to drift through the air. It was almost beautiful—but wrong, its melody discordant, like a lullaby played on broken strings.

Carol froze mid-step, her heart hammering in her chest. “What is that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the eerie music. She scanned the shadows, searching for its source, but the tune seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Echo’s small hand tightened around hers, but it was Alex’s face that caught her attention. His ghostly features were drawn tight with fear, his eyes wide as he stared into the darkness ahead.

“What’s wrong?” Carol pressed, lowering her voice further. “And… what’s playing the music?”

“It’s the Beast,” Alex whispered hoarsely, his trembling form flickering faintly. “It only sings when it’s heading for the surface. We need to run—now—before it’s too late.”

Without another word, he took off, his translucent figure darting down the path. Carol and Echo exchanged a brief, alarmed glance before following closely behind. The haunting tune grew louder with every step, its notes twisting and warping until they seemed to echo from within their very bones.

Up ahead, they spotted a small, dilapidated shed perched precariously on the tracks. Relief flickered briefly in Carol’s chest—it could be a place to hide—but the tune abruptly stopped.

Alex skidded to a halt, his sudden stillness forcing Carol and Echo to stop just behind him.

“What’s going on—” Carol began, but Alex shot her a desperate look and pressed a trembling finger to his lips, shushing her.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of metal and the distant crackling of something heavy shifting. Then came the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, echoing eerily in the still air.

Mist began to roll out from behind the shed, curling around their feet like living tendrils. The sound of metal twisting and breaking echoed through the cavernous space as Alex grabbed Carol and Echo’s hands, pulling them urgently toward the deepest shadows he could find.

“Stay quiet,” he mouthed, his translucent form barely visible in the dim light.

Carol crouched low, her breath caught in her throat as she strained to see through the haze. The shed shuddered, groaning under an unseen weight. Then, rounding the corner, the Beast emerged.

At first, all Carol saw was the shadowy outline of a woman, her form shifting and unnatural, as if her very presence warped the space around her. As she stepped into the faint light, Carol’s stomach twisted with revulsion. The woman’s face was obscured by a shattered mask, fragments of porcelain dangling from her hollow visage. Thick, black ichor dripped from the cracks, hissing softly as it hit the ground. Her movements were erratic, jerking with an unsettling rhythm as if her body was struggling against some unseen force.

“Come out, you fuck!” the Beast snarled, her voice a guttural growl that echoed unnaturally through the air. With a single swipe of her clawed hand, she tore a section of the shed apart, the metal screeching as it crumpled under her strength. Blackened liquid oozed from her mask as she scanned the area, her jagged breaths audible even from where they hid.

Carol’s pulse thundered in her ears as she pressed herself further into the shadows, her arm shielding Echo instinctively. The boy’s small hand trembled in hers, but he didn’t make a sound.

Alex crouched beside them, his form flickering faintly as he stared at the Beast. “She’s looking for someone,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But… not us.”

The Beast’s head snapped toward the shadows, her hollow eyes searching the darkness with an intensity that made Carol’s skin crawl. “Where are you?” she growled, her voice cracking with fury. “I can smell you. I know you’re here!”

Carol’s fingers tightened around Echo’s, her mind racing. They couldn’t outrun her—not here, not now. If she found them…

The Beast took another step forward, her claws scraping against the ground as she crouched low, sniffing the air. The sound of her ragged breaths filled the space, drowning out even the faint echoes of the city above.

Carol’s heart sank as she watched the black ichor pooling around the Beast’s feet. Wherever it touched, the ground seemed to corrode and decay, the stone crumbling into ash beneath her.

“Please don’t see us,” Carol mouthed silently, her eyes locked on the monstrous figure.

The Beast paused, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear. Then, with a sudden, bone-chilling shriek, she lunged toward the shed, ripping another chunk of it apart with terrifying ease.

Carol exhaled shakily, the brief distraction giving her a moment to think. If they were going to escape, it had to be now.

“Where are you?” the Beast growled, its voice laced with a twisted blend of mockery and menace. “You’re close, little fragment. Hehe, I can—ugh—smell you.”

As the words escaped its broken mask, the creature’s form began to contort. It twisted violently, its body snapping into unnatural shapes with a sickening crunch. Falling to all fours, its limbs elongated grotesquely, its fingers curling like claws. Its mask shifted, warping into a crude, canine-like snout with elongated ears that twitched as if tracking unseen prey.

The transformation was almost too hideous to watch, the Beast’s movements jerking like a broken marionette as black, viscous sludge dripped from its form. The ichor sloughed off in chunks, hitting the ground with wet splats, only to re-form and fall away again in an endless, grotesque cycle.

Then, a sudden sound—a faint but heavy thud—cut through the oppressive silence, coming from the far side of the railing.

The Beast froze, its malformed head snapping toward the noise with an eerie, predatory precision. “What was that?” it hissed, its voice guttural and venomous. Its elongated limbs creaked as it slunk toward the source of the sound, its every movement accompanied by the sickening drip of its decaying outer layer.

The air thickened with tension as the Beast stalked forward, its movements unnervingly deliberate. Each step left behind blackened patches on the floor, as if its very presence corrupted the space it touched.

Carol held her breath, gripping Echo tightly as they pressed further into the shadows. Her heart hammered in her chest, the grotesque sight of the Beast both horrifying and mesmerizing. Whatever had caused the sound, it had bought them precious seconds—but it also drew the Beast’s full attention.

Another heavy thud echoed through the station, reverberating off the walls. The Beast’s ears perked up sharply, its twisted snout snapping toward the sound. Without hesitation, it bolted down the train line, its elongated limbs propelling it forward with an unnatural speed. The echo of its grotesque form pounding against the ground sent chills through Carol and the others.

As the Beast disappeared into the distance, the faint sound of footsteps drifted from the opposite direction—quicker, lighter, and deliberate. Carol’s breath hitched, her instincts flaring with unease. Echo tightened his grip on her hand, his small body trembling beside her.

The Beast skidded to a halt farther down the line, its grotesque body twisting unnervingly as its head tilted upward. Its mask cracked open slightly, revealing rows of jagged, uneven teeth. “THERE YOU ARE!” it screeched, its tone unnervingly cheerful, a distorted glee dripping from every syllable. “YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE!”

In one fluid motion, it leaped toward the edge of the platform, its limbs contorting mid-air before vanishing into the shadows above with an eerie hiss. The sound of cracking metal and scattering debris followed in its wake as it disappeared into the upper reaches of the station.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Carol, Echo, and Alex remained frozen in place, their wide eyes fixed on the spot where the Beast had been moments before. The oppressive stillness pressed down on them, broken only by their own ragged breathing.

They stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, staring into the space where the Beast had disappeared, the weight of its presence still lingering like a shadow over their souls. Finally, Carol exhaled shakily, her voice low and trembling. “Is… is it gone?”

Echo nodded hesitantly but didn’t loosen his grip on her hand. Alex, still flickering faintly, clutched at his chest as though trying to steady his translucent form. “For now,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “But it’s hunting. It will be back before day break.”

“Are you okay, Alex,” Carol said softly, her gaze steady as she studied his flickering form. “you seem more scared than me or Echo. You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?”

Alex hesitated, his translucent figure trembling slightly. His eyes darted to the ground, avoiding her gaze. “Yes,” he whispered. “When I first found myself here, there were three of us. Amy, Sam, and me,” he said, his voice brittle. “Amy… she went out into the sun on the first day.”

Carol frowned, leaning slightly closer. “What happened to her, Alex?”

His hollow eyes met hers, and the anguish in his expression made her breath catch. “She screamed,” he said, his voice shaking. “We watched as her limbs twisted and snapped, her skin turning to stone.”

Carol’s stomach turned at the horrifying image. “And the other one, Sam?” she asked softly, though part of her didn’t want to hear the answer.

Alex closed his eyes, his form flickering erratically. “Sam was braver than me. Too brave,” he murmured. “On the third night, we heard the music. The Beast was coming. Sam thought he could distract it, give me time to run. He…” Alex’s voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. “He didn’t make it. The Beast tore him apart while I watched, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the city above and the distant drip of water. Echo shifted closer to Carol, his small hand brushing hers as he stared at Alex with wide, solemn eyes.

“How did you survive?” Carol asked after a moment, her voice quiet but steady.

“I hid,” Alex replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I stayed deep in the shadows, down here where the light couldn’t touch me. It didn’t seem to notice me as long as I stayed out of sight. That’s how I lasted this long.” He exhaled shakily, his head lowering. “But it’s not living—it’s just… surviving.”

Carol’s heart clenched at the despair woven through Alex’s words. She exchanged a glance with Echo, who met her gaze with a firm, resolute nod.

“Alex,” she began carefully, her voice steady despite the weight of her question. “You said Amy started to turn to stone when she stepped into the sunlight.” She hesitated, unwilling to give voice to her suspicions but knowing she had to. “Did she… turn into one of the statues we’ve seen?”

Alex froze, his translucent form flickering faintly. His gaze dropped to the ground, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. The silence stretched taut, filled only with the faint dripping of water and the low hum of the corrupted city above.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I think so. Yes.” His form flickered again, his hands trembling at his sides. “We didn’t realize it at first. Hell, I didn’t even connect it until today—seeing them properly for the first time. I’ve seen them before, scattered around here and there, but I never got close. I couldn’t risk the light. But when it happened to Amy…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before continuing. “She just started screaming. Her arms locked up first, and then her skin—God, it cracked. It turned that stony gray. She tried to fight it, but it was like she couldn’t move anymore. Her screams… they stopped all at once, like they were choked off. By the time it was over…” He faltered, his voice trembling. “She wasn’t Amy anymore. She was just… a statue. Frozen. Gone.”

A shiver ran through Carol as her mind flashed back to the contorted statues, their twisted limbs and anguished faces etched vividly in her memory. “And the other one who was with you?” she asked gently. “You said earlier the Beast got him. What happened? How did it happen?”

Alex’s form shimmered faintly, his fists clenching and unclenching as though trying to grasp the memory. “I told you—I don’t know. He just… disappeared. One moment, he was right next to me, and then he was gone. Like he vanished into the dark. Maybe the Beast took him. Or maybe… something else did.” His voice dropped, barely audible. “I was too scared to go back and look.”

Carol’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of their harrowing journey. “The statues,” she murmured, almost to herself, “they were people like you, Alex. But somehow, when you were brought here, those of you who woke up in darker places—underground or out of the light—were the lucky ones.” Her stomach churned at the realization.

“They’re not just statues,” Echo whispered, his voice trembling. His eyes darted to the shadows around them, his small form stiff with unease. “They’re… something more.”

Carol’s breath hitched as the memory of being grabbed surfaced again, her voice soft but resolute. “And when they grabbed me… they weren’t just trying to stop me.” Her gaze flickered to her hand, recalling the creeping stone and the searing pain. “They were trying to turn me into one of them.”

The three of them sat in the thick silence, the weight of the revelation pressing down like a physical force. The distant sounds of the city—the groan of decaying metal and the faint echo of dripping water—were a grim reminder that they were still in the heart of danger.