The house greeted them not with warmth, but with worried hands and hushed voices.
As soon as Lady Siora arrived with the children, a flurry of servants and physicians descended upon them. The children were pale, trembling—not from cold, but from something deeper, something that clung to the soul like damp fog in winter. Their eyes darted to shadows, and even in the soft glow of lanterns, they flinched.
Siora, resolute and grave, ordered that no one sleep alone that night. "Prepare the north chamber," she told the head maid. "All of them will sleep there. Together."
The servants worked quickly, layering blankets, lighting soft candles, and bringing warm drinks laced with calming herbs. One by one, the children curled up on the large mattresses arranged across the floor. Aylea clung to Lyra's hand even in sleep. Thalen didn't speak at all—he simply stared at the ceiling as though expecting it to open and swallow him.
Siora sat in the candlelight by the window, writing. Her hands trembled slightly as she penned the letter:
"To the main house. We were attacked. Shadows took shape in the forest, wearing men's skins. We found shelter, but something followed us. I fear it may not be over. Please advise immediately."
She sealed it with the family crest and gave it to a rider at dawn.
The Next Day
Sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes. The children awoke to breakfast waiting and the cautious smiles of maids who had been told to say nothing.
But they had questions—burning ones.
"Who were those men?" Aylea finally whispered. "Why were they like that? What were they?"
Lady Siora's smile faltered. "You must forget it. It was just a bad dream."
Lyra knew better. She remembered the spiral. The voice. The way the cave had whispered truths no one would speak. And now, locked within these safe walls, her curiosity stirred restlessly like a bird trapped in a cage.
She longed to return to the cave, to see if the pattern on the wall still called to her—but they were forbidden to leave. Every door watched. Every window was latched.
Time passed. Slowly.
Then one morning, a letter arrived, bearing the main house's seal.
Siora read it once and her face drained of color.
"We leave immediately," she announced. "Pack your belongings. Now."
The children blinked, startled. "Why so sudden?" Thalen asked, voice small.
Siora didn't answer. Her face was tight, her lips pale. The air shifted in the room, thickening with an unnamed dread.
No one asked again.
That Night, on the Road
They rode under cover of darkness. The carriages rolled swift and silent through the forests, heavier guarded than before. Eight riders on horseback surrounded them, and the servants sat stiffly in the rear carriage, every face taut with tension.
Lyra and the others huddled together, swaying with the rhythm of the road. But none of them could sleep. Not really.
Then—deep in the night—the world cracked.
A sound tore through the dark. It was not a howl. It was not a scream.
It was something older, vaster—a roar of dread that echoed from another realm. The carriage lurched. Horses whinnied. A guard cursed, then shouted:
"Move! Don't stop! Don't let them near!"
Lady Siora's voice rang out above the chaos: "Surround the carriage! Do not let them reach us!"
The children clutched each other as the carriage rattled, speed increasing dangerously. Outside, the rhythmic thud of hooves was replaced by chaos—screams, steel clashing, growls like no animal they'd ever heard.
Then… silence.
It was worse than noise.
A soft scratching began at the roof. It was deliberate. Slow. Then something heavy landed with a dull thud.
The children froze.
Claws scraped.
A patch of roof gave way, a small hole tearing open—and through it, an eye stared in.
Not a human eye.
It was too round. Too still. The iris was a void, but the sclera shimmered with thin silver cracks, like veins in marble. It watched, unblinking.
The children screamed.
Siora yanked the carriage door open. "Out! Everyone, out!"
They spilled onto the muddy road, gasping, shaking.
The creature leapt down.
It was a wolf, but wrong. Its fur rippled with darkness, and its form seemed to blur at the edges, like smoke around bone. Eyes of obsidian flame glowed in its head, and its body radiated black mist that made the air feel cold and wrong.
Around them, the bodies of guards lay sprawled—some torn, some burned, all lifeless.
Siora grabbed their hands and ran. "Move!"
More shadows gathered on the road ahead. Things half-seen in moonlight. Shapes that might once have been men.
"We're surrounded," Thalen gasped. His legs buckled.
Aylea fell to her knees. "We're going to die. We're going to die…"
"No," Lyra said—but her voice cracked.
She looked around. Nothing. No path. No weapon. Just death on every side.
And then she felt it.
The pull again.
Low in her spine. In her bones. Like something calling her from the deep earth.
But this time… it was stronger.
And closer.