She dreamt of the cavern. Not one from a tale, but a memory—long buried, long forgotten. Cool, damp air brushed her skin, and the echo of dripping water filled the silence. Crystalline walls shimmered with soft, otherworldly light.
A figure stood tall atop a jagged rock of glittering crystal. Cloaked in shadow, yet unmistakably present. He looked at her—straight into her—and his eyes caught her breath like a spell.
She didn't speak. Couldn't.
Then the ground seemed to shift beneath her, and in a breathless instant, she was falling back into the dark, into the cold waters below.
Deeper and deeper she sank, the light above shrinking away. Her limbs felt heavy, her breath stolen by the deep. But then—movement.
The dragonfly trinket in her hand began to stir. It twitched, then fluttered between her fingers like it had come alive. With a shimmer, it slipped free and whirled around her in the water, wings aglow, circling faster and faster until the current shifted.
A pocket of air bloomed around her like a breath from the earth itself.
Then a whisper curled through the water, delicate and warm:
"My sweetest nectar... wake up."
Elise jolted upright, heart hammering, drenched in cold sweat. Her breath came in quick gasps. The night was still young—the moon hung high, silver and indifferent.
She looked around the room. Nothing stirred. The silence returned, thick and unmoved, as if the dream had never happened.
How long was I asleep? she wondered, still clutching at the lingering sensation of weightlessness, of falling. The dream felt too vivid, too sharp around the edges. Real.
Her eyes drifted to the windowsill—and froze.
The dragonfly trinket was gone.
Had she left it there? Or had she placed it somewhere else? She couldn't remember now.
Elise shuffled from her bed, quietly searching the floor, the folds of her blanket, the corners of the room. But it was nowhere to be found.
Then, just as she stilled, straining to hear past the quiet, she caught it.
A voice, faint and fading, slipping through the trees. A whisper, soft as a breeze and drifting farther and farther into the forest beyond the house:
"My sweetest nectar..."
Before she could move, a knock shattered the stillness—loud, frantic, and urgent. Elise jumped, her breath catching.
She hurried to the door and unlatched it.
Sampson stood in the doorway, his face pale, eyes wide with worry.
"Elise," he panted. "Have you seen anything strange tonight? Anyone passing through?"
She blinked, still caught between dream and waking. "No... I haven't," she said, her voice hoarse. "What's going on?"
"A child's gone missing," Sampson said, glancing over his shoulder toward the woods. "The whole village is out searching. His mother said she saw him heading toward the forest. No one's seen him since."
Elise felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She shook her head slowly. "I—I haven't seen anyone. Not tonight."
He nodded grimly, jaw clenched. "If you remember anything—anything at all—send word. We're checking every house."
With that, he turned and hurried off into the dark.
Elise quickly put on her jacket and followed Sampson and the rest of the villagers out into the forest. Though she knew these woods like the back of her hand, the night made them feel unfamiliar, warped. The shadows stretched longer, the trees loomed taller, and every rustle in the underbrush felt heavier somehow, like the forest was holding its breath.
There came a point where she and Sampson had to split—he veered north, toward the mountains, while Elise took the southern path, leading down toward the river.
Her heart sank with every step. She prayed she wouldn't find the child there. The river, even in daylight, was merciless. At night, it was worse. The chill in the air seemed to seep straight into her bones.
She followed the river's curve, the lantern's glow flickering over moss-covered stones and low-hanging branches. Then—just as she reached the bend—a flicker of movement caught her eye.
A small shadow darted across her path, barely more than a blur against the trees. It was fast, child-sized, and moving with purpose.
Elise froze.
The shadow ran deeper into the forest, toward a darker, narrower trail mostly swallowed by brambles and roots. She didn't need to guess where it led.
She knew.
That path wound toward the ruins.
Without thinking, Elise sprinted after it, pushing through the brush and undergrowth, ignoring the sharp sting of thorns that clawed at her skin. Her feet burned with each step, the jagged rocks and tangled roots digging into her soles, but she didn't care. The child was out there—alone, lost. And she needed to find him.
She hadn't been near the ruins since the big storm last month. Since then, the place had become even more fragile, even more dangerous. The storm had torn through the old stone, sending slabs of rock tumbling down the cliffs. Now, the ruins were a maze of precariously piled stones, every step a risk—each stone that hadn't fallen yet could come undone at any moment.
But Elise kept running, her breath ragged, her mind focused only on the child and the path ahead.
As she neared the ruins, the forest seemed quieter, more still. Yet, in the distance, she could still hear faint calls. Voices searching for the boy, echoing through the trees, calling his name in the dark.
She didn't have much time.
"He's at the ruins!" she shouted into the night, her voice cracking with urgency.
Her words felt small, swallowed by the vastness of the forest. But she prayed someone would hear her—someone who could come to help.
The forest fell unnervingly quiet. No rustling leaves, no cries from the distant animals. Even the river's murmuring seemed to fade into silence. It was as if the whole forest had stopped breathing, holding its breath in anticipation.
She stood at the entrance to the ruins, the stones looming like forgotten memories. And then, as if pulled from the stillness itself, a faint shuffling noise echoed from within—the unmistakable sound of someone—or something—moving deeper into the darkness.
Elise's heart hammered in her chest as she strained to listen. The noise came from the old temple, the place everyone avoided. Even before the storm, she'd never dared venture close. The temple had been abandoned for centuries, its entrance long since blocked by the falling rocks. No one had been able to enter it for as long as anyone could remember—and no one ever dared to try.
But now… the shuffling continued, slowly, as if whatever, or whoever, was inside was moving deeper into the temple.
She swallowed hard, the cold air biting at her skin. She moved forward, her breath catching in the stillness. When she reached the base of the stones, she saw it: where once thick slabs had sealed the entrance, a small opening had been created. It was just big enough for her to slip through.
Elise hesitated for only a moment before forcing herself through the gap, the rough edges of the rocks scraping against her skin. She didn't have a lantern—only the pale moonlight spilling through the cracks in the stones, casting weak shadows across the ground and barely illuminating the path ahead.
As she entered the temple, the air grew colder, denser, the scent of ancient dust and damp stone filling her lungs. She whispered into the darkness, her voice almost a prayer, "Child? Are you here? Please, answer me."
The silence within the temple was suffocating. The pale light from the moon illuminated just enough to see the edges of the space, leaving the deeper shadows untouched. The temple was vast, its walls stretching upwards, disappearing into the blackness above. The stone was rough and uneven underfoot, as though the place had been forgotten by time.
Faded murals adorned the walls, their colors long faded and eaten by the passing years. The moonlight made them appear like ghostly figures, barely discernible. Tall, cracked columns rose on either side, their marble surfaces slick with age, some of them tilting at odd angles as if they were on the verge of collapse.
Elise's breath came faster as she ventured deeper, her footsteps echoing softly in the emptiness. The air was heavy, oppressive, as if the very walls of the temple were watching her.
Her voice trembled as she called again, "Child, where are you?"
The silence swallowed her words, but somewhere deep within the ruins, the shuffling sound continued—a faint, scraping movement that seemed to beckon her deeper.
She moved carefully, step by step, guided only by the pale spill of moonlight. The shadows shifted as she passed, deep and strange, and then—
Elise stopped.
In the far corner of the crumbling temple, something moved.
At first, it looked like a trick of the light—a shadow too tall, too still. But as her eyes adjusted, the shape sharpened. A figure crouched low by the wall, half-shrouded in darkness. Ghastly wings, thin and veined like those of a bat, folded tightly against its back. Its head swiveled toward her with an unnatural smoothness, revealing wide, round eyes—eyes like an owl's—unblinking and ghost-pale. The moonlight caught the sharp outline of its beak, glinting just enough to make Elise's breath hitch.
Its body, though small, was long-limbed and covered in coarse hair like a monkey. In its clawed hands, it clutched a torn piece of cloth. And at its feet, Elise's heart dropped—the child.
The boy lay unconscious, curled slightly on his side, unmoving.
Elise stood frozen, locked in a silent stare with the creature. Its wings trembled, flexing, as if deciding whether to flee or fight. Her throat tightened. She didn't dare move. Her voice failed her.
Then, she heard shuffles behind her. Heavy, hurried footsteps.
A shout broke through the stillness.
"Monster!"
The creature screamed—a sharp, guttural cry that echoed through the hollow temple like tearing metal—and in a single burst of motion, it leapt backward and vanished into the deeper shadows of the ruins.
Men rushed past her, lanterns and torches flaring in the dark. Some went straight to the boy, lifting him carefully. Others charged into the blackness after the fleeing thing.
Elise didn't move. Couldn't move.
She stood rooted to the spot, breath shallow, heart pounding, eyes still fixed on where the creature had been. She didn't even hear Sampson's voice at first.
"Elise!" he said again, closer now, gripping her shoulders. "Elise, are you okay?"
She blinked, like waking from a trance, her voice finally returning in a whisper. "I… I think so."
With his help, she stepped forward, unsteady on her feet. Together, they followed the others out of the temple. The boy was alive—still unconscious, but breathing. The villagers cradled him carefully, speaking in hushed, frantic tones as they made their way back through the forest.
But as they walked, Elise noticed something none of the others seemed to.
Wrapped around the boy's legs, snug and oddly neat, was a similar cloth the creature had been holding. It was tattered and old, barely more than a rag—but it had been wrapped gently, like a bandage, over a small, shallow wound.