Ren flinched at the sound.
He closed his eyes tightly, heart stuttering, not daring to believe—
"I knew it would be," Eva continued softly, as if answering a thought he hadn't spoken aloud. "The closer we got to the chapel, the more I could feel something pulling from below it."
Ren turned around slowly, and there she was.
At the top of the trail behind him, arms folded gently in front of her, dark dress stirring slightly in the mist, her head tilted as if she were listening to something only she could hear.
The moonlight reflected on her pale skin.
Eva
She walked forward with quiet steps, trailing one hand along the carved stone wall for balance. She didn't stumble. She didn't hesitate. She simply moved with the certainty of someone who belonged here.
"I-I told you not to follow me," Ren said sternly, knowing he was relieved by her presence.
"And I asked not to leave me..." Eva responded quickly, making her way to his side.
When she reached him, she didn't say anything. Just stood close. Close enough for their shoulders to brush. Her head angled toward the falls, her eyes closed, yet somehow seeing all of it.
"I don't think this place is hers," Eva whispered, voice low and reverent. "The Mother, I mean...I don't think she made it."
Ren looked around again, as if seeing the chamber through her perspective now. The arc of stone above them, where faint veins of silver and violet light glimmered like constellations. The moon above that casts no shadow, and everything beneath it perfectly clear.
"Yeah...you're right. It's too still," Ren replied.
He glanced toward the waterfall again. The way it poured silently from the cracks high above didn't feel natural. There was no roaring splash—just motion without noise.
Eva took a slow breath beside him.
"It's like we're in a dream..." Ren stated in a soft tone, loud enough just for her to hear him.
Eva nodded slowly, the mist swirling gently around her feet. "But not our dream."
They stood in silence for a moment more, then Ren turned and stepped away from the ledge. His boots echoed faintly on the damp stone. He glanced toward one of the side paths that veered off from the main ledge—narrow and slightly overgrown with that pale, clinging moss.
"We should look around," he said, glancing back at her. "See how far this place goes."
Eva didn't argue. She simply followed.
They took the side trail, ducking under a low arch of stone that seemed more shaped than formed—carved intentionally, though by no tool Ren could name. On the other side, the chamber opened slightly into a tiered platform, broken in places, with low stone benches arranged in a crescent facing inward toward a single standing pillar.
The pillar was cracked but intact, its surface etched with fine circular patterns like ripples on water. Beneath it, a wide depression in the stone, maybe a basin once, now dry.
Eva stepped down into the center of the crescent, fingers hovering over the stone surface without touching it.
"This could've been a place for gathering," She said. "Or a ritual site..."
Ren knelt beside the basin. The stone was darker here, smooth in places where something had been worn away. "Whatever they did down here…it wasn't violent."
Eva turned to look at him.
"How can you tell?"
He looked up at her. "There's no blood in the stone."
They stood together again, their breath ghosting in the cool air.
A faint sound met their ears—a low, melodic tone, like wind passing through hollow crystal.
Not loud, but clear.
Ren looked toward the source—a thin, sloping path to the left, leading further downward. Not carved this time. Grown. The rock itself twisted inward, shaped by the slow pressure of water and time. It spiraled like the inside of a shell.
Eva started walking toward it with timid steps. "There's...something below us."
"You sure?" Ren asked.
She glanced back at him. "You don't feel it?"
He paused and realized he could.
The rhythm of the breeze.
The unique temperature of it.
He swallowed and followed her, the spiraling path narrowing the deeper they went. The light dimmed, yet never vanished through the cracked stone, still filtering down from the silent moon above like memory through a dream.
Moss gave way to wet stone, darker now, streaked with veins of glinting crystal. The air thickened—not foul, not fresh—just heavy, like breathing through a soaked cloth.
Ren's footsteps slowed, and so did Eva's.
The sound from below grew clearer with each step.
A soft wind that carried with it not just cold, but something older.
Tired.
"You were right, something's definitely alive down here," Ren said quietly, hand instinctively drifting to his belt. He touched the broken hilt still strapped there, felt the useless weight of the shattered dagger.
Eva's hand brushed the wall beside them, steadying herself. "I can feel it...It's been alone a long time."
They rounded the last bend.
And there it was.
The chamber opened into a vast, circular hollow. In the center of the chamber stood a structure—not made, not carved, but grown from the stone itself. A crooked tree. Pale, dead branches twisted upward into the air, bare and leafless, yet anchored deep in the stone like the roots were claws.
It pulsed faintly at its base—not with light, but with shadow. A thick, slow breath that expanded and withdrew, as though the entire tree was breathing in grief.
"It's..." Ren's eyes widened. "Is this what's breathing?"
Eva took a step closer, lips parted. "No...it's something else."
And then the wind shifted.
A low, dragging breath echoed through the chamber.
From the far side of the blackened tree, something awakened.
The sound was wrong—stone grinding on stone, skin dragging over wet earth. A shape emerged from just behind the tree.
Massive
Misshapen
It crawled at first, then rose higher on thick limbs that cracked as they moved. Covered in stalagmites and stone-like ridges, the creature looked more like a part of the cave than something living.
A beast
But not entirely.
Its body was long and wolfish, but its back was twisted and armored in jagged rock, as if the cave itself had merged with it over time. Its face—elongated, snarling—was lined with deep scars, like it had once tried to claw its own face away. Milky eyes glinted in the sockets, just like the villagers who once attacked him.
The creature's head slowly turned.
Its neck cracked as it moved, stone plates along its spine grinding with the effort. For a heartbeat, it simply stared at them—eyes hollow, unfocused, but seeing them all the same.
Ren didn't breathe.
Neither did Eva.
Then it exhaled.
It washed over Ren and Eva in a single, steady gust. Their hair whipped back, Ren's cloak flaring behind him. Ren stepped forward without thinking, planting himself firmly between Eva and the creature, one arm out as if to shield her.
That was when it changed.
The creature flinched. Its massive body recoiled slightly, limbs twitching.
Then it started to shake. Not violently—at first. Just a tremor, like a ripple under the skin. But it built fast. Its front legs buckled. Its claws scraped at the stone in frantic spasms. It let out a long, keening whine—high and thin and miserable.
Ren didn't move. Eva, behind him, had gone completely still.
The creature stumbled sideways, one great shoulder slamming into the base of the tree. It let out another shriek—this time louder, more human in its pain than beastly.
"What's it doing?" Eva whispered.
"I don't know," Ren said, his voice tight.
Then it collapsed.
It rolled once, awkward and slow, limbs flailing. Its back slammed against the floor, sending a dull echo through the stone. And then, it began to violently claw at its own face.
"No—" Eva muttered, horror tightening in her throat.
The creature's claws scraped across its ruined eyes, thick ridges tearing loose under its own strength. Stone cracked. Skin split. Crimson blood pooled into the grooves of the floor. It let out a sound that couldn't be described. A cry. A scream. A howl. All of them at once.
"There's something inside it," Eva said, her voice barely audible. "It's trying to stop it..."
The creature slammed its head into the ground again and again. As if trying to drive something out. As if trying to break its skull open and spill whatever haunted it.
Dust and blood rose in clouds from its flailing. The tree pulsed harder, the shadows at its roots writhing like smoke in water. And with each pulse, the creature convulsed again, trapped in a rhythm it couldn't escape.
"Should we escape while—?" Eva asked, taking a step back.
Ren grabbed her wrist without looking. "No..."
Her breath caught.
His eyes stayed on the beast. "Not yet."
One last shake passed through it—slow, final.
And then it collapsed fully onto its side, limbs twitching, its chest rising and falling in broken breaths. The sobbing sounds grew quieter, but they didn't stop.
It was crying.
Whatever it was.
Whatever had become of it.
It was in agony.
Ren stared down at the shattered thing and felt something shift in him—something between fear and guilt. Looking around at the chamber, there was something off about it.
"There's...no exit? No entrance? Nowhere to keep moving forward to..." Ren thought to himself, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Thinking deeply for a moment, Ren started to walk toward the self-defeated beast.
"That's it..." He said, pulling out his broken dagger. "You're the key."